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“How’s your leg?”
“Fine,” the witcher grunted, trying to hide a grimace as he fell onto the bench.
Jaskier rolled his eyes as he sat next to him. “Right, except clearly it’s not.”
“It’s fine,” Geralt growled, scanning the crowded tavern for someone who might bring them ale.
“Imagine being honest about your feelings, ever. Just imagine.” Jaskier plopped his soaked hat on the table and got up again, muttering.
Geralt didn’t say anything, just watched Jaskier’s progress across the room.
The pretty, ridiculous bard flirted with the barkeep, then the barmaid, as easy and charming as ever, even after an early start and long, wet day of travelling in the rain.
“Here we are, then,” Jaskier crooned a few minutes later, setting a full stein in front of him. “You’ll feel better after you drink this.”
Geralt didn’t reply, only took a pull and thunked it down again, glowering into his cup.
“Hungry?” Jaskier asked, examining the bowls of stew at the next table. “The food looks…edible, which is important.”
Geralt hummed and took another drink.
Jaskier sighed, the smile on his face showing traces of stain. “Right then. I’ll just see about supper too, shall I?” He waved down a girl with a tray.
Geralt still didn’t say anything beyond a half-grunted thanks when she delivered their meals, then he downed his bowl in three gulps.
Jaskier pushed his bread over. “Here, I’m not that hungry.”
Geralt scowled. “I’m not eating your bread.”
“Well, I’m not eating it either.” Jaskier turned around to the next table again and tapped an elderly man on the arm who looked nearly asleep. “Excuse me, kind sir. I seem to have procured a superfluous portion of—”
“Fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I’ll eat the bread.”
The smile Jaskier gave him was disproportionate to his victory, but that wasn’t the only thing Geralt noticed about it. He noticed how it was a little lopsided, the corner of his mouth creeping up farther up on the left side than the right. Noticed how it crinkled around his blue eyes, how it made them dance.
How that smile left a warm spot in the centre of his chest.
He snatched the bread off the table and focused on mopping up the remains of his stew.
“So…” Jaskier propped his chin on a fist and watched Geralt eat. “Where do we go next?”
“Sodden,” Geralt said into his bowl.
“I thought you said you’d rather wash your arse with giant centipede venom than go back to Sodden?”
Geralt shrugged. “Those men sitting by the door—they said there’s rumours Ciri may be there.”
“Hmm. Will we stay the night here at least? This place is nice. And your leg—”
“No. We can make it halfway to Carcano before it gets fully dark.”
“Are you sure?” Jaskier whined. “It’s so warm in here, and my toes are just starting to—”
“I said we’re leaving.”
Jaskier sighed. “You’re a real treat, you know that? Just a pleasure to be around.”
“I never asked you—”
“Oh, fuck off, Geralt.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and waved a hand at him. “We’re twenty years past that nonsense. You know I’m not leaving you now.”
The heat of the room flushed Geralt’s cheeks. He downed the rest of his ale.
Then it was back out into the rain, the brief reprieve quickly fading into a distant memory, blending in with the grey evening and darkening shadows around them.
An hour down the road, Jaskier was shivering.
Geralt tried to ignore the guilt tickling at his gut, but he only made it another hour before he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “There’s a nice stand of pine up ahead there,” Geralt said, pointing. “Should keep us dry for the night.”
“Perfect-t-t-t-t,” Jaskier agreed.
Geralt was right, it was indeed dry under the cover of the trees, and a quick blast of Igni got a toasty fire going in seconds. Jaskier was still shivering though.
“Take off your coat,” Geralt said. “It’s soaked through.”
Jaskier fumbled with the buttons until Geralt leaned forward to help. “Your fingers are ice,” he mumbled once the sodden jacket was hanging on a branch to steam next to the fire. “Sit between my legs. It’ll warm you up.”
Jaskier nodded and sat, after a brief hesitation, oddly quiet and stiff as a board.
Geralt sighed. Twenty years of bawdy jokes and innuendo about the size of Geralt’s cock and now Jaskier was being shy. “Lean against me,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier’s muscled torso to his chest. “You’ll heat up faster.”
Jaskier’s back hovered against him like he was a fawn poised for flight. The witcher put his arms around him and rubbed his icy forearms. Finally Jaskier gave in with a sigh and sagged right against him. The fire crackled in the silence while Geralt breathed in his scent—wet leather and, somehow, still sunshine.
“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured a short while later, teeth no longer chattering. “I feel much better.”
“You might as well sleep here,” Geralt grumbled, “or you’ll just get cold again.”
“If you insist,” Jaskier said with mock severity.
Geralt shifted against a log, finding a comfortable position to tilt his head back, then closed his eyes, Jaskier still in his arms. He drifted, the warmth of the fire and the solid body between his legs an anchor, holding him while his dreams wandered. It was with some alarm he realized later, through the haze, that his cock was rock hard, and the pert bum between his legs was grinding against it.
Geralt snapped his eyes open.
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, calm and measured.
“I…” was all he could say. The single word hung there, useless.
Jaskier plunged ahead. “I would like to propose that we…explore this.”
“Explore…?” Explore. ‘Explore.’
“Before you freak out, as you do, it doesn’t have to mean anything, I swear. But we’re here, and I’m finally warm, and your… your body feels quite nice and… gods, what I wouldn’t give if we could do this, this one time.”
“What about Radovid?” was the next stupid fucking thing that came out of Geralt’s mouth.
“Radovid? Radovid?” Jaskier’s voice climbed as he sputtered. “Did you—Did you just—”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Geralt shook his head. “I didn't mean to bring him up.”
Jaskier wiggled around to face him. “Fucking Radovid? I swear to the fucking mother Melitele, Geralt. Did I bring up—?”
Geralt kissed him. He certainly hadn’t been planning on it, but Jaskier’s lips were right there, and it seemed like the easiest way to get him to stop squawking.
Jaskier made a surprised noise, and before Geralt could process any second thoughts about the kiss, Jaskier’s tongue slid into his mouth.
I’m kissing Jaskier was Geralt’s next complete thought. No, I think I’m fucking Jaskier. Am I fucking Jaskier?
He was indeed. Jaskier already had his own trousers undone and was unbuttoning Geralt’s.
“Don’t be gentle,” Jaskier mumbled through the kiss.
“Don’t worry,” Geralt replied.
Then Jaskier had Geralt’s cock out and was stroking it with his long, talented fingers. “But you, uh… do you have…?” His gaze dropped to linger on Geralt’s thick shaft.
Wordlessly, Geralt reached into his pack and pulled out the tin.
“Always prepared, aren’t you?” Jaskier said.
“Shut up.”
“Speaking of prepared…” Jaskier plucked the tin from Geralt’s grip and opened it. “Would you like to do the honours, or shall I?”
“Take off your trousers,” Geralt said.
Jaskier stood and had them off with alacrity, his frozen fingers now fully recovered. He straddled Geralt’s lap and kissed him again while Geralt took a dollop of lube onto his fingers and reached for Jaskier’s hole.
Jaskier gasped at Geralt’s touch.
“Sorry, is it too cold?”
“No, it’s…” Jaskier took a shuddering breath and touched their foreheads together. “Keep going.”
Geralt pressed his fingers in, slowly, working deeper and deeper into Jaskier’s ass.
And the noises Jaskier was making, fuck. Little moans and whimpers that went straight to Geralt’s cock.
“Okay,” Jaskier breathed, when he was stretched around four of Geralt’s fingers. “Now. Please.”
Geralt took hold of his thickness with one hand and Jaskier’s hip with the other and guided him on. He groaned when his head breached Jaskier’s ring, a thousand bursts of starlight behind his eyes. Then a thousand more as Jaskier sank further down.
“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier panted when he bottomed out, thighs flush to Geralt’s. “This is…”
“Alright?” Geralt asked, trying to hold onto any one of the million expressions flitting across Jaskier’s face.
“Good, Geralt. So fucking good.” Jaskier began to move. He circled his hips in lazy arcs, head tilted back, white teeth in his pink lips. “Fuck, yes.”
Then Geralt realized something… odd. Being inside Jaskier did feel good. Really good. Sort of mind-blowing, world-shifting good. And it wasn’t just because he was getting his dick wet. It was a ‘ this is right’ kind of good. This rightness unfurled in his chest and travelled along his limbs and if he spent the rest of his life fucking Jaskier, it wouldn’t be enough.
The sounds Jaskier made, split wide on his cock, were sweeter than any song he’d ever sung. All Geralt wanted was to keep him singing.
He wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s cock.
“Geralt,” Jaskier keened. “Gods, yes…”
He rode Geralt like a champion, grinding down on him, his ass squeezing around his shaft until Geralt wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back the rising wall of fire. It licked at his soul, demanding more fuel to burn.
“I’m going to come, Geralt…” Jaskier panted.
“Me too,” Geralt grunted. He jerked Jaskier’s cock a few times while Jaskier slammed down onto him, then they both erupted, cries into the night drifting up like the sparks from the fire.
Jaskier lifted himself on shaking thighs to slide off Geralt’s shaft, but didn’t otherwise move, settling back on his lap. He laid his head on Geralt’s shoulder, panting, chests pressed together, hearts beating in time.
Geralt held him tight.
“I promise I’m not going to get all weird,” Jaskier ventured. “But that was… that was so fucking good. Maybe we could do it again sometime?”
“Mmm.”
“‘Mmm’? I’ll take that. To be quite honest, I expected some bullshit about how it can never happen again.”
“Mmm. Maybe.”
The next night, Geralt said yes to the tavern. They ate first, thighs pressed together on the bench, then Jaskier took his hand and led him to their room. A few soft kisses before Geralt stripped Jaskier naked and laid him back on the rickety bed, dragging his nose over his pale skin and breathing him in deep.
This time it was slower, softer, like a poem whispered late at night.
“How is this actually happening…” Jaskier mumbled when they were done, skin flushed and limbs tangled together.
“What?” The faint light from the hallway crept under the door and illuminated Jaskier’s profile. Geralt tried not to stare.
“Come on, Geralt. This .” Jaskier trailed a lazy hand in the air, indicating Geralt’s naked, sweaty body. “This, that I’ve fantasized about since literally the first second I saw you.”
Geralt propped a hand under his head and studied his bard. “It’s just sex, Jaskier.”
“Yeah, but.” He traced a finger along Geralt’s chest. “It’s sex with you.”
He opened his mouth, but Jaskier placed the finger over his lips. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m not getting weird. It’s just… Let me have this, will you?”
Geralt let him have it. He let him have it twice more that night, until someone in the room next door banged on the wall and hollered at them to put their dicks away—it was the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake.
They got back to it the next night, and the night after, and all the other nights. They fucked their way across Sodden, and into Cintra when Sodden didn’t pan out. They fucked in meadows, in barns, against fences, even one time in a shrine—not Geralt’s proudest moment, but once Jaskier got his cock out, there was no turning back.
But Geralt’s favourite place to fuck was when they were back around a campfire, deep in the trees, when he had Jaskier all to himself. When Jaskier’s skin glowed orange and pink in the firelight, when his cries faded into the inky black sky dotted with flickering fireflies and ancient stars. When Jaskier shuddered as he came, then smiled at Geralt like he was the rising sun. When he massaged chamomile into Geralt’s aching leg and brushed the knots from his hair and murmured sweet words in his ear. When Geralt pulled the blanket up around them against the night’s chill, Jaskier’s head tucked under his chin, the logs hissing and crackling while they fell asleep.
“So what happens when this is over?” Jaskier asked one night, held tight against Geralt’s chest next to a roaring fire, while the rain pattered outside their cocoon, just like the first time.
“What do you mean?” He brushed Jaskier’s hair back where it was tickling his cheek.
“I don’t know, once we find Ciri or Nilfgaard is defeated or whatever the fuck else is going on… When it’s not just you and me anymore?”
“It’ll always be you and me,” Geralt said. The words fell from his lips before he could consider them.
“It’ll what?” Jaskier wiggled around to face him. His eyes were huge, two endless stretches of ocean.
“You can’t leave, Jaskier,” Geralt said. More words that he hadn’t planned. But they were true. “I—I need you with me.”
“You need me to ride your dick, is that what you mean?” Harsh words, but said without malice, which made them harsher.
“No, I—it’s not that, it’s you.” The importance of making Jaskier understand squeezed his chest. “I need you.”
“You do?” Jaskier’s eyebrow climbed his forehead.
“You make me feel…” the word hung on his tongue for a moment “…not alone. Safe. Whole. I guess.”
Now the ocean eyes were wet. Then they were kissing. Then groping, panting, rocking and crying out, together, as one whole.
They had always been one whole.