Chapter Text
Geralt's half delirious with exhaustion and blood loss when he hears it first.
It being a horrible, terrible, gutting screeching noise a couple of feet away from where he’s laying half-dead on the shore. The sound pierces the haze of almost dying that’s settled over him and he groans. He rolls over, wincing as the gash on his right flank tears further. He blinks a couple of times until his eyes focus on the figure in the distance. There’s someone – a person, sitting in the shallows, eyes blue and luminescent, screeching with their mouth wide open in, what would pass for a flirty, grin.
He squints against the insistent moonlight.
“Stop your fuckin’ wailing!!” He yells, worried that his ears might be bleeding on top of everything.
The screaming cuts off and he breathes out. Finally, peace. He closes his eyes and gets ready to slip into a meditative state for some good, old-fashioned healing.
“What the fuck do you mean wailing?” The voice calls, now much closer and much more indignant. “Are – are you dying?!”
“Fuck off,” He grunts and flops to the side until he’s on his back again.
“Gods, you are dying!” The voice yelps and Geralt hears some splashing before cold hands cup his cheeks.
He growls feebly but he can’t open his eyes to see whoever it is that hovers above him as the moon rises higher in the sky. The voice grows more distorted the faster it tries to talk and Geralt feels himself slipping into the meditative state – or better known as passing the fuck out.
A sense of wrongness is what finally wakes him. He bolts upright, hissing as the closing wound on his flank protests vehemently at the sudden motion.
“Melitele’s tits,” He grunts, hands gripping his head and automatically going for his bag – only to find it missing. Panic shoots through his entire being and he looks around frantically. He takes in the seaside alcove he’s apparently found himself in. He’s surrounded by white sand and walls carved and smoothed by the strength of the waves over a long period of time. He rubs a hand over his face in frustration. The last thing he remembers is piercing pain through his back and his head which is strange since the wyvern had only managed to clip him once with a lucky swipe and –
He jerks back as he meets blue eyes at an alarmingly short distance. The eyes are wide, round and curious – a little too eager considering they’re looking at Geralt. He grunts, grabbing for his sword – his knife – anything but there’s nothing on hand for him to use as a weapon. He jumps up in a crouch and the figure half-submerged in water startles.
“Who are you? Where am I?” He growls, all senses on high alert.
The figure raises their – his – hands and they’re – they’re webbed. A mermaid? Hopefully not a siren, he doesn’t fancy a swim. And since the figure is a mermaid – a merman? – he’s safe as long as he remains on land. Which, unfortunately, doesn’t answer where he is and how he got there.
“Easy now, big guy, I'm not going to hurt you.” The figure speaks, tone low and careful but oddly the figure does not smell of fear.
“Where?” He tries again, ready to cast a sign in case the merman tries anything.
“Just down the beach. I didn’t want to leave you out in the open in case bandits came about.” The creature leans his forearms against the rocky drop off ledge. “You were hurt pretty badly but I didn’t know what to do about that. Saw you healing, though, so I just brought you to safety instead.”
“My things, where are they?” He lets the hand drop but keeps his guard up.
“Oh, um.” The merman waves a hand to the side and Geralt squints in the direction. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it but on a small isle just off the drop where his bag and weapons lay discarded.
“Sorry, just – didn’t know if you’d wake up and start swinging or what.” The merman chuckles uneasily. “Wait there.” The figure disappears and Geralt catches a glimpse of opalescent deep blue and turquoise. Much to his surprise, the merman takes care not to get his things wet and instead keeps them above water as he swims over.
“Here we are, please don't take off my head.” The merman tosses him his things and Geralt is grateful to feel the singing of steel and silver under his palms again.
“Hm.” He grunts, rifling through his bag until he finds the healing potion he’s got somewhere in there. He locates the red potion and chugs half of it greedily. Immediately, he feels the aches easing and the wound on his flank being stitched closed. Good.
“You-” The merman clears his throat, the little fins that have replaced his ears lowering back and fluttering. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you?”
“How very perceptive.” He retorts, shuffling about and trying to stand up on still-shaky legs. “How do I get out of here?”
“Um, you’ll have to swim.” The merman says sheepishly. “And I – I’ll let you, it’s just – I have a problem I need you to solve. Since you’re a Witcher and all that.”
“I don’t need permission.” He scoffs, strapping the swords across his back.
“No, but you need protection.” The merman mumbles. “I am far from the only thing in these waters. And the others aren’t as human-friendly as I am.”
“Where am I?” He squints, growling again because he can’t be anywhere near the shore he was on when he’d passed – slipped into meditation.
“So – I might have lied.” The merman’s face contorts into a sheepish wince and Geralt wishes he hadn’t taken that wyvern job – he certainly wouldn’t have if he’d known that he’d be getting himself into this load of horseshit.
“I was gonna keep you near the shore, I swear!” The merman leans back out of Geralt’s reach. “But then they started chasing me and all these sailors came out of nowhere so I had to move quick. I'm sorry!”
“What’s the problem, then?” He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. This is just perfect. And Gods know where Roach is. He hopes she’s in the village he’d left her in. Hopefully nobody tries to steal or sell her.
“Well, I-”
“Is it the wailing/screeching thing? From last night. That didn’t sound right.” He grimaces as he remembers the piercing pain that had felt like he’d been stabbed straight through the brain when he’d heard the other. Which: unusual, considering the other’s a merman, but not unheard of. Weirder things have happened, Geralt’s sure that a merman that’s lost his singing voice isn’t that weird.
“How dare you!?” The merman gasps. “I have a lovely singing voice.”
“Sure,” Geralt snorts, amused despite himself. “As lovely as a Kikimora.”
“Wait.” The merman shuffles closer again, mostly out of the water from waist up now. “Wait, wait, wait.”
“I’m waiting.” He spreads his arms in a helpless gesture.
“You don’t – you’re immune! You’re bloody immune! You can help me!” The merman slaps his hands against the puddles of water in the sand excitedly, his – his tail – splashing in the water behind him.
“Hard to see how anyone can find that yowling appealing.” He throws his bag over his shoulder and walks around the cave, looking for another way out.
“No – no. You don’t understand. It’s been like this for years. I’ve been-”
“Yes, yes. You’ve been screeching like a dying pig for years. I’ll do what I can.” He grunts, testing the strength of the walls by knocking and looking for hollow spots. It’s – it’s not some alcove then. It’s a proper lagoon that’s most certainly away from the mainland. He’s on a fuckin’ island. Great.
“No. Listen – would you fucking listen to me, you monkey’s arse?!” The merman screeches and Geralt turns to look at him at the weird insult that he’s certain he’s never heard before.
“I’m on Faroe, aren’t I?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
The merman frowns a little, looking around, “That – that’s, yes. That’s impressive. But – shut up. I’m trying to tell you what’s wrong.”
“The caterwauling?”
“Yes! No. Fuck off.” The merman hisses, revealing sharp fangs and dark eyes for a moment before he seemingly collects himself with a deep breath. “My name is Jaskier and I’m not a merman.”
Geralt eyes the tail in the clear water with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I know what it looks like but I wasn’t – I’m cursed. I was cursed years ago to be this shitty, perpetually wet, raw fish-eating cretin! And I fucking hate it.” The man sighs, running his fingers through his medium-length hair, slicking it back off his forehead.
And then, Geralt catches the first wisp of the attraction he’s supposed to feel towards mermaids usually. He’s – well, Jaskier’s rather beautiful. His eyes, his cheekbones and the pouting mouth – it’s an alluring combination. And, from what he can see of the smooth torso, the merman’s well-built with strong arms and wide shoulders.
No, stop that. He shakes his head. Mermaids were always tricky to deal with.
“Who cursed you? Have you tried breaking it?”
“No, I love being a fucking fish luring men to their death! Fuck you!” Jaskier hisses again, claws digging into the crumbling rock. “I’ve tried for years! But anyone I talk to just wants to-” The merman shrinks back, pale cheeks becoming pink. “They just want to fuck me and then I have to make them go back to either the shore or their ship so that the others don’t get to them.”
“Am I the first person you’ve talked to in years? That’s sad.” He snorts, amused despite the obviously distressing situation the other is in.
“I’ll fucking say! You’re impossible to talk to!” Jaskier’s voice goes high and reedy with annoyance.
“So, who did it?” He sits back down, giving up on trying to find an alternative way out of the cave.
“I didn’t know she was a sorceress or whatever.” The merman looks sheepish this time. “I, ah, we spent a lovely couple of days together and she claimed that I had lead her to believe that I was in love with her. And I wasn’t. And then I’d fucked off to the next available bed and she was livid.”
“Ha,” He scoffs. Serves the damn idiot right. He wonders if the other has a cock now at all or if it’s just a weird fish va- stop that.
“Look, it’s not my fault. I never told her I loved her. I never promised anything more than a quick fuck here and there. She’s the one that had gotten all uppity about it!” The merman whines loudly, twisting himself to lie half on his sides on the rock.
“Hm.” Geralt nods. It’s quite the predicament. He’s not sure what he can do aside from trying to get Yen or Triss to check if they can reverse the curse. “I require payment.” He finally says and the merman perks up.
“I – I can – I have pearls here and I’m – I was the Viscount of Lettenhove. I’m sure I can dig into that coin purse once I’m back on my own two feet.” The other’s tail wiggles in the water again as if he were a dog rather than a weird fishman.
“Get the pearls and then we’ll talk.” He can imagine that the girls will love the pearls. They’re rather hard to come by these days so they’re worth significantly more. And if there’s some left over after he might have a bracelet fashioned for Cirilla as well.
“Right, wait here.” The merman winces as the words leave his mouth and Geralt bites back the like I could leave even if I wanted to that threatens to escape him. The creature disappears from sight and into the blue water and Geralt watches him go, oddly mesmerized by the play of sunlight across the scales of the merman’s tail.
He hunkers down by the ledge where the other had popped up and waits – a little impatient, but he waits nevertheless. He could technically summon either Triss of Yen to him but he’s curious to see what this weird creature wants from him. And if he really is cursed then Geralt is sort-of obliged to help him. Because if Jaskier is indeed a man then Geralt can’t smite him down for being annoying. Though, he probably doesn’t think the merman’s as annoying as he should. The only explanation is that he’s gone soft in his years with Ciri, that must be it.
He waits for a little while until the other comes back, resurfacing suddenly, without warning, and entirely too close to Geralt’s face for his liking. He twitches back, unhelpfully noticing the little freckles scattered across the others cheeks and nose some of which are strangely shaped like stars that children would draw and sparkling.
“Here,” The merman thrusts out a wet cloth that’s filled to the brim with pearls of all sizes.
He opens the improvised satchel and nods in approval. It’s – it’s probably more than enough for whatever he’s going to end up doing but – never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. Gods, he misses Roach already.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” The merman asks, sharp nails tapping against the ground.
“Get one of my friends here to help. I have to know what the curse is first.” He takes out the necessary crystals and other trinkets that he needs to catch Yen’s attention and wonders if he’ll catch her at a bad time. Like that one time she and Triss were-
He clears his throat and waves a hand at the other. “Step back a little.”
“Don’t have any legs, my good Sir.” The merman remarks cheekily and Geralt grunts hard enough that it stings his throat a little, a sound he hasn’t produced in years.
“Hm,” He draws the sign in the sand and it glows faintly before disappearing. It’s a distress signal of sorts and she should be notified of his need for an audience within minutes so now he just has to sit and wait – again.
“So...” The merman drags the syllable out, grinning at him impishly. “What’s your name?”
“Geralt,” He responds automatically even though he doesn’t need to do so. Hm, it seems as though maybe the merman didn’t need the power of song to get Geralt to comply easily.
“You – uh. Oh.” The merman winces away again, swimming slightly away as if he’d just realized who he was – oh, yes, alright, makes sense.
“My reputation precedes me even out here, then.” He snorts.
“I expected you’d be a lot scarier.” The merman, grin back with a vengeance and stinking vaguely of someone who was extremely pleased with themselves, croons. “What with the stories I’ve heard of the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, I was expecting fangs and horns and not – cat eyes and warrior braids. But, those are rather nice – very fashionable.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” He frowns, wondering which stories the other had heard exactly.
“Well, I do suppose the stories told by other beasts would be rather skewed by their bias against you.” The other taps his chin in wonder. “Although, I wouldn’t really say I’m disappointed. Quite the contrary, I’m – delighted.” The merman’s grin tilts to the side until he’s smirking, pearly whites showing dangerously even without being sharp.
He’s saved from acknowledging the blot of arousal that shoots through him at the predatory look by a portal popping open to his left, bringing with it a disgruntled-looking Yennefer wrapped in a loose-fitting sleeping gown.
“I hate Faroe. What the fuck are you doing here?” She grumbles, kicking sand away as her bare feet dig into it.
“Long story,” He settles on saying instead of bothering to explain the entire situation. “Can you tell what’s wrong with him?” He waves at the merman impatiently, wanting to get on with it already. Unfortunately, the moment her eyes turn towards the creature they haze over and she falls to her knees like she’s been possessed.
Startled, he stumbles forward, catching her around the waist and pulling her back as she tries to crawl towards the merman rather desperately.
“Yen! Yennefer!” He tugs her away from the water and towards the back of the cave as the merman dives back under with a startled noise. “Yen, think of Triss.”
Her eyes turn to him sharply then, a frown marring her expression, returning some clarity to it. “What – Gods, Geralt, what was that?!” She runs a hand over her face in distress, covering slightly behind him.
It’s such an unusual thing for her to do and Geralt realizes just how serious this situation might be.
“That – is a rather cursed merman, or so it seems.” He smiles at her sheepishly as she releases an unbecoming grunt of annoyance in his general direction.
“You just had to get involved, didn’t you?” She throws her hands up, obviously frustrated and Geralt can imagine that she’s not too happy to have been called away from her home and into the middle of his mess.
“It doesn’t affect me.” He looks towards the water and finds eerily blue eyes staring at them from underneath the surface. “His singing sounds like a noonwraith screeching and he’s not that handsome.”
The merman sticks his tongue out at him petulantly and Geralt snorts.
“It’s not – they’re not supposed to have this much pull. Especially over a sorceress such as myself.” She runs a hand over the strip of silk strapped around her throat.
“Powerful?”
“Taken,” She hisses back, distressed.
“Right,” He nods, looking over to where he’d dropped the pearls. He picks up the bag and offers it to her. “I’ll give you half if you can figure out what’s wrong.”
She eyes the bag appreciatively. “What did he say?”
“Says he was cursed by a witch after a misunderstanding. Stuck his dick in a beehive if you ask me.” He opens up the bag and pours out approximately half of the pearls into his palm.
“So, some form of a love curse.” She walks closer to the water as he puts the poured out amount into one of the empty pouches he has on hand.
“Seems like it. Says he’s been stuck for years. Careful.” He grunts as she sits down at the edge of the pool, legs slipping into the water.
“Come up, little trout. I won’t look, do not speak, but I have to touch.” She offers a hand and Geralt watches as Jaskier tentatively reaches out to her.
“More like clownfish,” He chuckles to himself silently, keeping his distance but remaining close enough that he can intervene if Yennefer falls under the merman’s spell again. He can feel the crackle of magic in the air as her face crumples in concentration. The cave shudders minutely and he prepares for it crashing around them as she continues quietly muttering under her breath.
Fortunately, the moment she darts away from the merman, the shaking stops and he relaxes. That was too close.
“Well?” He grunts impatiently, looking forward to solving this and getting back to the mainland already.
“It’s – a surprisingly powerful curse. It’s not one that was meant to be broken in his lifetime but with you unaffected he might be able to get out of it in the end. I have sensed a loophole somewhere in there.” She stands back up, wiping her hand on her loose dress and taking the pouch of pearls from him.
“Alright, what is it?” He crosses his arms over his chest, glancing at the merman before focusing back on Yen. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like whatever comes out of her mouth next.
Her frown somehow deepens. “He was cursed never to find true love. The witch must have thought she was being poetic or some other pretentious shit like that. As long as he only attracts others based on lust he’ll never find it. A punishment for fucking around with her feelings or whatever. Pathetic.” She scoffs, purple eyes twinkling with amusement despite. “Though, there’s another layer to the curse I wasn’t able to discern from the other. I don’t know what that one’s about. Probably to make it harder for him to actually talk to anyone.”
“So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it, then?” Panic laces through him at the thought of feelings. He knows where this is going and he’s not going to stand for it. “I can’t help him. There’s no way.”
She shrugs, opening a portal and kicking him in the shin when he tries to follow her through. “Your problem now, Geralt. Find the loophole, I don’t know. You’re the monster hunter-helper-expert here.”
“Yen!” He reaches out helplessly but she, the ruthless sorceress that she is, just closes the portal in his face.
He’s on the verge of stomping his foot against the white sand like a child when the merman emerges from the water again, sheepishly clearing his throat.
“So, Sir Wolf.” The merman clears his throat, “I can’t help but think that you and I will be spending some more time together then.”
“Go get me a fish,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking around for driftwood to start a fire with.
“Right away, Sire!” The merman chuckles, the sound of it rattling Geralt’s chest more than it should be.
A love curse. That he’s supposed to solve somehow. What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to fall in love with this poor bastard? He may be handsome but Geralt is far from the type of man to fall for a pretty face. Well – it had happened before but under difficult circumstances which had lead to him meeting Yennefer and that had been because of a Djinn incident with – with. Well. With a Djinn, a Djinn incident. As one does.
It’s not like Geralt doesn’t understand love. He loves Yen and Triss as if they were his own flesh and blood and he loves Ciri, his prodigy, his daughter, his Child Surprise despite the impromptu way of him calling upon that particular law at Queen Calanthe’s court. He always hated courtly affairs – he doesn’t even remember why he was there in the first place. Must have been a job in the vicinity. Must have gone spectacularly well if he’d ended up calling upon the Law of Surprise in the end.
He shakes his head, casting a quick little igni onto the pile of driftwood and setting it ablaze. He stares into the flames, shoulders tensed for some strange reason as a sense of unease settles over him. Something here isn’t right and he’ll have to get to the bottom of it if he’s to ever leave this damn pile of sand.
A splash of water draws his attention towards the pool and he turns his head. He tilts his head, observing as Jaskier offers him out a rather large fish. He accepts the offering as the other stretches out towards hum further – torso mostly out on dry land now. He notices then, a scar marring the pale skin, situated across the other’s ribs in an eerily familiar way. He can’t place where he’d seen it before but he knows that he knows about that scar in almost too much detail.
He points to it with the floppy fish, “Where’d you get that?”
“Huh?” The merman blinks, looking down at himself and tracing a finger against the raised flesh. “Oh, an incident from my days as a human and a bard.”
“A bard?” He hums, taking out his knife and gutting the fish before impaling it on one of his swords and suspending it over the fire in an impromptu show of his cooking prowess.
“Oh yes, I was well-known all around the Continent. I sang in many a tavern and in many a court. My absolute favourites were the Cintran court and the jaunt I’d had in Vizima. Vizima was always lovely this time of year. Though, I suppose Rinde wasn’t too bad either. And the Free City of Novigrad always paid well.” The merman sighs dreamily, supporting his chin with his fist, sparkling eyes staring into the distance.
“Too bad that Cintra’s a shithole now.” He sighs, turning the fish over to roast it properly on all sides.
“What do you mean?” The merman asks, voice hushed and panicked.
“How long have you been like this exactly?” He turns to find the other more than half way out of the water. The length of the other’s tail is a little bit enchanting and Geralt has to tear his eyes away from the pretty colors that warm him from the inside. There’s flecks of gold in the scales, glinting and sparkling like jewellery, the colors not unlike those of a peacock’s feathers.
“I don’t know – five or six years, I think. It’s hard to keep track.” The merman looks out at the open sea forlornly and Geralt’s heart gives an unsettling twang of sympathy. A valiant effort in caring on his part if he does say so himself.
“Cintra fell to Nilfgaard around that time. Vizima, Aedirn, Lyria, Rivia, and Temeria. They all fell to Nilgaard in the years following, Jaskier. This is their third war and it’s up to Redania and Radovid to stop them at Kaedwen.” He explains slowly, watching as the other’s face morphs into that of shock and horror with a pang of guilt shooting down his spine.
“I’ve – I’ve really been out of the loop, then. This is – this is a lot.” The merman turns, plopping onto his back in the sand and lifting his tail, dipping it in and out of water, periodically.
Geralt watches the hypnotic motion with wide eyes until he smells his fish burning. He clears his throat and pulls the fish out of the flames. “Jaskier, you said. Never heard of you.”
The other gasps indignantly, a familiar noise by now, “I am one of Oxenfurt’s greatest alumni! I have sung many a great ballad in my time!”
“Oh, yeah?” He grins at the merman over his shoulder. “Name one.”
“The-” Jaskier stops, face falling as he springs up into sit. “I can’t remember.”
“Ha.” Geralt, satisfied with himself for some unknown reason, goes back to picking at his fried fish. “Not that good, then.”
“No, Geralt, you pack mule! I can’t remember!” The merman hisses and Geralt frowns.
“Do you think this has anything to do with the curse?” He shuffles around until he’s facing the other and away from the fire. He looks at the merman and then down at the fish. Some unknown urge makes him break the fish in half and offer it to Jaskier.
The merman stares at the fish like Geralt had offered him the world on his palms and then takes it tentatively. “It’s been years since I’ve had anything that wasn’t raw.”
“The curse, Jaskier?” He prompts, surprising even himself with how gentle his voice had gotten.
“I – yes. It has to be the curse. I know I was well popular but I can’t remember any of my most-loved songs. The last I know is Fishmonger’s Daughter and I wrote that while still at Oxenfurt, it’s far from my best.”
“Haven’t heard that one in a while. Didn’t know it’s yours. Always assumed it’s one of those songs attributed to the people.” Geralt hums, remembering the double entendre words of the song and a cheery voice and a cheeky wink that he can’t put a face to.
“Ah, but you see, you’ve heard at least one of my songs.” Jaskier points a finger at him before he continues eating the fish in measured bites, picking out the bones a she goes in an unexpectedly delicate way.
“It’s not very good.” He admits, watching as the other laughs easily, a pleasant warmth settling inside him – a warmth that he’s been missing for years now without apparently even realizing it.
“I was eighteen and much more interested in where my dick landed rather than how good a song sounded, it’s not one of my proudest moments.” The bard – the merman chuckles cheekily.
“Seems like the lustful portion of that still hasn’t passed.” He says without thinking, too busy trying to avoid the big fish bones as he eats.
“Oh, I assure you, it has not.” The merman purrs, suddenly very close to Geralt again.
He startles a little with a grunt, “Fuck off.” He nudges the other with the back of his hand wincing when something sparks between them. He rubs his hand with the other one, wondering if that was one of the merman’s powers.
“I still can’t believe the White Wolf of Rivia isn’t affected. How peculiar. You’re far from the first Witcher I’ve seen in these years. The others just got their cocks out and I had to send them away. You must be something special,” The merman mumbles, leaning his pale shoulder against Geralt’s side and he lets him. If he’s the first person Jaskier’s talked to in years then he’ll at least be civil about it.
They sit in silence while they finish their fish and Geralt wonders how difficult life as a merman must be. Especially for someone who’s grown up human. He couldn’t imagine being stuck in a different form. He hopes that he can help the blue-eyed idiot out. And if not, well, he’ll at least drop by on occasion to give him some cognizant company.
“How do you know I won’t try and take advantage of you? I could still take the pearls and leave, kill you.” He flicks his eyes over the exposed portion of the other’s tail and itches to touch. He wants to run his fingers along the alluring scales and see if they’re as smooth as they look. Huh.
“Somehow, you don’t seem like the type.” Jaskier grins into his shoulder, making himself comfortable against him.
“And you know me very well, then, huh?” He grunts, watching his own fingers twitching in the sand.
“Heh, it certainly feels like that.” The merman confirms. “You seem like the type of person to care silently. You’re big and strong and mean-looking, meant to strike fear into your enemies’ bones but you’re a big soft bastard on the inside.”
He resents the fact that Ciri always tells him the same.
“You’re also a little dumb.” Jaskier yelps as Geralt jostles him.
Ciri says that often, too.
He looks down where the other’s head is leaned against his shoulder, half-dry hair plastered against the merman’s face, the tips of it light blonde, and concealing the bright blue of his eyes. On its own, his hand reaches up and parts the strands so that he can see the other clearly. The merman’s mouth pops open faintly, cheeks becoming red and the constellation of stars against them becoming even more prominent.
“Geralt?” The merman asks, tentative and gentle and he feels it strike a cord inside him like it’s striking the cords on an elven lute.
“Hm,” He huffs through his nose, tilting his body a little and cupping the other’s cheek. It’s not like – he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But he feels in his bones that if he doesn’t kiss the other right now, he’ll regret it forever.
So he presses his lips to the merman’s gently, softly, waiting for the other’s reaction. Jaskier opens up under him like a flower. His body relaxes and Geralt has to physically stop him from sliding down into the sand. One of his hands meets the place where smooth flesh becomes scales and he rubs a thumb over the smattering of various blues. The other whimpers as Geralt’s hands become firmer, the merman’s own making their way up to Geralt’s shoulders.
When Jaskier opens his mouth it’s like the final piece of the puzzle slots into place. He gasps, tugging back as the scales under his hands disappear. He stares – wide eyed and terrified for the first time in years – six to be exact.
“Julian.”
“You fucker!”
A fist, firm but lacking the webs and the claws, smacks him in the chest and he grips the other’s wrist, stopping him from hurting himself.
“Julian,” He whimpers and the other settles, eyes meeting his finally. And they’re – they’re the same. They’re the same blue of the sea, the same beautiful blue that he’s missed for years without knowing. “Jaskier.”
“What the fuck happened?” The bard, his bard, his companion, the man that’s left a hollow spot in his chest all those years ago, asks with a voice that speaks of betrayal and sorrow and endless pain.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t – I don’t know.” He admits, releasing the other’s wrists to cup his face between his palms. He looks the other over, the broad chest and the familiar scars, the cut of his waist – the legs. Jaskier’s got legs. Thank the Gods.
“The curse – it. You found a loophole. The curse was for me to never find love again. It didn’t count if it was-” The other clamps his mouth shut, eyebrows furrowing and face heating.
And – well. Geralt has a lot of apologizing to do. A lot to make up for.
“It didn’t account for the love you’d already found. If someone from before had already loved you. The memory loss made it harder, I imagine.” He leans in, pressing his nose to Jaskier’s cheek and inhaling like a rabid cur, loving the way Jaskier’s natural scent curls inside his chest. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”
“Geralt,” The other whispers, voice so fragile. “What happened to you? You’re – you’re so different. I mean, for Gods’ sake, you’re apologizing!”
“Let’s just say that raising a child has given me some much-needed emotional depth.” He grins as Jaskier startles back to look at him with surprise in his eyes.
“Your – you went back for Princess Cirilla.”
“I went back for Ciri.” He confirms.
A swirling of sand and a gust of wind to the side and Geralt pushes Jaskier behind him to shield his modesty with his body as Yennefer stumbles through a portal, wide-eyed and panicked.
“Geralt! Geralt it’s-” She pauses, finally taking in the way Geralt is sitting there like an idiot with Jaskier huddled behind him. “Julian.” She finishes, tilting her head before she grins broadly.
“You big bastard, you did it!” She breathes out and Geralt is almost worried about the amount of care she’s exhibiting over the previously-cursed bard.
“Hi, Yen!” Jaskier waves at her excitedly and there’s certainly something there that he’s missing and that he’ll have to ask about later.
“How did you – never mind. Come on; let’s get you two idiots off of this sorry plot of land.” She takes off the long cloak draped around her shoulders and holds it out. He watches as the bard, unconcerned about his state of undress, steps out from behind him and takes the cloth gratefully.
“I’m sorry we forgot you.” She says solemnly and he nods.
“For once, this was entirely my fault.” He chuckles, accepting the hug she offers and there’s definitely something here that Geralt is missing. It’s going to eat him alive from the inside if he doesn’t find out soon, he’s sure.
“Gods, when I find whoever did this.” She clenches her fist menacingly, causing Jaskier to click his tongue in irritation.
“Vengeance later, let’s just get somewhere warm for now.” The bard turns and offers him a hand and Geralt realizes abruptly, that he’s been kneeling at the other’s feet like a useless sod.
He accepts the hand and lets Jaskier drag him up with a surprising amount of strength. In fact, he doesn’t release Jaskier’s hand even as they pass through the portal and come out on the other side in the drawing room of Triss and Yen’s house.
“Jaskier!” Triss yells as she spots them, rushing forward and – why is everyone suddenly so intent on hugging Jaskier?!
The bard releases his hand and accepts the hug from the sorceress. “It’s good to see you, Triss.” Jaskier croons and he sees Triss making a valiant effort at holding off the tears that threaten to run down her cheeks.
“Dear,” Yen intones sweetly, an exasperated smile on her lips as she grasps Triss’ wrist to drag her away from the newly-human-again bard. “I think that we should show our guests to the extra room. Seems like there’s talking to be done there.” She wrinkles her nose in mock-distaste and Triss chuckles, still sounding like she’s on the verge of tears.
“Right, right. Oh, I can't imagine how difficult – right, we’ll talk later.” Triss pats her hands down Jaskier’s front as if she’s checking if he’s visibly injured and the bard just smiles at her disarmingly.
“We’ll catch up, I promise.” Jaskier kisses the back of her hand and allows himself to be flanked by the two women as they make their way up the stairs to the second floor. He follows because it’s all that he can do for now.
Triss ushers Jaskier in but Yennefer stops Geralt at the door. The look on her face is severe, something Geralt hasn’t seen in a while – years maybe.
“If you fuck this up, I will cut your balls off and feed them to my dog.” She growls and Geralt – Geralt has to ask because this is beyond everything he’s ever known her to be. He knew that she’s – that she’s been softer since she’d gotten together with Triss and since they’d gotten their own little bit of peace in their house.
“What - what happened, Yen? I never knew you to be so... protective over him. I'm not – it’s not a bad thing. I'm just – surprised.” He clears his throat, feeling wrong-footed.
“It’s a long story. Entirely your fault. Jaskier – he helped, after the Dragon Mountains. We became friends, he helped with the – ah – Triss situation.” She crosses her arms over her chest, still looking menacing despite being shorter than him. Then again, she is more powerful than he is.
“He – he helped.” He nods, not completely understanding but accepting it for now.
“Yes, he did. And I owe him more than he probably realizes.” She says firmly. “So – if you fuck this up, it’s your head on his dinner plate tomorrow.”
“Alright.” He accepts that as fact as well.
Seemingly satisfied, she lets him pass, calling out to Triss in turn. He spies Triss pecking Jaskier on the cheek and patting him on the chest. He feels a sense of possessiveness rise up inside him that’s been absent from his life for a long time. A sense that’s permeated all of his years with Jaskier by his side, one that he was familiar with – one that was entirely unneeded considering it’s just Triss and Yen with them in the house.
Triss cups his cheek gently as she leaves the room, looking into his eyes for a moment before chuckling. “Be good, yes?”
“I promise.” He smiles at the sorceress and she walks away, seemingly pleased.
He closes the door behind him, turning to face Jaskier who’s still wearing that stupid cloak Yen had given him.
“I searched for you.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind and he lets the words flow just like Ciri had taught him. “After the – after the mountain. I searched. As soon as I found Ciri and got her settled in at Kaer Morhen, I went to look for you. But-”
“I didn’t want to be found.” Jaskier’s expression is open and a little awe-filled.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. How I acted – it was... disrespectful.” He steps forward, a little closer to Jaskier but still a safe distance away.
“Gods, Geralt, I'm just too happy at the moment to be mad! I’ll probably get to that later but – but I'm so relieved.” The bard approaches him in turn, arms outstretched and looking to touch. Geralt breathes in sharply as the other’s palms come to rest on his chest.
“It was – this was possibly the worst five years of my life and I don’t... Honestly, I don't think I'm completely alright. I'm still in shock and spending all that time as a merman has left me with some weird urges and needs that will take a while to fade completely but for now – at least until the shock fades, I'm fine.” The other takes a deep and calming breath but Geralt can still hear his heart hammering in his chest.
“I'm glad you’re okay. I'm glad you’re alive. Gods, Jaskier, I never thought – I didn’t even know you were gone.” He can’t help the guilt that swirls inside of him even though he couldn’t have known.
“Geralt, if you start beating yourself up over something you couldn’t have possibly solved, I’ll – I’ll knee you in the gut.” Jaskier hisses, hands moving up to cup Geralt’s face much like he had the other’s earlier. “You couldn’t have possibly known and yet you’d come to save me anyway. It took a while. But you never cease to amaze me, Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice is so painfully soft and full of admiration that Geralt feels it thrum through him like molten gold.
“What I said.” He starts, throat dry and his voice scraping through it painfully. He watches Jaskier’s face flicker with uncertainty for a moment before he continues. “I meant it, Jaskier. I was an idiot. I was a thoughtless fool to ignore these feelings for so long. And I nearly lost you.”
“Geralt, darling.” Jaskier purrs, tilting his head down and towards himself. “I know these are emotional times but – and I can’t believe I'm saying this – we can talk later.”
“That – what would you rather do?” He asks innocently, biting back a grin as the other presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, I have many things I’d rather do right now but number one is I’d like for you to take me to bed, Geralt.” Jaskier takes a step back, unlacing the cloak from around his neck and letting it slide down his shoulder with a soft rustle of cloth.
“For a quick catnap?” He grins this time, watching as Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly.
“Maybe after you’ve ravished me like you’ve apparently always wanted to.” Jaskier sits at the foot of the bed, spreading his knees apart in invitation and Geralt feels a growl build in his chest. Once again, he finds himself kneeling at the other’s feet but this time with the sole intent of pleasing the other like he hadn’t been able to do so ever before.
“Lovely, a sight for sore eyes.” Jaskier grins, raising a hand to run it across Geralt’s jaw and up into his hair, thumbing over braids. “My, how often I’ve thought about this.” The bard groans a little, tilting forward to run his nose along Geralt’s cheek much like he’d done to the other earlier as well. “And just to be clear, I have thought about this. Often. So many times, Geralt.”
“I could always smell it on you.” He admits, “The arousal. I never thought it was for me.”
“Of course it was for you. Who else could it have been? We were in a damn forest for half of our time spent together, the only ones there. It’s the logical conclusion!” Jaskier sounds both fond and exasperated and Geralt wishes he could shut up now that he’s started talking. Him. Not Jaskier. He’ll never tell Jaskier to shut up ever again.
“I thought you had a great imagination.” He shrugs, hands gripping the other’s bare ankles, thumbs caressing skin.
“I do. But mostly when it comes to you, who were always the star of every fantasy. With those Witcher-y senses of yours, one would think you’d have figured it out. Then again, it took you three years to even realize all of my songs were about you. And even then, you didn’t realize it was because-”
“Shut up, Jaskier.” Well, starting from now. He surges up, finally kissing the other again like he’s wanted to do since he’d realized it was Jaskier that was the merman – his Jaskier. The kiss is edging on desperation as he allows Jaskier to explore messily. While he took charge of the one back in the lagoon, he figures that tonight it about the other and what he wants. Because Geralt surely has a lot to make up for and after a proper talk, he’ll start doing so. But for now, he can offer Jaskier his every fantasy and hope that the other accepts.