Chapter Text
It felt too good to be true, and Geralt kept waiting to wake up from a dream - alone and cold and still full of painful, unrequited longing.
But it didn’t happen. Instead, he had Jaskier by his side and in his bed, hanging over Geralt cheekily at any excuse, flushing and grinning widely whenever their eyes met. Geralt had seen Jaskier’s charms reduce burly Alphas to putty. He was afraid he was no exception.
“Do you know what I love about you?” Jaskier slurred, pleasantly flushed from drink, his hair golden-brown in the tavern’s firelight. Their knees bumped warmly under the table.
“What?” Geralt asked, hiding his smile with a drink from his tankard.
“You’re not like other Alphas,” Jaskier mumbled, leaning on one elbow and looking in serious danger of toppling over.
“Hm?” Geralt reached over the table and gently righted him.
“You’re really equi … egal…” Jaskier squinted, “egalitarian. Very even-minded,” he reached for his goblet and scowled to find it empty. “Geralt, we must order more wine.”
“Alas, we have drunk the purse,” Geralt said dryly, though that was not strictly true. Though it was just the two of them and a pitiful party indeed, Jaskier had insisted celebrating their bonding by corousing through all the taverns of Daevon. Geralt, already frightingly besotted, had agreed.
Now, he wondered privately if it had been a mistake to allow Jaskier to get so far in his cups. Geralt was hoping to ask Jaskier something important tonight, and now it looked like he would have to repeat it again in the morning.
“Alas!” Jaskier collapsed over the table dramatically, accidentally shoving his empty goblet off the edge of the table, which Geralt caught wordlessly and replaced on a nearby window ledge.
“Jaskier ... ” Geralt started, deciding to just take the plunge.
“Anyway, what was I saying?” Jaskier tapped a forefinger on his bottom lip. “Ah, how egalitarian you are!” He pushed himself away from the table to sit upright. “Some Alphas, you know, are so terrible to Omegas. It’s either this fake-sweet condescending shit, or being pawed over and treated like a piece of property,” Jaskier’s face screwed up in a scowl, “Hate that.”
“Remarkably low standards you hold me to,” Geralt said dryly, feeling a brief protectiveness at the thought of Jaskier being mistreated by other Alphas. “Now listen-”
“You’d be surprised,” Jaskier said, drawing each word out. “There are some stories I could tell, even in Oxenfurt, where you’d think an Alpha that introduced themselves as bohemian-”
Geralt sighed, deciding to release the thread for tonight. He finished his ale as Jaskier continued his rambling, pausing for breath only when Geralt stood and hauled him to his feet.
“Ooooh,” Jaskier said excitedly as Geralt began dragging him in the direction of the rooms upstairs, “shall we commence with the wedding night?”
Geralt laughed softly. Though there were others in the room, it felt as if they moved in a space all their own. The other tavern-goers were eager to skitter from the path of the Witcher and the Bard hanging off of his arm. In another time, Geralt might have minded their distainful looks, but now he had the warm weight of Jaskier at his side and the sound of his bright chatter.
“If this is our wedding night, then what was all last week?” Geralt asked, pushing open the door of their room and depositing Jaskier on the bed. With clinging arms, Jaskier dragged Geralt down after him, making the mattress bounce with their weight.
Geralt pushed himself up onto his forearms, looking down at Jaskier beneath him, flushed and lovely, his dark hair spread upon the pale pillows.
“Practice?” Jaskier offered, his voice low as his long, slim fingers began unlacing the front of Geralt’s shirt.
Geralt lowered his head slowly, watching Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut before pressing him into a slow, hot kiss. Jaskier’s mouth opened under Geralt’s, his tongue slick and eager.
With a loud groan, Geralt rolled his hips against Jaskier’s crotch, thinking that he might never be able to get enough of this, that he might go mad with it.
“Hurry,” Jaskier muttered against Geralt’s lips as he tugged his shirt from his breeches, slipping his hands under to roam along Geralt’s bare back. Geralt hissed when he felt Jaskier’s nails sink into the meat of his shoulders.
Geralt leaned back to strip off his shirt, tossing it to a corner of the room. Under him, Jaskier was strugging with his own clothing. Geralt hooked his fingers under the band of Jaskier’s pants and was about to pull them down when-
A loud rapping sound rang through the room, followed by a muffled voice. “Please sir, is there a Witcher in there?”
Geralt stilled, gritting his teeth. “He’s busy at the moment!” he called. Jaskier caught Geralt’s eye and his expression turned plaintive, reaching out to grope clumsily at Geralt’s trapped cock.
“The alderman says he needs you. There’s a girl that’s been killed!”
That threw a bucked of cold water over the proceedings. Jaskier sighed and collapsed limply in the bed as Geralt climbed off of him, walking stiffly to the door and opening it a crack.
The messenger, a barmaid from the inn, blanched when she saw Geralt’s thunderous expression.
“Tell him I’ll be there, but that it’s going to cost him,” Geralt gritted through his teeth, before closing the door with a slam.
--
When Geralt got back, it was almost morning.
He had tracked the beast that mauled the village girl to its lair, but it was abent. The best he could do was lay a trap, in hopes that it would return after dawn.
Jaskier was asleep, a warm mound of blankets in the middle of the bed that stirred at Geralt’s touch.
“I wanted to wait up for you,” Jaskier yawned, rubbing at his eyes as Geralt stripped off his grimy clothes and crawled into bed, “Gotta get the details while they’re fresh …” he trailed off as Geralt slid under the covers behind him, burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder with a tired, hungry sound.
“Nothing to write about yet,” Geralt said, drawing Jaskier’s close and holding him tightly around his waist.
If Jaskier minded Geralt’s filth or his chilled skin he didn’t say, relaxing in Geralt’s hold until he returned once more to sleep, his chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. Geralt felt something indescribable, something fluttering and fragile in his chest. Before he could examine it too deeply, his eyes closed and he fell deeply, instantly asleep.
--
When Geralt next woke, the sun was high in the sky, bleeding a harsh light through the open window. Squinting, he levered himself up on one elbow, looking around the room. The bed was cold and empty, and Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.
That alone was enough to put Geralt in a bad mood, but he also had a pounding headache and his skin felt too hot, though he had not drunk nearly as much as Jaskier last night.
Geralt swung his feet off of the bed, the cold of the floor shocking him awake. It was growing late in the season, when it seemed that the first frost of winter would snap any day. Already, Geralt could see the ghost of his breath hanging in the air, feeling a chill in the room despite the flagging fire.
Last winter, he had not returned to Kaer Morhen. This year …
Remembering that he had not, on multiple levels, been able to achieve his goals last night, Geralt dressed quickly, grabbing his equiptment before he descended the staircase to the tavern below.
In the morning, the barroom was sparsely occupied, just a few drunks in the corner, a handful of laborers taking their breakfasts near the door, and-
“Extraordinary!” Jaskier said loudly. He was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, one leg curled under himself, scribbling excitedly in his notebook with the tip of his tongue peeking from his mouth the way it only did when he had recieved a jolt of pure inspiration. “And then what?”
The man sitting across from Jaskier blinked his yellow eyes and grinned widely.
“Oh, Geralt, you’re finally awake!” Jaskier called as he caught sight of him from across the room. “Were you going to join us or just glower in the corner all day?”
Geralt walked slowly towards the table, his skin pricking and his hackles rising as he met the bemused gaze of the Witcher leaning into his Omega’s space.
“What luck! I’ve never met another Witcher before,” Jaskier said happily, flipping to a new page of his notebook, “Geralt, I can’t believe the potion Aiden gave me. Cures hangovers in a snap! Why don’t you ever make useful potions like that …?”