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“Geralt, dear. I love you, but—”
Jaskier winces as Geralt pulls away.
“Okay, that came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I love you dearly. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and I don’t know where I would be if I hadn’t met you that day in Posada. Now that I get to kiss you, it’s even better and my love continues to grow daily in a way that cannot be measured,” he pauses, “but.”
“Jaskier.”
“I’m getting to the point!”
The mood is now entirely ruined. Jaskier abandons their kissing position and leans into the headboard. “Let’s start again.” He groans, frustrated. “Geralt, my love, don’t take this the wrong way—”
“Just say what’s wrong.”
Geralt looks genuinely clueless, worried even. Jaskier would roll his eyes if he wasn’t already gone on this man for the very sweetness he is showing.
Jaskier lets out a sigh, crossing his legs so he looks more serious. “Do you really not realize what you do?”
The way Geralt’s eyebrows go up with confusion is answer enough, so Jaskier continues.
“When we are kissing, more precisely, when I’m trying to touch you, you either flinch, or push me, or—” To demonstrate, Jaskier runs a hand up Geralt’s side, caressing the skin under his shirt. Geralt instantly sucks in a breath and bats his hand away with his oh-so legendary witcher speed. “—Or you attack me! See? What is the problem?”
“There is no problem,” Geralt insists, pouting, and Geralt never pouts.
“You are lying, Geralt. Why are you lying all of a sudden? Do you—do you not want me to touch you?” Worry creeps into Jaskier’s voice. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? I’ve been offending you this whole time. Oh, no.”
Before dread can sink in, Geralt almost looks insulted.
“No. Of course not.” Geralt leans forward to steal a quick kiss, and then another, which is sweet and manages to make Jaskier’s blood sing.
Being allowed to kiss Geralt is new, being showered in his affection even more so. Jaskier feels his insides being turned into a warm pool of love with two consecutive kisses, and he’s distracted enough to forget his words for a bit.
“But why?” Jaskier shakes himself awake, tipping his head so the next kiss lands on soft skin under his ear. There’s a slight burn from Geralt’s stubbles, and Jaskier jokes, “Sweet Melitele, I have no clue then. If I didn’t know you better, I’d guess you are too ticklish to be touched.”
Geralt freezes, and the next second stretches into eternity. All Jaskier hears is his own heartbeat in his ear and the subtle hitch in his witcher’s breath.
Oh.
“Wait.” Jaskier pulls back, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm, not believing what he’s about to say. “Are you?”
Geralt blinks, opens his mouth and closes it. “Maybe.”
“Seriously?” Jaskier springs up on the mattress like an excited puppy. “All this time, I thought you hated me—”
“That’s a bit dramatic."
“—But it’s because you are ticklish! Oh, what will the people think, knowing the fearsome white wolf can be easily defeated by a few tickles!” Jaskier lets out a laugh, watching as his witcher’s face turns pink. “Think about what this will do for your reputation! Your worst weakness, now uncovered by a simple bard.”
“Not simple.” The blush spreads to the shells of Geralt’s ear, but he still clings to the picture of defiance that he’s trying—and failing—to paint. “He’s just the most terrible one, too cheeky, and cruel too.”
Jaskier squawks with indignation. “Are we feeling rude today, hmm? Don’t forget that I now hold your darkest secret in my palm!” The bard rubs his hands together, smiling an evil smile. “There will be consequences, witcher, for being mean to your best, best bard in the world!”
With that, Jaskier lunges at Geralt and tackles him with all his might, landing them both on the bed. Within the blink of an eye, a tickle fight is descended upon the witcher who does not appreciate his bard enough. Jaskier sneaks his hands up Geralt’s shirt, which makes the witcher gasp in surprise.
“Jaskier!” Geralt warns, chuckling uncontrollably, his whole body squirming under Jaskier’s nimble fingers.
“Take back what you said!”
Stubbornly, Geralt sends a challenging look and only retaliates by trying to tickle Jaskier under the arms in return. Alas, the bard is not nearly as ticklish, and Geralt never uses his full strength—he never does when it comes to Jaskier, no matter how much of a bastard he is.
In the end, Jaskier is the one who ends up with the upper hand and Geralt is pinned to the bed and panting hard. His hair is a mess and his golden pupils are blown wide.
“Stop, Jask—”
Geralt begs between urgent breaths, his expression softened by fondness, and Jaskier stops immediately. All of his weight is holding Geralt in place, so he shifts to move away.
At the slight movement, Geralt flinches as if expecting Jaskier to attack again. The amusement in his eyes fades a little, replaced by a hint of anxiety.
“Hey, it’s alright. I’m stopping,” Jaskier reassures quickly, plopping down next to Geralt on the bed so they are shoulder to shoulder. He raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “Promise.”
“Hmm.”
The tension in Geralt’s body releases, his eyes now soft and relaxed. Jaskier props himself up on an elbow, looking down fondly at his witcher’s beautiful blush and his heaving chest.
“I didn’t know this about you,” Jaskier says, picking up a strand of white hair and wrapping it around his thumb. “Weird. Feels like I should, somehow.”
“I don’t exactly advertise it.” Geralt pauses. “After the trials, all witchers’ senses are enhanced. Hearing, sight, smell…”
It dawns on Jaskier.
“And touch,” he adds. “So it’s a witcher thing? Your skin is also sensitive just like everything else. Are all of you like this?”
And now Geralt looks pained. “No. Just me.”
“Oh.” Jaskier reaches out and Geralt’s hand is right there, ready to accept his comfort. “It’s the extra mutation.”
“Yeah.”
Silence hangs between them for a moment.
“Now I feel bad for teasing you,” Jaskier says as Geralt snorts. “It’s true! It’s horrifying to think. To have a lover’s touch turned into something you need to suffer through… That is just sad, darling. Has it always been this bad? How do you kiss others? And bed them? Do they just…not touch you?”
Can Jaskier not touch him too? The prospect tastes bitter on Jaskier’s tongue, but Geralt only lets out a laugh.
“No, silly bard.” Geralt bops him on the nose. “It’s fine as long as it’s not too light. And it’s not like this with the others.”
“Oh?” Jaskier frowns.
“They are not like you.” Geralt shrugs. “No one has handled me this carefully. Your touch—it feels featherlight, sometimes. It takes me by surprise. You hold me like I’m something that can break.”
“But you can,” Jaskier protests. “I know you can, and you deserve careful handling too.”
The crooked smile Geralt gives him is warm and indulgent, and he brings Jaskier’s hand up for a kiss.
“Well, then we have a conundrum.”
And what a terrible conundrum it is.
Jaskier worries his lower lip, determination rising in his chest. “That won’t do,” he decides, sitting up and pulling Geralt with him. “Teach me.”
“Pardon?” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up.
Jaskier lets out an exhale. “Teach me how to touch you. I need to learn so I can properly care for my witcher who, despite denying it on multiple occasions, definitely enjoys gentle kisses and cuddles, so the lack thereof is unacceptable. Now, chop chop!”
Geralt looks like he wants to mock for a moment, but the dead seriousness on Jaskier’s face must deter him. Clearing his throat, Geralt moves to sit against a pillow.
“Alright,” he guides Jaskier’s hand to his face first. “This is fine.”
“Obviously.” The bard leans in for a tiny kiss, his thumb tracing the stubbles there. “Good start?”
“Good.”
Jaskier’s hand is wrapped in a much more callused one, and moved downward to press against Geralt’s pulse. A slow rhythm thrums under his fingertips.
“Neck, not so good.” Geralt’s throat bobs under Jaskier’s palm. “Don’t be too gentle, and don’t hover.”
Jaskier smiles, tilting up Geralt’s chin, and presses a bruising kiss on the witcher’s pulse point, deliberate and sure. A strand of stray hair is in the way so Jaskier tucks it away, and a contented purr rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest.
“Hmm. Feels pretty good to me,” Jaskier winks, pulling away.
Geralt looks at him like he’s just bought new shoes for Roach and convinced the seller to throw in a horse blanket too.
“Next?” Jaskier prompts, and he is pulled forward by an arm wrapped behind his back until he’s straddling Geralt’s thighs.
They shift a little before Jaskier settles down, trapping Geralt’s hips between his knees.
“I like it, like this,” Geralt says. “Your weight is comfortable.”
“Ooh, high compliment.”
“Don’t get smug.” Geralt huffs, placing one of Jaskier’s hands at the small of his back and the other on his chest. “Now, the back is okay, but—” Jaskier tries to trace one of the scars under Geralt’s collarbone, but hears a sudden gasp. “The scars are sensitive, so you need to hold on tight.”
Geralt puts more force at the back of Jaskier’s hand and moves him further down.
“Same here?” Jaskier asks.
“Mm-hmm.”
Jaskier’s hand roams freely. He makes sure every touch is certain and purposeful. When he reaches Geralt’s belly, his thumb runs a few soothing circles there before moving to the side.
“This alright?” Jaskier looks up to observe Geralt’s reaction.
“It’s nice—ah!” Geralt’s hand snaps to Jaskier’s, and it’s obvious that he’s forcing himself not to fight Jaskier off. The bard tries to retract his hand but only to be caught again. “No, don’t go. It’s okay.”
Jaskier’s palm is placed in the dip of Geralt’s waist again, the sharp angles of the witcher’s ribs now less prominent from being well-fed in winter. It makes Jaskier grin with pride.
“Just,” Geralt says, squeezing Jaskier’s wrist reassuringly, “don’t go any up. Here is fine.”
“Here?”
“Hmm.”
The hum that escapes Geralt’s chest is a happy thing, and they are sitting incredibly close. Jaskier leans in with his hands exactly where they are left, nuzzling Geralt’s nose once before catching his lips. The kiss deepens, and all that surrounds Jaskier is the clean scent of linen and soap.
Geralt holds onto Jaskier tightly too.
When they break the kiss, a blush has returned to Geralt’s ears, and Jaskier imagines he can’t be much better.
“I guess we are not too ticklish now,” Jaskier teases.
The only answer he gets is Geralt’s lazy smile before he buries his face into Jaskier’s chest, clinging tightly still.
“Thank you for the lesson,” Jaskier murmurs into the mess that is Geralt’s hair. “It’s an important one. I won’t tell anyone else.”
It feels like a secret, all the intricate workings of Geralt’s body, and Jaskier is privileged enough to keep it in his heart. It might be greedy that he intends to learn more until all parts of Geralt are uncovered under his hands.
“I love you too,” Geralt says, voice muffled in Jaskier’s chemise. “No buts.”
A string of giggles takes over Jaskier, and soon they are both laughing like fools. It’s truly ridiculous how much he loves this man when he knows this love still has room to grow tomorrow.