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In Geralt’s defense of his long moment of silence, he’s just gotten off of a 16-hour shift covering for Aiden to have a weekend away with Lambert, so his–admittedly very beautiful–neighbor turning up at his door and very expectantly asking him to “handle” a spider throws him for more of a loop than it might otherwise.
“...are you serious?” He manages at last, and that makes his neighbor give him incredibly earnest eyes. Geralt notes distantly that his irises are an incredible blue, a range of shades like in a painting of water.
“Darling,” the man says very seriously, and Geralt feels a shamefully adolescent flush of fluster at the endearment, “just wait until you see it. It is the size of a Doberman, if not an Irish Wolfhound!”
Geralt tries to read the man’s face before he looks around for a hidden camera. His youngest brother is supposed to be away this weekend with his boyfriend, but this entire situation reeks of Lambert’s exact sense of humor. Geralt is suddenly quite sure there’s a whipped cream pie to the face waiting at the end of wherever his neighbor is leading him with this conversation.
“You can’t just hit it with a shoe?”
That makes the man inhale sharply and press a hand to his chest, like a church matron clutching her pearls. “The spider is an animal, but I most certainly am not! I am not trying to banish the little beast from the mortal coil. I am simply trying to evict him from the previously-spiderless sanctuary of my home.”
“Then put him in a cup and release him outside?” Geralt is thoroughly confounded by the way he’s been drawn into giving this advice and how naturally he’s been drawn into giving the creature pronouns.
“And risk him jumping at me?” Neighbor says, planting his hands on his hips. “I can see the violence brimming in his many, many eyes. The bastard will not be going quietly. The first sign of confrontation, and he’ll be going right for the jugular. This is a job for a professional only,” he says, with a significant look to the forest green uniform Geralt is still wearing, “z Rivii” printed neatly on a patch above the Kaer Morhen Animal Management logo embroidered on the material.
Before he can say anything, Geralt feels a tug on his trouser leg and looks down to find his seven-year-old tugging at him, her sparkly yellow tutu pulled over her own trousers made of the same material as his, a joke-gift from Yen a few months ago that Ciri had immediately adored and required more pairs of.
“Papa, if you’re too scared,” Neighbor quietly snorts at this, “then I can do it!”
She already has her Official Bug Catcher Cup in hand, carried home from the office the way other children might lug around a stuffed animal. Naming her the Resident Bug Wrangler had been a joke soon after Geralt had begun bringing her to the office with him when she was still too small to be at school; a series of lackluster babysitters had meant Vesemir had finally told him to just bring her and let them figure it out from there. Since she’s been old enough, Ciri has become fiercely proud of her role, offended when anyone dares presume to venture into her jurisdiction. Now, his daughter turns to Neighbor and speaks in a very professional tone that sounds suspiciously like how Eskel sounds on the phone.
“I have all the proper qualifications,” she says with a small, self-assured tilt of her head that’s all Yen. “My papa and my uncles and my grandpa are all in the business,” a phrase she’s parroted endlessly since she first heard it three weeks ago, “and I am the manager of all bugs.”
Neighbor very kindly does not laugh at this, and it makes Geralt like him a bit more if only for that. Instead, Neighbor kneels so he can extend his hand without Ciri having to reach for it.
“Well, Miss Bug Buster,” the name makes Ciri grin, and Geralt has some guesses about what’s going to be written in the namespace of all of her school books shortly, “if your father,” a quick look to confirm the correctness of his guess here, and Geralt nods slightly, “is alright with it, I would be honored to hire your expert services.” He looks to Geralt then. “Only if your father is alright with it, of course.”
“I can do it, right papa?” Ciri asks, looking up to him.
Geralt looks to the neighbor and narrows his eyes, considering. They’ve only just moved to this neighborhood, but Neighbor hasn’t actually given him any reasons to suspect him of being a creep. His first impression of the man had been Neighbor running out with only one shoe on to help Mrs. Rowan down the block catch Jake, her escape artist of a miniature poodle. Their interactions since then have been similarly innocuous. From what he’s observed, the man seems to be a musician of some kind and is so friendly he might be giving Mr. Rogers a run for his money. And as weird as his request was, he didn’t come over asking for Ciri to go to his house, and he’s very clearly waiting for Geralt’s judgment yea or nay.
And Ciri is looking up at him with her very best puppy dog eyes, the ones that once got her an inflatable ball pit for Christmas that had been the bane of Geralt’s existence until a tragic “accident” involving a sharp-edged vacuum several months later finally put an end to it.
“Alright,” he says at last, and Ciri cheers, darting away to tug her bedazzled “work” boots back on.
*
“I’m Jaskier, by the way,” Neighbor says as they follow a skipping Ciri back to the man’s home. “Pankratz, if we’re going to be doing a law enforcement last-names-only situation.”
“Geralt,” he says in response, and Jaskier grins at him.
“Aw, no formal z Rivii? I was about to see if I could print out a badge.”
“I’m Ciri!” The girl calls back, pigtails bouncing with every step. “You can call me z Rivii if you want!”
Geralt smiles slightly.
“I don’t know, which is better, Bug Buster or z Rivii?” Jaskier calls back.
Ciri thinks about it for a moment.
“I think Bug Buster.” She says with a serious nod that Jaskier returns with equal gravitas.
“Bug Buster it is, then,” he says, stepping forward to unlock the door and letting them both precede him.
Ciri, no matter the many reflective qualities of her outfit, is the picture of miniature professionalism as she holds her cup in a ready position, a holographic Pokemon card fished from a pocket to serve as the other component of her bug wrangling equipment.
Jaskier points to a wall in the corner of the living room, where a spider of a stunningly large size is sitting patiently.
“Don’t worry,” Ciri assures Jaskier with calm confidence, “I see this all the time.”
Jaskier presses one hand to his mouth to hide his smile, and Geralt finds he likes him even more for the continuance of his attempts at not letting on how funny he finds the little girl’s seriousness at her task. It’s a rare person without children of their own that doesn’t infantilize Ciri or find her bizarre, and Geralt finds himself warming to the man, no matter his apparent arachnophobia.
His fear of spiders does seem genuine from how fast Jaskier gets out of the way once Ciri turns with her quarry and heads for the door, and he’s entirely sincere when he thanks her. Ciri, for her part, waves off his thanks as if she rids strangers of their spider problems all the time. When she looks around at the instruments spread across the living room, however, her voice is much more excited.
“Do you play all of these?” She asks with wonder.
“Some of them better than others, but yeah,” Jaskier says.
He lets Ciri handle them, plucking away at a guitar and pressing at a piano gingerly before drawing a screeching chord across a violin. Finally, she turns to Jaskier.
“Could you-” She falters for a moment, looking to Geralt for reassurance. He has no idea what she’s about to ask, but she seems to recover her courage without any input from him. “Could you teach me how to play one?” Her voice is a little shy, but she’s clearly earnest in the request, and Jaskier smiles at her kindly.
“It would be my pleasure,” he tells her. He looks to Geralt for permission and receives a nod. Yen’s been telling him he needs to get Ciri involved in things that aren’t being a junior animal control officer, and he’s not one to turn down an opportunity that presents itself so neatly.
“What are your rates?” He asks Jaskier, wanting to get that out of the way.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says easily. “Handle my spiders, and we’ll call it square.”
*
Ciri’s lessons start the next day.
She decides quickly that the drums are calling to her.
Geralt has some regrets about their deal.
*
Still wary of leaving her with a stranger he doesn’t know, Geralt always goes with Ciri and stays with her during the first few weeks of lessons (and her spider calls). Jaskier proves an excellent teacher, patient and encouraging, even when Geralt can see how much he wants to wince at the more jarring of the mistakes. Ciri, to Geralt’s growing horror, maintains her predilection for the drums, although she does a little bit of learning with the guitar. Her hands are still too small for most of the chords, but Jaskier picks out simple songs for her and lends a helping hand when necessary.
Geralt even begins to look forward to the lessons, no matter the times he leaves with a headache after some particularly enthusiastic drumming practice.
It’s nice, to watch his child do something she very clearly enjoys with someone who seems to have endless enthusiasm for it, never getting short or frustrated with her, always praising her like she’s the world’s next drum-based Mozart. Attempts at coaxing Geralt into learning as well fail from the start and are given up as a lost cause, but Jaskier doesn’t appear to bear a grudge.
All in all, Geralt is glad for the musician’s growing presence in their life, no matter how strange the man may seem.
And then comes an emergency call from Eskel at 6:47 pm, when the office is closed, Yen is at a conference with Triss as her plus one, Vesemir is on an overnight fishing trip, and Lambert and Aiden are both already two beers deep at a bar’s trivia night.
A family is trapped in their house by a rabid dog in their backyard, Eskel needs backup on the call, and Geralt has absolutely no childcare.
He debates with himself for a long few minutes about what to do. He could take Ciri with him and just let her sit in the truck, but he’s hesitant to leave his child in an unattended vehicle late at night, especially when there’s a rabid animal in the vicinity.
Finally, he makes himself suck it up and picks up his phone.
Jaskier answers after the third ring.
“Well hello there,” he answers brightly, “and what might the occasion be for a lovely surprise evening call?”
Geralt hesitates for a moment, but the thought of his brother trying to handle a rabid dog alone pushes him into action.
“I’m so sorry to ask, but I really have no other options here. Can you watch Ciri?” Geralt gives him a scant second of opportunity to answer before he’s already babbling more excuses. “I’m so sorry to ask, I know it’s late, and you might already have plans, but I really have no one else to watch her, and the office is already closed, and there’s a rabid dog, so my brother needs me, and-”
“Your place or mine?” Jaskier interrupts when Geralt stops to draw a breath.
Geralt blinks, surprised at the ease of it.
“Yours,” he answers. If he’s already saddling Jaskier with a kid he didn’t expect for an hour or two, the man might as well be in the comfort of his own home.
Ciri is nervous as she always is when he goes on emergency calls, but she’s also excited to have more time at Jaskier’s. She greets the musician with a hug when he answers the door and then spins to hug Geralt tightly.
“Be safe, okay?” She says, squeezing him harder. Geralt holds her back just as tight, rocking her gently.
“I will. I’ll be back in no time.”
Jaskier accepts Ciri’s little purple backpack–filled with coloring books and the third book of the Narnia series and a few other things to keep a child occupied for a surprise babysitter–and slings it over his shoulder, giving the little girl an encouraging grin as he ushers her in.
“Don’t worry,” Jaskier says to Ciri while he turns to include Geralt in the reassurance, too. “We’ll be just fine here.”
*
Geralt has been hexed by a very specific witch, he thinks.
The rabid dog had taken two and a half hours to handle between neutralizing it, confirming that it hadn’t been in contact with any of the family’s pets, and coordinating with the right government agency to come collect it for testing. By the time they’d been done with it, Geralt had been ready to retrieve his child and call it a night, but as soon as they’d gotten into the truck, they’d gotten a call about an injured deer by the road with a small fawn at her side, and that had taken another hour and a half to capture them both and transport them to a wildlife rescue that had space. As if that wasn’t enough, they’d then received a call from a near-hysterical man claiming some furry beast had gotten into his home and was savaging his living room.
Geralt had let Eskel handle that last one, his own nerves too frayed to deal with what turned out to be a situation of a cat owner refusing to wear his glasses and mistaking his cat as a wild animal coming through his doggy door.
By the time they return to the truck after that, Geralt is ready to toss both of their phones out of the window if they ring again.
Thankfully for their budgets, they don’t.
*
It’s past midnight before Geralt actually gets back to his neighborhood, and he doesn’t even bother going in his own home first to drop off his supplies, parking his truck in the driveway and jogging to Jaskier’s house. The lights are down, a play of colors through the drawn curtain suggesting a movie playing on the television. He knocks softly, and Jaskier answers quickly, holding one finger to his lips in a gesture of quiet. He nods his head back to Ciri sleeping like the dead on Jaskier’s couch, bundled up under a fuzzy blanket.
“She’s been out for about an hour now,” Jaskier whispers. “Sorry if that’s not her usual bedtime, but she was too keyed up before then. She’s had her supper already and brushed her teeth with a spare I had here, so she should be good to stay asleep for the night.”
Geralt is more than a little surprised at the deftness of Jaskier’s handling of the night.
“Thanks,” he says genuinely. He reaches for his wallet. “How much do I-”
“Nothing!” Jaskier says, batting at his hand until he desists. “I’ve been mooching off of her free spider services for weeks now. Least I can do is feed her some spaghetti and let her crash on my couch for a bit.”
“Still, I won’t make a regular habit of this, I promise,” Geralt says, moving to gather Ciri up. The girl rouses only enough to give him a sleepy “Hi, papa,” before she’s out once more.
“I don’t mind,” Jaskier says, draping one of Ciri’s arms more securely over Geralt’s shoulder. “She’s a cool kid, and I’m guessing animal control doesn’t come with a lot of childcare benefits.”
Geralt grimaces in agreement, remembering the long stretch of time in which a playpen was a central decoration in their small office.
“She’s usually at the office, but when it’s closed…” He trails off, and Jaskier gives him an easy smile.
“No worries,” he says, following Geralt to the door. “It’s not like I have a normal schedule anyway. If you ever need anyone to watch her, my humble abode is at your disposal.” He grins, then. “Besides, it’ll give me even more time to corrupt her into pursuing the arts over a practical trade.”
Geralt rolls his eyes at that, but he’s smiling as he leaves.
*
Without his really meaning to, Jaskier’s babysitting ends up becoming a semi-regular occurrence.
Even without unexpected emergency calls, it’s frankly just more convenient to leave Ciri at a house a few doors down instead of having to stop at the office or drive to someone else’s house so he won’t be taking his kid on a call with him. Jaskier’s schedule also ends up being pretty flexible. His shows are mostly on weekends when Geralt tends to get fewer calls anyway, and he never seems to mind when his afternoons and evenings suddenly involve babysitting.
After a few weeks, Ciri even has her own little store of arts and crafts supplies at Jaskier’s house, and Jaskier gets a key to their home as well for the times a call will be extra late and Ciri needs to be in bed for school the next day. Jaskier’s past as a camp counselor in his teens appears front and center with the variety of activities Geralt comes home to, s’mores and beading projects and macrame. It’s a relief, knowing Ciri will be cared for and entertained by someone he can trust with her, and Geralt is relieved of a stress he didn’t even fully know he had until it’s suddenly gone.
He comes home one Saturday months into their arrangement to find Jaskier and Ciri conked out on the couch together, Ratatouille playing away unwatched on the television. Ciri’s feet are pressed to Jaskier’s thigh, Roach a fuzzy circle on the musician’s lap, purring softly.
It’s nice, Geralt thinks as he watches Jaskier–woken up only with great effort and groggy even after doing so–from the door to make sure he gets to his house safe, having a scene like that to come home to.
He falls asleep happy and has pleasant dreams he doesn’t quite remember when he wakes up.
*
“I am being menaced by another home invader. Please deploy the child.”
Geralt, despite the way he can’t help but smile a bit at the sheer drama of it all, makes sure to sigh heavily in a way that Jaskier will hear before he actually summons the girl.
“Ciri!” He calls. “Jaskier has another spider!” The delighted giggle tells him the contract has been made, and he lifts the phone to his ear once more. “An agent is en route to your residence.”
“God bless you and your prodigious offspring. Bye bye now.”
Geralt ends the call before the kissing noise that follows the sign-off even ends.
*
“Where the fuck do you get off giving my child a kazoo?”
Geralt doesn’t even bother with any formalities like a greeting.
He has more pressing concerns to handle.
“And what makes you think I gave Bug Buster a musical weapon of mass destruction?”
He can hear the smile in Jaskier’s voice. Bastard.
“You’re handling your spiders on your own from now on.”
Jaskier tsks.
“What, you don’t think I can scream loud enough to make it your problem, too?”
Geralt doesn’t doubt it.
*
Geralt does not withhold Ciri’s services.
Geralt does buy Ciri a pair of squeaky shoes just for her visits to Jaskier’s house.
“It’s like a siren on an ambulance,” he tells his child as she makes her noisy way out of the house the day after they arrive in the mail. “So he knows you’re coming.”
Geralt feels nearly giddy watching her go.
*
Geralt answers his phone on the first ring. He can already hear Ciri squeaking her way back down the street.
“Touché, asshole. There will be retribution.”
The line goes dead.
Geralt grins and kicks his feet up as his daughter makes her loud way through the front door.
*
Ciri wanders home two weeks later with her very own snare drum.
“I thought it would be good for her to get some practice in even when she can’t use my set,” Jaskier drawls as he leans languorously against the door frame, while Ciri marches around the living room very much not in rhythm with the beat of her own drum.
Roach makes a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the underside of the guest bed.
“You’re a scourge,” Geralt tells him, wishing already that he could follow his cat.
Jaskier blows him a kiss as he leaves.
*
As horrible as it may be for the serenity of their home, Ciri is diligent with her drum practice, and when the school’s talent show rolls around, she comes home practically bouncing with excitement. Geralt signs the permission slip for her to participate and then lets Ciri run down the street to invite Jaskier. Geralt warns her not to be pushy, but her puppy dog eyes are a powerful weapon, and Jaskier is right beside him when the night comes, a bouquet of flowers in hand.
Jaskier gives any PTA parent a run for their money with his applause, and Ciri glows with pride when she finishes her snare drum performance.
“You and your husband are doing a great job with her,” a mother Geralt doesn’t know tells him when Ciri is busy introducing Jaskier to her favorite teacher.
Geralt is so flustered he can’t even reply to correct her before the woman walks away.
*
Most of Jaskier’s shows aren’t in places suitable for little eyes and ears, so when he tells them about a summer festival he’s playing when the three of them are out for ice cream one evening, Ciri is excited about the opportunity.
“You saw my talent show!” Ciri chirps, ducking her head quickly to lick at a rogue stream of melted ice cream making its way onto her hand. Frozen treat crisis averted, she looks at Jaskier again. “So now I can see your show!”
Jaskier looks amused at his gig being called a talent show. He’s chosen a cup and spoon for his own ice cream, and Geralt’s suspicions about why are proven correct when he has to ward off an attempt at stealing some of his own treat.
“You picked mint chocolate,” Geralt tells him, parrying Jaskier’s spoon with his own. “Live with your choices.”
Jaskier pouts at him, making Ciri laugh.
“Well,” he tells the girl, “if your father has no objections to your attendance, you’ll most certainly be welcome.” He turns to Geralt. “My band goes on at around 6:30 if you don’t want to be out there all afternoon listening to the other sub-par performers.” The last bit is said with an arrogant tilt of his head that Ciri immediately copies.
“Hm,” Geralt says, warding off another attempt at stealing from him, “we’ll see.”
*
With parking, they end up actually getting into the festival at 6:41.
Ciri tugs at his hand with so much urgency it’s as if they’d rolled in at 8.
“C’mon, papa!” She says, turning slightly to use both hands to try and pull him faster. “Jask is already on! We’re missing it!”
“It’s not as if you haven’t heard him before,” Geralt tells her, ceding to a power walk in compromise. Ciri gives him a look like he’s missing something very obvious.
“It’s about the magic of a live audience, papa!” Ciri tells him, very clearly echoing a certain blue-eyed musician. “The energy! The love of the crowd! The special pizazz!”
Geralt wonders if perhaps Ciri could use with a few less music sessions.
*
Despite Ciri’s worries, they make it just as the band is winding down from their first song. Geralt hoists Ciri up to his shoulders, and she waves wildly until Jaskier’s attention is caught, and he smiles at them, waving briefly in return before his hand returns to his guitar. They transition smoothly into the next song, and at Ciri’s earnest beseeching, Geralt manages to get them closer, dodging more than a few elbows.
Jaskier is transfixing live, as it turns out. Geralt enjoys his music, even if he won’t openly admit to it for fear of swelling the man’s ego so large he’ll stop fitting in doors, but there’s also something electric about watching the musician perform live. There’s a certain energy to him, like he’s absorbing it from the crowd and giving it back just as enthusiastically.
From the looks on the faces of more than a few of his fellow audience members, Geralt isn’t the only one affected.
They’ve made it through six songs before they actually come to a proper stop, the rest of the set flowing smoothly with no pause, and Jaskier is flushed and dewy with a light shimmer of sweat when he swings his guitar behind his back and takes the microphone with both hands. He smiles at the audience and then finds Geralt and Ciri, smile widening.
“You’ve been a beautiful audience!” He calls, pausing to let the cheers subside. “And now I wondered if I might beg your indulgence for a bit of a change in ranks.” Some enthusiastic–if confused–murmuring from the crowd. “There’s a very special young lady in the audience tonight who is an absolutely magnificent drummer, and if she’s keen, I’d like to invite her to play this next one with us.”
Ciri wiggles with excitement.
“Does he mean me, papa?” She asks, voice high with excitement despite the way she’s trying to whisper.
From the way Jaskier is grinning at seeing her happiness, Geralt knows the answer is yes.
The audience picks up on what’s going on as he moves forward and parts to let him. There are a few confused and disappointed faces at a child joining a professional band, but even more than that are people pleased by such an unexpected change, giving Ciri encouraging looks and “You go, girl!”s.
Jaskier gestures for applause once Geralt lifts her onto the stage, and Ciri gives the audience a little bow before she scrambles back to the drumset, the drummer giving up her seat with a smile and adjusting a few of the drums for smaller arms to reach. Ciri stumbles over a cord in her excitement but recovers herself quickly, settling down. Jaskier walks over and has a hushed discussion with her, and from the relieved smile and the confident nod she gives him, she knows the song he’s planning on playing. Ciri set, Jaskier returns to the front of the stage and strums the first few chords.
It’s a love song, something slow and sweet, crooned more than sung. Ciri’s contribution is little more than making sure she doesn’t get too loud with her occasional soft taps, but Geralt can feel himself glowing with pride at his child on a stage playing with a professional band. Valiantly fighting the urge to turn into a stage parent, he resists the urge to shove his way to the front to get a better angle and just holds his phone up higher to make sure no rogue heads interrupt his video. When Ciri grins in Jaskier’s direction, Geralt turns on instinct to look at the singer, and then his breath catches.
He’s looking at Ciri in return, and his face shows the same proud affection that Geralt feels as he smiles at the little girl and gives her a little nod of encouragement. Apparently feeling eyes on him then, Jaskier turns, and when he smiles at Geralt, still singing a soft, beautiful love song…
Fuck, Geralt thinks, a touch dizzy at the gravity of the realization threatening to bowl him right over, I love him.
He doesn’t know what his face looks like, but the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle doesn’t help the panic swelling in Geralt’s chest at all.
Jaskier is beautiful and kind and good with Ciri, and somehow, entirely without his knowledge or effort, Geralt has fallen in love with him.
Fuck, shit, and damn for good measure.
*
Ciri is nearly vibrating with excitement after the song is over, and Jaskier moves out of the way to gesture her forward and let her take a bow. He hypes up the audience–already primed for excited applause–and soon Ciri is blushing and jumping on her toes in place, basking in an entire crowd of adults cheering for her.
Geralt steps forward to lift her off the stage and settles her on his hip. She’s getting a bit big to be carried in such a way, but crowds of this size always make him nervous, especially as dense as they are around the stage area, and he’d rather have her close. Dauntless of the borderline helicopter parenting, Ciri throws her arms around his neck.
“Papa, papa! Did you see me?” She nearly squeals, bouncing slightly.
Geralt chuckles and brings one hand up to smooth her bangs out of her eyes where they’ve fallen from her many bows for her adoring public.
“I did. You were great.”
“We’ll have you on a studio contract yet,” Jaskier says, dropping with lazy grace to sit on the stage before pushing himself off.
“Done already?” Geralt asks, surprised.
“We have one more song later, but there are more bands on the rotation. So for now, I’m free.”
“Do you want to do the fair with us?” Ciri asks him. “Papa said I can ride the Scrambler five times if I want!”
Jaskier grins at Geralt at that and reaches to ruffle Ciri’s hair.
“I think we can talk him into six.” He leans forward, lowering his voice like he’s telling her a secret. “He’s a soft touch, your papa.” Jaskier winks, and Ciri attempts to return the gesture, mainly just scrunching her face into a terrible mime of a pirate.
Geralt sighs as if he’s been greatly put upon.
He very steadfastly does not think about how his skin prickles with goosebumps each time Jaskier brushes against his arm as they walk together.
*
Geralt is, in fact, talked into seven rounds of the Scrambler by the end of the night.
Attempts at distracting Ciri with other attractions, namely anything but the Scrambler, fail miserably, and Jaskier shamelessly aids and abets her arguments for Scrambler supremacy.
Given Geralt’s recent realization, he was really doomed to failure from the start.
The first six rounds are fine. It’s not Geralt’s favorite ride by any means, but there are worst ways to spend his time than sitting on a bench in a little car and letting his child attempt to squish him with centrifugal force. Jaskier, riding in another car, greets them every single time they swing by, and he and Ciri wave to each other like they’re in a parade.
Then comes round seven.
Ciri spots her friend Dara from school, and the two are so excited to meet that they want to share a car. Geralt is ready to cede theirs to let the two ride together, but Ciri waves him down and turns, calling to Jaskier, still in his own car.
“Jask!” She yells, and he looks up at once. “Will you share one with papa so Dara and I can ride together?”
It’s one of the few times he’s seen the musician actually visibly flustered, and he catches the alarmed little glance he shoots Geralt’s way at the question, not even asking who Dara is.
“Ah,” Jaskier says, looking to Geralt then. “I can sit this one out, and you and your friend can just have mine.”
“No!” Ciri insists, towing him by the hand the moment he’s out of his car and pulling him to Geralt’s. “You said the Scrambler is your favorite, too!”
Jaskier appears like he’s regretting that particular admission.
Still, a determined Ciri is a force to be reckoned with, and he and Geralt soon find themselves packed tight in a car together. Two grown men take up far more space than a grown man and a little girl, but Jaskier attempts to stay casual, taking on a flirtatious tone as they wait for the attendant to start the ride.
“Well,” Jaskier says, batting his lashes dramatically, “what might a dad like you be doing in a place like this?”
“Falling prey to my child having a lawyer for an aunt?” Geralt says dryly, and Jaskier laughs.
When the ride starts, Jaskier tries to hold himself steady, one hand gripping the inner wall and one holding the door in front of them, but an especially energetic turn when the ride really gets going sends him sliding across the slick seat, pressing him against Geralt tightly.
Jaskier brings one hand down on reflex trying to get his balance, and it lands on Geralt’s thigh, sending pinpricks of electricity all throughout his body. The sensation doesn’t cease when Jaskier squeezes while they keep spinning, still trying to push back to his own personal space. Geralt’s mind apparently decides to regress back to a time of teenage horniness, and he finds himself thinking about how that firm grip might feel on other parts of his anatomy.
It is the longest ride of Geralt’s entire life.
*
Ciri cocks her head when they walk over to her once the ride is over.
“You look funny, papa,” she observes, and Geralt prays that the earth will swallow him whole. “You, too, Jask.” She says, looking to the musician.
Well, at least Geralt hopefully isn’t alone in his mortification.
Maybe they can split an uber to the pit of the earth.
*
The awkwardness of the Scrambler at least fades soon, even as Geralt still feels phantom shivers of sensation at the memory of that strong musician hand on his body. Jaskier is as bright and chipper as ever, and Ciri is having the time of her life, dragging them both around from booth to booth.
Geralt finds himself pressed into service at a strength contest booth and manages to ring the bell on his first try. Ciri bounces forward eagerly to take her pick of the plushies on offer, and he turns to Jaskier, finding the musician watching him with a heated look, eyes lingering on his arms. Without thought, Geralt tightens his grip on the mallet he’s still holding, making the muscles flex, and he sees Jaskier swallow hard before he seems to shake himself, smiling and listening intently to Ciri debate the merits of each plushie with him.
*
They don’t mention most of the fair to each other after it happens.
Geralt tries not to overthink it.
With how seeing Jaskier now makes his heart flutter, he tries very hard not to do much thinking at all.
*
Their silence becomes almost comfortable somehow, a vague sense of understanding between them, but without either of them willing to step forward the final inch and make a move.
Ciri proves useful in this, as energetic and happy and involved as ever.
And then comes the two weeks she’s set to go to summer camp for the first time.
Geralt is panicking more than a little, the idea of doing without Ciri as a convenient excuse to not explore anything with Jaskier. He doesn’t actually know if he’ll be seeing the man without Ciri to act as a reason for them to be together, but after so long spending so much time together, it seems like it would be even odder for them to not see each other just because Ciri will be getting in touch with nature for a couple of weeks.
Ciri tells him a few days before she leaves that he has to be on spider duty while she’ll be out of town.
“He won’t have me to do it for him,” she tells him seriously, moving her latest capture outside. “But you’ll do until I get back.” Jaskier watches them through a window until she’s shaken her captive off onto a tree at the corner of the yard, and then he walks out onto the porch.
Geralt gives her a look, and she grins at him, unrepentant.
“So you’ll have to take care of Jaskier,” Ciri tells him.
“Yeah, Geralt,” Jaskier chimes in, smiling faintly when Geralt turns to look at him, “you’ll have to take care of me.”
Geralt coughs from how dry his throat suddenly feels.
*
On the second day of Ciri’s absence, Jaskier shows up at his door with Thai food, wine, and a demand for a movie night.
“Thought you might be lonely,” Jaskier tells him, herding Geralt backwards onto his couch before going to retrieve glasses for the wine, rooting through the cabinets proprietarily. Geralt leaves him to it and sets to work equally divvying up pad see ew and khae phat. He’s already helped himself to more than what is technically a fair share of spring rolls before Jaskier returns, handing him a glass and pointedly moving his own allocation of rolls farther away.
Distracted by food and wine and arguing over what Hulu has to offer, Geralt forgets to be awkward, and by the time he remembers, he’s already loose and relaxed, Jaskier’s thigh a welcome pressure against his own. By the time they get to mango rice, they decide to just split the dessert from the same container, Jaskier moving closer to avoid spilling any on the couch.
It might be the most delicious thing Geralt’s ever eaten.
*
Geralt’s first time in the line of spider duty comes four days after he’s first appointed to the position.
“Code Itsy Bitsy. I repeat, we have a Code Itsy Bitsy.”
“Hello, Jask,” Geralt says, already standing to pull on some shoes. He’s been home for an hour debating whether to try his luck going to the musician’s house so soon after their movie-night-maybe-a-date-maybe-not, so the excuse is welcome.
“Hello, Geralt. Please come handle my situation before I am Shelob’d.”
Geralt answers the call of duty and has the creature trapped in short order. He turns once it’s safely in its cup, and Jaskier dares to come closer. It’s late in the day, golden hour, and Jaskier is painted in warm, soft light.
Geralt makes himself breathe normally when Jaskier walks closer.
“Not to be forward,” Jaskier says, never breaking eye contact with him as he nears until they’re a scant space apart, “but you’re stunning in this light.” He grins, a small, crooked thing that Geralt feels a mad urge to touch. “Stunning all the time, really, but especially now.”
Geralt can’t quite make himself respond, but Jaskier is a professional at filling silences.
“You know, I had another plan for coming over the other night,” Jaskier tells him, “and then I chickened out. I’ve been regretting it ever since then.”
“Oh?” Geralt asks, finding his voice at last, rough as it is.
Jaskier nods.
“I think I’d like to put it into practice now, if you wouldn’t mind.” He leans in. When he speaks again, his voice is impossibly soft. “May I kiss you, please?”
In answer, Geralt closes the few inches left between them, melting into the feeling of Jaskier’s lips against his own. So stunned by the revelation of Jaskier against him, warm and firm, smelling sinfully good, Geralt loses track of what exactly he’s doing. Without thought, he brings one hand up to Jaskier’s head, tilting him to a better position. A low moan of want makes its way from deep in his chest, completely unbidden, but Jaskier responds with a breathy little noise of his own, and then Geralt is too busy trying to make him do it again to worry about how he himself sounds.
And then comes the moment when he and Jaskier both realize that Geralt shouldn’t actually have one hand free for working musicians into a tizzy.
Jaskier shoves him back with stunning force, looking about him wildly.
“It’s loose!” He says in a near-shriek, batting his hands at his own clothing like the arachnid has made straight for him. “You loosed a spider in my home, Geralt!”
Geralt really and truly cannot stop his laugh, mirth so complete that he ends up doubled over, hands on his knees, as he gasps for air while Jaskier nearly climbs his curtains in his hysteria.
“It’s not funny!” Jaskier yells at him, one foot on a side table like he’s going to leap onto it. “This is the last time I ever hire you! When does your child return? She knows what she’s doing!”
Once Geralt finishes wiping the tears from his eyes, he manages to find the spider again from its place trying to wiggle in behind a sofa cushion. After he releases it and then talks Jaskier down from setting his sofa on fire to make sure it hadn’t laid eggs while it was back there, he dares to pull the musician close once more, one hand on Jaskier’s hip, the other pressing to the small of his back. He’s thrilled with his own daring, and when he sees Jaskier’s pupils widen ever so slightly, he’s also wildly flattered.
“Well,” Jaskier says, eyes flicking down to Geralt’s lips. “Now that we’ve no invading third wheel, perhaps a re-do?”
“On what?” Geralt asks with exaggerated innocence. “Were we doing something?”
Jaskier rolls his eyes, but he also kisses Geralt with so much passion that Geralt can feel his toes curling.
After a good few minutes of hungry kissing and sneaking hands under hems, they reach a mutual decision that they should definitely make sure Jaskier’s bed is also spider-free.
*
When Ciri returns, they decide to sit her down and tell her that they’re seeing each other. It’s still wildly early, of course, but they’d spent every night together since that first evening, and neither wants to either try to hide it or lie about what they’re doing.
Ciri, for her part, takes it very well, although she does cross her arms across her chest very seriously.
“Well, that’s okay,” she tells Geralt, “but I’m still Jaskier’s Bug Buster.”
“Of course you are,” Jaskier says, taking Geralt’s hand and leaning against him. He leans forward slightly, one hand up to stage whisper to Ciri. “Your papa’s absolutely horrible at it, anyhow. Set a spider loose on me.”
Geralt sighs, trying not to smile, as Ciri decides to give him a lecture on proper spider catching protocol, Jaskier grinning all the while.