Work Text:
Geralt tosses the beast’s head into his cloth bag before hefting it over his shoulder. He takes a moment to shake off the blood and guts as best as he can. The town doesn’t seem to mind his presence but he would rather not test that by coming into town covered in gore.
“Good girl,” Gerald says as he finds Roach exactly where he left her. Such a reliable beast. If only he could say the same for the other company he’s been keeping as of late.
In his line of work, Geralt had met many people yet Jaskier is like no one he’s ever met before. He’s outspoken and loud. Everywhere they go, he tries to find the bright spot. He’s a people person . Where Geralt is black and white, Jaskier is color. Geralt finds him insufferable more times than not but Geralt also can’t seem to shake him.
Admittedly, he hasn’t been trying all that hard to get rid of him.
Jaskier draws attention to himself but it’s not always bad attention. It’s a strange change. Geralt is used to proving his usefulness by slaying monsters only to be chased out of town the moment he’s paid. People only want a Witcher around when they need his blade. Nothing more.
Jaskier makes people softer. He invites them to celebrate Geralt’s presence rather than their usual reluctant acceptance. The free rooms in exchange for Jaskier’s songs are also a welcome new addition to his routine.
Geralt hops onto Roach’s back and starts the journey back into town.
The ride into town doesn’t take long. The monster was hunting near the river just outside of town, stalking in just before sunrise and bringing its meals back to the river before anyone was properly awake. This morning, Geralt met it on the bank. It expected another meal but Geralt made sure that yesterday’s was its last.
He hands the reins over to a stable hand, making sure Roach is taken care of in the stables before hefting the brown bag that smells of blood and death over his shoulder. He learned early on to always bring the head if he wanted to get paid. This particular job will be adding 300 crowns to his coin purse.
Once at the mayor’s house, Geralt knocks on the door. It only takes a few minutes before the man is opening the door. His face morphs into surprise before he settles and puts on a smile, opening the door fully.
“Come in, let me pour you a cup of coffee.” Geralt grunts, holding up the bag that has the monster’s head inside. “Oh, Heavens! Leave that outside!”
Geralt tosses it into the grass before stepping inside. He washed himself as best as he could in the river but he knows he still has blood on his pants and smells like dead fish. The mayor doesn’t seem to mind as he busies himself with making a pot of coffee. The stuff smells wonderful, a much higher quality than Geralt usually allows himself.
Most of the time, he will get paid and the person will swiftly push Geralt back outside and on his way. The sooner he’s back on the road, the happier the town is. Every once in a while, someone like Mayor Tarquin comes along. He’s full of small talk and questions and coffee. He doesn’t appear afraid of Geralt, instead, he keeps eyeing him up. Geralt feels more like a prized horse than a witcher in this man’s gaze.
Tarquin passes over the coffee before sitting down, gesturing for Geralt to do the same. Geralt sits. He takes the coffee and drinks the majority in two swallows before setting it down and staring over at the mayor.
“I’ve finished the contract,” he says, raising his brow. “The crowns.”
“Oh, yes, yes. We’ll get to that,” Tarquin says quickly, waving him off. “But first, I’d like to make you an offer. One I have a feeling you’ll be hard pressed to refuse!”
Geralt just barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. This is why he normally gets half of the payment up front when he takes on a contract. Sometimes, people try to stiff him on the crowns despite the work he does. Jaskier convinced him that Tarquin looked respectable enough not to demand that half and now it’s come back to bite Geralt in the ass.
He really needs to stop listening to Jaskier’s advice.
Geralt narrows his eyes and hums deeply, signaling the mayor to go on.
“There are some things that gold cannot buy and one of those things is love,” Tarquin says, holding up his hand, keeping Geralt from speaking. What in the fresh hell is he talking about? “Instead of your payment in crowns, I would be happy to offer you my daughter’s hand instead.”
Geralt is stunned into silence. What? A wedding proposal?
“Charlotte? Come out, please, darling!”
Charlotte walks into the kitchen timidly. She gives Geralt a small smile before doing a curtsy. She’s beautiful with bright red hair and freckles across her nose. She’s able to meet his eye and doesn’t recoil in disgust like a lot of other people. In theory, she’s the type of woman that Geralt could see with himself for at least a night if not more.
Except, there’s one glaring problem.
Geralt isn’t sure why he says it but when he opens his mouth to tell them ‘thanks but no thanks’, what comes out instead is, “I’m already married.”
Charlotte gets a look of disappointment on his face while her father stands up. “Oh, my dear Witcher, hopefully I haven’t caused any offense.”
“None at all.”
“I’ll have your crowns tonight. Why don’t you bring your wife to dinner here with us? We will feed you, pay you, and then you can enjoy the rest of your evening before heading back onto the road.”
“Husband,” Geralt quickly corrects. “I will bring my husband.”
“Better yet! I can’t wait to meet the lucky gentleman.”
Geralt stands up. “You already have. My husband is the bard.”
~~~
“Jaskier. Jaskier, wake up. Jaskier!”
Jaskier startles awake from a rather lovely dream. There was booze on his tongue and some strong pecs under his cheek which he was petting rather affectionately. As the warmth of the dream fades, he opens his eyes to a panicked witcher.
Jaskier immediately sits up and launches himself out of bed. “What is it?” Jaskier asks, getting his clothes on and packing his bag. “Has the job soured? Are we being attacked? Has the monster come back for vengeance! I’m too pretty to die, Geralt!”
Geralt lets out a long, heavy sigh that stops Jaskier in his tracks.
Jaskier turns slowly, his shirt only half on. “There’s not an emergency, is there?”
Geralt opens his mouth before closing it again. Jaskier is fairly certain he’s never seen Geralt look so unsure of himself before. “Not exactly. No.”
“Not exactly? Geralt, what in the hells does that mean?” He cocks his hip to the side, resting his hands on them. He gets a bit tangled in his shirt so he’s forced to finish putting it on properly before striking his pose once more.
“The mayor,” Geralt says, his voice softer than usual. “He tried to pay me less.”
“Really? He didn’t seem the type.”
“He invited us to dinner.”
Jaskier tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” Jaskier asks slowly, trying to figure out what’s actually going on.
Geralt makes a frustrated noise. He turns his back to Jaskier, tossing his swords onto the desk in their room. He starts getting out of his dirty armor, sighing as he does. Jaskier feels his face heat, realizing that Geralt is preparing to get himself naked and cleaned up after his hunt. He should probably leave and give him some privacy but Jaskier’s feet keep him frozen in place.
Once Geralt is down to only his pants, Jaskier clears his throat. His eyes dip down to Geralt’s chest as he turns around, taking him in. He’s all pale skin and toned muscles. There are so many scars that do nothing to detract from Geralt’s beauty. If anything, they enhance it. Jaskier feels his stomach flutter with equal parts of affection and lust. Hopefully the rumors about witches being able to smell lust is a lie otherwise Geralt would have known about his little crush years ago.
“Just because you’re distracting me by getting naked doesn’t mean you can’t tell me what’s going on, Geralt.”
Geralt’s hands pause where they’re about to rip his pants off. He looks up at Jaskier and winces.
“I need you to come to dinner with me.”
“Okay,” Jaskier says slowly, still confused.
“As my husband.”
Jaskier blinks. Then he blinks again.
“What?!”
~~~
The house smells like some sort of roasted meat and Geralt’s mouth immediately begins to water. If nothing else is accomplished tonight, at least he’ll be eating well. The same can’t be said sometimes when he’s out on the road.
“Welcome, come on in,” Tarquin says, ushering Geralt and Jaskier into the house. They come upon the same table from this morning. He pulls out his own chair and is about to sit down when Jaskeir elbows him in the side.
“What?”
Jaskier looks down at the chair in front of him then back up at Geralt and then back down to the chair. “Be a dear?”
Geralt sighs before pulling Jaskier’s chair out for him. He’s more than capable of doing it himself. Sure, Jaskier is a bard and smaller than him, but Geralt has seen him take down monsters twice his size with a well placed dagger. He doesn’t need Geralt coddling him. It’s one of the many things that make Geralt admire him.
Then again, they’re trying to play a part tonight.
“Thank you, darling,” Jaskier says as he sits down, patting Geralt’s chest once he’s also in his seat. Then he turns to Tarquin and Charlotte. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you both. Thank you for having us tonight. Your home is very lovely. And my dear, Charlotte, dinner smells amazing .”
Charlotte’s face goes bright red and she smiles shyly. “Thank you, Jaskier.”
Geralt is used to Jaskier getting a lot of attention. Men and women both fawn over him when he’s performing. His smile is sunshine in the rain, his voice is welcoming, and he’s handsome. This is the first time a twinge of jealousy zings through his stomach. They’re supposed to be married, damnit! He shouldn’t be smiling at her like that when Geralt is sitting right here.
“It’s alright, dear,” Jaskier says under his breath, reaching over and placing a hand on Geralt’s thigh. “Stop growling.”
The rumbling in the room suddenly stops. Geralt hadn’t even realized he was growling. What the hell is going on with him?
“Apologies.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Tarquin says, passing over two mugs of cold mead. Geralt tosses his back, letting it settle his nerves. Why he’s nervous is a mystery to him. He can face the deadliest monster without a second thought but pretending to be Jaskier’s husband has him all twisted up inside.
“Charlotte? Would you serve dinner please?”
“Of course,” she says, quickly moving back to the stove. She brings a giant roast to the table along with buns and gravy and root veggies mashed up. There’s also home churned butter and a bowl of grapes and some jams. Everything looks delicious.
Geralt is having a hard time focusing on the conversation going on around him. He grunts when he needs to but he’s too focused on the hand still on his thigh. Warmth floods through him. Occasionally, Jaskier will squeeze, almost like he does it without thinking as he speaks and every time, that feeling starts anew.
It’s maddening. This is worse than any spell he’s been hit with or any claw that’s found his skin.
It’s also everything Geralt wishes was real.
He wants to pull that hand away from his thigh and kiss those lute callused fingers. He wants to push that hand even higher and feel it wrapped around himself. Geralt wants everything Jaskier is willing to give him.
At the same time, he knows why he can’t have Jaskier. Jaskier is good . Geralt might do good but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a mutant. He has to live his life on the path, moving from town to town. Those same towns who will eventually forget about Jaskier’s pretty songs and remember the fact that they hate him.
He doesn’t want to drag Jaskier down for a chance of a glimmer of sunshine. It’s not fair.
It would have been kinder to send Jaskier away long ago, but Geralt has found that the little bard is hard to get rid of. Even when they spend winter apart, they always seem to find each other eventually. Once they’re together, it’s like no time has passed at all.
Geralt might not let himself have this, but maybe he can allow himself to revel in it just for right now, just for tonight. Jaskier is his husband right now and he should enjoy it before he’s back to living in each other’s pockets and pretending he’s not burning up inside with want.
Jaskier is in the middle of telling a story about the time they faced a nest of Endregas when Geralt gives into his impulses. He lifts Jaskier’s hand, bringing it to his mouth, and kisses his knuckles.
Jaskier’s words sputter off in a gasp. He composes himself quickly, getting back to the story before anyone can realize his lapse. Geralt feels his heart warm. Maybe if he wasn’t a witcher, they’d be able to forge a real life together, traveling not because of Geralt, but because of Jaskier’s music.
The dream lives and dies within the same breath. That can never happen and it’s better to stay in the present.
Geralt tries to place Jaskier’s hand back on his thigh but Jaskier laces their fingers together instead. His thumb rubs against Geralt’s hand, just barely there circles. Geralt can’t focus on anything else.
All too soon, dinner is coming to a close. It feels like they only just got here. The moment Jaskier lets go of his hand and stands, Geralt feels the absence like an open wound. It hurts , more than he’s willing to admit.
“I have one more question, if you don’t mind,” Tarquin says, smiling at them. “Why don’t you wear wedding bands? It would stave off a lot of unwanted attention, I’m sure.”
Geralt begins to panic but of course, he should have known Jaskier has already thought of this.
“Geralt can’t wear one in his line of work. Too many things could catch on it and leave him losing a finger. We wouldn’t want that. Me? That’s a whole different story,” he explains with a chuckle. “Not only does it get me extra tips while I’m performing, but Geralt has gifted me with something better than a ring.”
Before Geralt can wonder what the hell Jaskier is talking about, the little bard pulls out the dagger that Geralt had gifted him. It’s made of silver and enchanted to make the strikes more deadly. It was a gift to help keep him safe while on the road.
“This was how Geralt proposed, in true witcher fashion. A dagger to keep me safe.” Jaskier turns towards Geralt, giving him a soft smile. “I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. In that moment, my heart was totally and utterly stolen. My fate was sealed.”
Geralt’s mutant heart skips a beat, picking up speed until it’s beating as quickly as an average human. Jaskier looked so sincere when he said that. Could it be real? Or is he that exceptional at acting?
Fuck. Geralt can’t tell.
Jaskier stands up but before turning away, he leans down and kisses Geralt’s cheek. Then the two of them are leaving the mayor’s house. Geralt is plunged into the coldness of the night and for once, it doesn’t feel like a familiar embrace.
~~~
Jaskier’s heart is leaping in his chest. His lips still tingle from kissing Geralt’s cheek. He feels flayed open, like Geralt had used one of his swords on him.
“Fuck,” he hisses out, running his fingers through his hair. He feels more agitated than ever before, like a monster before Geralt puts it out of its misery. Lucky bastards. At least their suffering eventually comes to an end.
As best as he can, Jaskier puts on his usual jolly face. He turns towards Geralt, spreading his hands out and wiggling them.
“Well, darling, I think that went well.”
Geralt stares at him for a long moment before his features seem to close off. Jaskier got a moment in time where he got to be soft towards Geralt and now he sees that window rapidly closing. His heart clenches so violently he gasps on his breath, choking from the pain of it.
“Yeah,” Geralt says with a grunt, striding past Jaskier towards the inn they’re staying in.
Jaskier isn’t sure why he does it. Maybe he’s a little buzzed from the mead. Maybe he’s addicted to the feeling of Geralt’s hand against his own. Maybe a witch hexed him in the last town and he’s fully losing his mind. Whatever the reason, he reaches out and catches Geralt’s wrist, forcing him to stop.
He’s expecting the witch to pull away but to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt stops in his tracks. With his back to Jaskier, it makes this next part all the easier.
“Geralt,” he whispers, his voice achingly soft. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “I know we tend to stay away from things that grant wishes these days but if there was a world where I could have a single wish for free, I know what I would wish for.”
There’s a long silence before Geralt hums. Jaskier knows how to interrupt Geralt’s various noises and this one is telling him to go, that he’s listening.
“I would wish that tonight was real.”
Geralt’s body goes tense and Jaskier lets go of his wrist. There. He did it. He put it all out on the line. Geralt’s reaction is everything Jaskier needed to know.
Jaskier is the one to turn around now. He waits for Geralt’s retreating footsteps but they never come. Instead, a large hand finds his shoulder.
“Jaskier.”
Jaskier tentatively turns around, looking up into Geralt’s golden eyes. He wonders if maybe his eyes are playing a trick on him because surely that’s not longing in Geralt’s eyes.
“Yes, Geralt?”
Geralt sighs and the tips of his lips curl up into a soft smile. “Me too.”
That’s all Jaskier needed to hear. Without holding back a moment longer, Jaskier leaps onto Geralt. Geralt is there with his witcher reflexes, catching Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier kisses him. He kisses Geralt.
This time when Geralt hums, Jaskier can feel it vibrate through his entire body. Geralt’s lips are slightly chapped and taste like mead. It’s the most delicious taste he’s ever experienced. He’s dreamed of this, of being in Geralt’s arms but the reality of it is somehow so much better.
Jaskier pulls back, looking down into Geralt’s eyes. “Pinch me, Geralt, for I fear I am dreaming right now.”
In response, Geralt pinches his ass. Hard.
“Jesus fuck! Okay, not dreaming. You didn’t have to do it so hard,” he says with a pout that makes Geralt’s smile widen. Jaskier isn’t sure he’s ever seen him smile so wide before. He has adorable teeth.
“Not dreaming,” Geralt says, kissing him again. Then again. Then one more time. “Should we go up to our room?”
“As long as you promise this isn’t just for tonight. I don’t think my heart will handle it.”
Geralt’s eyes dart between his own. “I don’t deserve this,” he says, completely different from what Jaskier assumed he would say. “I’m a witcher. My life is the path. I’m dedicated to the hunt. I don’t think there’s much I can offer you, Jaskier. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Never been sure of anything more.” Then he touches Geralt’s cheek. “What about you? Are you sure, darling?”
“Yes,” Geralt says, his voice thick with conviction. “I don’t know what the future may hold but for as long as you’ll have me, I am yours.”
Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath, overwhelmed by the confession. “Oh, Geralt. Take me to bed, you big oaf.”
With a warm chuckle, Geralt does exactly that.