two idiot boys in love

He instantly recognizes the old witcher and loudly calls him over, something along the lines of "Hey! Hey you- you, wolf! Papa wolf! Yeah, come on, I need to have a word with you about your son. The- the stupid one-"

Vesemir is obviously not amused, but he comes over nonetheless because for some reason that drunk kid knows him.

Then, Jaskier proceeds to ramble on about Geralt and it gets very close to trash talk, but Vesemir keeps his cool and reads in between the lines. What he finds out is this: Geralt - who up to this point had been his favorite - had somehow managed to break this poor kid's heart, not once, not twice but "at least five times". Said kid had apparently "spent more than half of his life" following his son like a lost puppy. He mumbles something about elves and djinns and then tells this elaborate tale of a golden dragon. "And then he left me on a fucking mountain!" Vesemir for his part would have not believed any of this, if the name Yennefer hadn't fallen. Many of the unreasonable things Geralt does are related to Yennefer.

The old witcher then takes a closer look at the sod on the floor and oh yes, didn't Geralt say something about a bard?

Then suddenly the kid stops mid sentence as if remembering something important. He waves at one of the other young men and loudly asks "Oi Mikael, is there- is there class tomorrow!?" Vesemir doesn't show it but he's kind of shocked. The drunk kid is clearly a student at the Academy, way too young to be traveling with a witcher. What ln earth is Geralt thinking?!

When the other man, for some reason looking as shocked as Vesemir feels, answers the kid's question with "yes", the bardling seems to sober up by a lot. He staggers up, wishes Vesemir a good night and starts to stumble towards Oxenfurt Academy, quickly followed by the other student.

The last thing Vesemir hears before they walk out of side is how the student asks the bard "Does that mean we won't have to write that test tomorrow, professor?"

“L’mbert?” He manages, squinting at... something. “Wh’t t’hell you doing?”

“Go back to sleep,” Lambert whispers, even though they’re both awake now. Well— half awake. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Coen frowns and scrubs a hand down his face, but hell, their room is toasty warm and he mentally shrugs, choosing to sink further under the covers and become one with the mattress. He can still feel Lambert’s scent on his pillow, the smell of leather and horse and smoke from cooking last night’s dinner. It’s good. Familiar.

Soon enough, the door creaks open again. He hears half-murmured curses at the chill coming in from the hall.

“I’m back,” Lambert whispers, kicking off his boots and rudely drawing back the covers so he can get in.

Coen glares at him. Or tries to, since he can’t very well do it with one eye half-open, smushed against his pillow.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles, and he’s jostled a bit when Lambert shimmies down under the covers with him. Suddenly, he’s enveloped in warmth, strong arms wrapped around him like a small furnace, a slow heartbeat under his cheek. “You know, Witchers are supposed to be stealthy.”

“Are they, now?” Lambert murmurs against his temple. “Must’ve missed the memo.”

Coen burrows deeper into him, tangling their legs together. “Must’ve.”

And he should chastise him longer for waking him up, should put up more fight, but there’s something about Lambert that draws him right in. It’s concerning, really, and Coen hasn’t discarded the idea that maybe there’s something wrong with him, the way he so easily melts under some well-placed touches and soft kisses being pressed into his skin.

But that’s for another time.

Now, Lambert kisses his forehead one last time and says, “Sorry for waking you up. But” — because no Lambert apology would come alone — “dawn is still hours away. We can sleep some more.”

“Mm-hm,” Coen murmurs again. “You’re not forgiven.”

Lambert makes a little sad noise.

Thanks for the prompt! I went with Lambskier.

“Shit! You didn’t say it would vibrate!” Jaskier shouts, his voice wavering as his whole body trembles. Lambert is teasing him, just the tip of the vibrating wooden toy inside of him. His hole clenches eagerly around it, practically begging for more. He’s never felt anything like this, like his whole body is shattering from the inside. Thighs shaking, he reaches down and palms his leaking prick.

“Merigold owed me a favor,” Lambert says, winking as he roughly shoves the toy in, deeper and deeper until his fingers are pressing against Jaskier’s balls.

It hurts more than anything, but perhaps if he stares long enough, he can envision himself in Yennefer’s place. Perhaps he can feel Geralt’s touch, just by looking. Perhaps his lack of sleep is catching up to him.

The two of them aren’t together, not in that way. They haven’t been since things came to an end on the mountain, from what Jaskier’s gathered. Though, he supposes there was never really an end to begin with. How can one put an end to destiny, after all?

Melitele knew what she was doing when she led them to one another because they just fit. They look good together, they work well together. It’s odd.

They both have short tempers and little patience. They’re stubborn and far too intense. They’ve crashed and they’ve burn and yet, yet… here they are, stronger than before, the perfect pair, their love holding them together as it always has.

It was easier for Jaskier back then, back when he hated Yennefer. But now, he’s come to realize how magnetic she truly is. Now, he sees what Geralt has always seen, and a part of Jaskier can’t help but want them to work out.

Yennefer deserves happiness just as much as Geralt, and it remains as clear as day, they make each other happy.

So what if the sight of them makes Jaskier feel like the world is caving in on him?

So what if all he can bring himself to write about these days is the agony of unrequited love?

So what if, logically speaking, there is no space for him in the family that they’re building?

Jaskier can live with that. No matter how much it hurts, he can live with that. He has to. Geralt needs him to.

Geralt needs him.

—

The laugh draws his attention, same as it always has.

Geralt turns to see Jaskier chatting with a nobleman— flirting, more like.

He hasn’t looked this happy in months— they’d been hidden away in the keep for months. Jaskier stayed. Geralt never asked him to leave, never wanted him to. 

Now they’re out in the world again where Jaskier belongs, and the bard is glowing.

Geralt should feel relieved, a better man would. A part of him is, but a part of him aches at the realization that he’ll never be on the receiving end of that smile.

Maybe he didn’t try hard enough in the past, and it took months apart to realize how badly he wanted to be given the chance to.

Geralt tried, back at the keep. He became more attentive, he spoke more, he spent as much as time around Jaskier as the bard would allow.

He tried, but perhaps he still hadn’t tried hard enough because Jaskier’s words remained stilted, his touches remained tentative and his smile never quite reached his eyes. Not the way it is now.

Jaskier may fall in love with that nobleman tonight, Geralt knows. The bard has fallen in and out of love so many times he’s lost count, but he’s almost always there to witness.

Jaskier may fall in love tonight. He does it easily, like it’s what he was born to do. He loves fiercely, wholly, devoting his mind and his body to whoever is lucky enough to earn him.

Jaskier may fall in love. He always does, and he will continue to do so. No matter how many times he’s been scorned, he will never run out of love to give.

Jaskier may fall in love, but not with Geralt.