#comfy writes

Jaskier finished his song and passed around his hat one last time before making his way to their table.

Lambert looked like he was in physical pain as he got up, “You ponder that while I get us some more piss water.”

“Ponder what?” Jaskier asked, plopping down next to Geralt with a glowing grin.

Geralt felt something twist behind his sternum as he took in those sparkling blue eyes and the bright red patches on the bard’s cheeks, “I’m not sure…”

Jaskier tilted his head, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second before he dumped his coin hat on the table and started counting. Geralt watched him, more concerned with why his chest was aching than Lambert’s conundrum. He realized a while ago that it wasn’t annoyance, not after he’d spent the winter with his brothers and remembered what it really was to be constantly pestered. He’d ruled out fear and awe, though he thought he was pretty close with that one. Maybe an admiration of talent?

Jaskier glanced up at him and he immediately tried to look like he was searching for Lambert in the crowd, but he couldn’t cover the heat burning behind his cheeks. He thought he saw the bard smile out of the corner of his eye but he wasn’t going to risk a glance to check.

Oh…

Lambert set three drinks on the table and grinned when he took in Geralt’s expression, “Lads, I hate to leave you alone, but the barmaid was asking about my scars and I think I just might show her. If you’ll excuse me.”

Jaskier whistled after him but Geralt just stared at the mug of ale in his hand. 

That feeling was love. Adoration. A fondness that mingled with a burning need to protect and threatened to suffocate him as soon as he’d given it a name. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier nudged him, swiping the coins off the table and into his purse, “You alright there?” 

“Pondering.” He was, in fact, panicking. 

“Darling, you look like you’re about to be sick.” Jaskier laid a hand on his cheek and frowned, “I can never tell if you’re running a fever. You’re always so warm.”

Geralt shoved back from the table and practically ran from the room, “Need some air.” was his half-assed excuse and he wasn’t even sure Jaskier had heard it. 

Darling.

Geralt stumbled outside and ducked into an alley, pressing his back to the bricks and running his hands through his hair. This was… a lot. And he could hear Jaskier hot on his heels. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jaskier’s fingers barely stroked his forearm but the sensation sent fire up his arm. 

Geralt found his mouth moving without the permission of his mind, “Why do you blush?”

“Pardon? Maybe you do have a fever.”

“When I catch you staring. Why do you blush?” Geralt let his head drop back against the bricks and closed his eyes, his words releasing a little bit of the pressure in his chest. 

When the silence had stretched too long he rolled his head to the side just enough to see Jaskier staring at him in horror. Not the horror he was used to, no this was far more vulnerable and debilitating than how other people looked at him and he couldn’t stand it.

“Please, Jaskier. I have- just tell me. This aching in my chest is unbearable and I can’t say it first.”

Jaskier swallowed hard, narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly, “I blush because I’ve been caught,” he breathed, “and because I love you.”

Geralt winced, that hadn’t made the pressure better at all. He turned and pulled the bard flush to him with one arm around his waist while his other hand rested at the corner of his jaw, “No one’s ever made me blush. And you…” Geralt took a deep breath and desperately tried to find the words but Jaskier’s hands resting on his hips and anxious eyes boring into his were too distracting, “Can I kiss you?”

The worry melted from the bard’s expression, “Oh, please.”

As their lips touched the pressure in Geralt’s chest finally dissipated, leaving only a warmth like he’d never known. He thought he might collapse with how fast his head was spinning and pulled Jaskier around with him as he leaned back against the wall again, not breaking the kiss until he realized he hadn’t breathed for far too long. 

He pulled back gasping softly as he watched his bard. Jaskier’s eyes were still closed and a soft smile danced on his lips.

“You should ponder more often.” he teased.

Geralt let out an amused huff of air, and gently brushed their lips together, “I’d rather be busy.”

“Mm? Doing what?”

Traveling with Jaskier was surprisingly helpful in this aspect. He made it easier to get rooms with real beds and didn’t care that Geralt’s limbs draped over him in the only comfortable sleeping position he could find most nights. He insisted on getting Geralt hot baths he would never be offered on his own and once blackmailed someone into letting Geralt into a sauna. Of course, Geralt had never told him, there was no point, but having an advocate when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend himself was nice. 

However, as with most things in Geralt’s life, things eventually went to shit. A fall off a two-story roof chasing a vampire the week before had depleted the few potions Eskel had scrounged up for him last they spoke and, bed or no bed, there was no way Geralt could stay with the bard and pretend he was fine. The longer he tried the more explosive his behavior, and well that wasn’t fair was it?

He had gotten up early, before the pain had time to settle in the pit of his stomach and make him nauseous, to head off to the foothills. Giving Jaskier a lie about a contract a town over and meeting up later, he headed to collect Roach and disappear. 

Mounting was a miserable affair, even with a hay bail to help him up. His leg nearly gave out from what felt like one of Yennefer’s electric shocks running the length of the limb before he had the bulk of his weight over the saddle. But once he was on, he was relatively fine. Not trotting fine, but comfortable enough to go at a steady pace out of town without groaning or screwing up his face in agony. It wouldn’t do to scare the townsfolk if he wanted to come back and collect his bard. 

He let Roach meander as far as she wanted off the road running parallel to a stream, letting her choose where they’d be camping for the night once they were far enough from civilization. 

He hated doing this, letting his guard down and in the wilderness no less, but he was holding himself upright on the pommel by the time Roach found a sandy bank next to the stream. He practically fell out of the saddle, unbuckling the girth and giving its bulk just enough of a tug to let it fall off the mare’s back. Even the little effort put into untacking was agony, but he needed his bedroll off the saddle and Roach needed a break. He collected the wood he would need for a fire before he let himself rest, knowing that as soon as he stopped moving the muscles would tighten and cramp up, making it impossible to move until morning. 

He was peeling his shirt off ever so gingerly when he heard a twig snap. Dropping the garment back over his shoulders he gingerly turned to peer into the woods in the sound’s direction. If something or someone came upon him now he was at their mercy unless he could muster enough energy for a sign. 

“A contract, huh?” Jaskier stepped out of the treeline with his arms crossed and a surprisingly parental look of disappointment on his face.

Geralt relaxed a little, plastering the mask of calm on his face as he got back to tugging his shirt over his head, “You followed me?”

Jaskier deflated, dropping his bag and lute next to Roach’s tack as he moved to help Geralt out of his clothes, “I knew you were hiding something from me, but this? Geralt? How long have you been injured?”

The witcher laughed, wincing at the dull ache through his entire torso from the previous effort of keeping himself in the saddle, “Half a century? Give or take.”

“What?” Jaskier sounded offended, why was he offended?

Geralt just grunted, clenching his jaw to keep from yelling as he stood and waded into the stream of snowmelt. All the air left his lungs when he lowered himself into the freezing water, but as it lapped over his back and sometimes even his shoulders he felt a small bit of relief. Being able to lean back a bit and be supported by the current was almost intoxicating after all his muscles had nearly turned to stone over the course of the week.

Jaskier was now standing at the bank with his arms crossed and a look of fury on his face, “I’m your best fucking friend- don’t look at me like that we’re using the ‘f’ word today- and you tried to hide a debilitating long-term injury? Geralt what the fuck?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Geralt huffed, doing his best not to get angry. He hurt and he was vulnerable and Jaskier was using the ‘f’ word and getting his hopes up.

“Oh shove it up your arse. You make everything else my problem, why not this?” Jaskier was on the verge of yelling and Geralt still couldn’t figure out why. 

Geralt stared forward in silence, calmly noting his hands shaking from the cold, or maybe it was the pain, he didn’t really know. 

Jaskier swore and turned to rummage through their things, arranging and rearranging things as he waited for Geralt to get out. 

However, Geralt didn’t want to get out. He wanted to be left alone to be miserable in peace. He wanted to have one fucking day where he didn’t have shooting pain running through most of his body. Long ago he’d given up hope of a day free of pain, now he just wished for an aching sensation rather than this bullshit. He also found he was liking the water. It wasn't as cold as it first was and his breath was coming easier. 

Jaskier rolled up his trousers and waded out to the middle of the stream where he sat, “C’mon Geralt, you can’t stay here all night. You’ll die.”

Geralt frowned up at him, “I like it in here. Hurts less.”

“Dumb Fuck, you’re turning blue. Out. Now.” Jaskier held a hand out and Geralt found raising his arm was nearly impossible. He got it about halfway to the bard’s palm before he stalled out, shaking and staring at his hand in horror. 

“I- Jask I can’t-”

Jaskier sighed, “You’re damn near hypothermic, here.” He reached down and hauled the witcher out of the stream, ignoring his grunts of pain as he walked him back to the fire he’d started. Jaskier went about stripping his soaked pants off, toweling him off with his old shirt, and redressing him all while glaring at him. Jaskier made him sip some boiled water before he bundled the both of them in one bedroll, wrapping himself around the still shivering witcher as completely as possible.

“Th-thank you.” Geralt gasped as Jaskier angrily shoved his arm beneath Geralt’s lower back, the warmth alone was lovely but something about the way his spine laid over the extra bulk was even better.

“You’re welcome.” Jaskier growled, head tucked into Geralt’s chest, “I’m still furious with you. It’s been over a decade and you didn’t think to tell me?” 

Geralt swallowed back tears as he felt some of the tension ease in his back, “No one else really cares…”

Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at the witcher like he was sprouting a horn out of his forehead, “The fuck do you think I’m doing here? You think I enjoy being run out of towns and almost dying every other day? Shit, Geralt, you’re smart but sometimes you’re fucking thick.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt Geralt would have playfully smacked his shoulder, but moving any part of his body was a risk at the moment, “Thought you liked the adventure.”

“No, dumbass. I care about you. A lot.” Jaskier settled his head back down over Geralt’s chest, “In the morning I’m taking you to a healer. Or a sorcerer or mage or anyone who will give us answers.”

“Julek…”

When Jaskier stormed off into the woods and came back a few minutes later with an angry gleam in his eyes but forgiveness on his tongue Geralt was stunned. 

When those eyes softened in… pity? sadness? understanding? Geralt was terrified. In that moment he was sure he would rather endure another round of trials than lose this stupid little human. 

So he did the only thing he knew how. He withdrew and drew a wide circle around himself that he did his best to keep the bard out of. He snapped at him, critiqued his songs, drove him near the breaking point of human exhaustion, but this human wouldn’t leave. And his persistence wore him down occasionally. 

There were nights he leaned into Jaskier’s warmth. When he was too tired to fight and the bard’s words were sweet as honey they would talk. He told stories from Kaer Morhen that none but his brothers knew, told Jaskier how he got all his scars, told him about his first heartbreak.  It felt too good. Too comfortable. He began to fight it less and less, finding he enjoyed letting go of this particular shield around the bard.

Then Jaskier hugged him, and he hugged back. 

Every bone in Geralt’s body was screaming. His arms were warm and comforting, almost bringing tears to his eyes as Geralt failed to pull away. His body was begging for more, to be held and treated gently, but his mind was in a fog of panic.

Geralt couldn’t let it happen again. 

He wracked his brain trying to think of ways to get Jaskier to leave and stay gone, if not for his own safety then for Geralt’s sanity. He realized with a mix of horror and confusion that he’d become inexplicably attached to Jaskier. 

Geralt felt a bitterness creep in over the next few months. 

There was no way the bard didn’t know the effect he had on him. Geralt was helpless. He couldn’t tell him no, couldn’t sleep without him near, couldn’t think about anything but him when their hands brushed or their knees knocked beneath a table. He wasn’t bitter because of the bard’s hold on him, no, he was bitter because he knew as soon as he gave in and let himself fall into Jaskier like he wanted to he would never be able to climb back to the surface. 

He already noticed how he’d changed. He was more patient, more self-assured, better able to understand the way a husband might lash out over his missing wife. It irked Geralt to admit it, but the bard had chipped away at a small section of his armor and made him soft again; almost vulnerable.

The bitterness turned into a possessiveness he’d never experienced and, frankly, it scared him. Geralt began to miss him when he wasn’t near, felt a kind of desperation when the bard wouldn’t look at him that made him want to pull his hair out. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. They were laying out their bedrolls near the fire and Jaskier winked at him, fucking winked.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded, throwing his bedroll at their pile of packs.

“Oh calm down, you big brute. It was a joke. Or are you too old for those?”

Geralt tried to answer but found he was unable. The torrent of emotions swirling in his chest wanted out and he was choking on them, anchored to the spot. He just stood and stared at Jaskier as he went about his business for a moment longer.

“What, Geralt?”

“You can’t keep doing this to me…” his words barely left his mouth but he regretted them as if he’d shouted from the mountain tops.

Jaskier’s face was unreadable, “What is it that I’m doing to you?”

Geralt grit his teeth and clenched his fists. The problem was he had no idea what the bard was doing to him. 

“If you’re going to leave, or resent me… just go now. I can’t take it. You’re perfectly capable of finding a nice wife to fill your father’s castle once he’s gone. Stop wasting your time on me and… and making me…”

Jaskier stepped closer, a frown creating a new line between his brows, “Making you what, Geralt?” his tone was almost impatient, but there was an edge of something Geralt dare not identify.

The witcher could barely breathe, he just stared into the fire to his right and screwed up his face in shame. He couldn’t say it. He’d probably never be able to say it. 

Then Jaskier’s fingers were trailing down his forearm and gently grasping his ring and pinky fingers as he whispered, “If you need time, take it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt’s chest tightened and he snarled before he could think of stopping himself, “For fuck’s sake, don’t be kind to me.”

Jaskier tilted his head, still not letting go of Geralt’s hand, “Why wouldn’t I be kind to you?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with it!” Geralt felt as if he were tumbling off a cliff even though he was staring at his feet firmly planted on the ground, “If I accept your… your.. Whatever this is and you leave I’ll be broken. Please, for the love of Melitelle, just go so I can breathe. You don’t know what it is you’re offering when you say these things.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Jaskier insisted, not budging an inch. 

Geralt found he wasn’t strong enough to pull his hand from the bards grasp, not even to make an attempt, “You know better than to hold me like this…”

“Clearly I don’t.” Jaskier argued, that edge of frustration in his voice coming back, “Why is this so fucking hard for you? I’ve seen you bed men, tell me it’s not just me that’s so abhorrent to you.”

“You can’t afford to be tied to me like that… and I can’t afford to lose you…” Geralt whispered, doing his best to shove the tears back down his throat. 

“I believe what I deem worth paying is up to me,” Jaskier tilted his chin up, looking directly into his eyes with such a tenderness that Geralt’s knees almost gave out, “Stop pushing me away.”

Their faces were terrifyingly close, so close Gealt could feel the bard’s breath on his neck as he tried to steady the shaking of his hands, “I want to…” he breathed, “...if I-”

Jaskier didn’t give him time to finish. He sealed his lips to his witcher’s and pulled him as close as he could. Geralt felt his heart twist in his chest, painfully so, like he would burst as soon as Jaskier pulled away.

To his surprise, when they parted, he didn’t keel over dead.

Jaskier brought his other hand up to rest against Geralt’s jaw, “I have every intention of keeping you. Forever.”

“So where are we going? Or is it a surprise?” he asked as they slid into Geralt’s truck. It was old but well cared for, the type where you could flip the console up and have one long bench as the front seat. Jaskier made a note about that for later depending on how the night went. 

“Well my sister told me to be mysterious, so I’ll keep it a surprise.” Geralt revved the engine and they headed toward the freeway. 

Their conversation was easy, all the ‘where’s your family from’ type questions were out of the way by the time they got to the restaurant. And oh, Jask thought he might be in heaven. At first glance, Hunter’s Pizza was nothing special but its back porch was hanging over the river, and even from the parking lot, Jask could see a huge pizza oven in the center of the restaurant. They were seated outside next to a heater, far away from the 13-top of housewives having a birthday party, thank gods. 

Once they’d ordered, Geralt leaned back with his fingers laced behind his head, somehow making his shining white hair even messier, “So what was on that note? Or am I allowed to know?”

Jaskier pinched his thigh under the table to distract himself from those arms and fucking answer, “Oh just, Essie. She likes to meddle.” Geralt raised an eyebrow but Jaskier leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand and hoping his shirt fell open like he wanted it to, “How were the ponies this morning?”

Geralt mimicked him, leaning forward on both his elbows like he was going to tell Jaskier the secret to life, “Ponies are the devil incarnate, but the horses were fine.”

“But they’re so small and cute! How can ponies be evil?” Jaskier didn’t really care at all about ponies, but that goofy smile Geralt had going on was heavenly.

He spent the next ten minutes listening in complete rapture to why ponies were horrible little monsters and he could listen to hours more. Geralt really did look like a puppy, especially when he was excited about something. He also blew his hair out of his face a minimum of three times before he would run his hands through it, something Jaskier was very much looking forward to at this point. The best part was the hand talking, all sorts of waving and miming and... 

Oh shit, I’m staring. 

Jaskier pulled himself back to reality as Geralt ended his rant, “...never met a pony I or any horse liked.”

“You trust your horses with that? To make character judgments?”

Geralt smiled and nodded, “You should come by sometime.”

“That’s a test isn’t it?” Jaskier didn’t manage to put as much of a joking lilt into the words as he’d wanted to and thought about jumping into the river. 

But Geralt just winked at him as their server set down their pizza and plates, “I’m confident you’d pass.” 

Sonofabitch.

-

Geralt flipped the console up on their way home and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat as he slid across the bench, leaning into Geralt’s side with one of those giant arms draped over his shoulders. He flipped through a box of CDs, teasing Geralt about getting with the times before popping in Weezer and leaning his head against Geralt’s shoulder. 

It was well past the time he should sleep for an opening shift the next morning when they got back to his apartment but Jaskier found himself wishing he had the balls to invite Geralt in. They walked arm in arm back to his door, climbing the stairs slowly, neither of them really wanting to go home. 

When they got to his door Jaskier turned to face Geralt, planning on saying ‘thanks for the bite’ or something else noncommittal but Geralt was looking at him like he was a summer sunset and the words died on his tongue. 

Geralt’s hand trailed down his harm to his hand, hooking their pinkies together, “I had a great time tonight.”

Jaskier bit his lip and hooked their other hands together in the same way, “Me too,” he batted his eyelashes and internally swore at his body for blushing. 

“Hmmm…” Geralt inched forward, the sound coming out almost predatory and sending a thrill down Jaskier’s spine. 

“If I didn’t know better Mr. Bellegarde,” Jaskier breathed, tugging at Geralt’s pinkies to get him even a fraction of an inch closer, “I’d say you wanted to kiss me.”

Geralt’s voice came out just above a whisper, all gravely and sexy as hell, “And if I did?”

Fuck me. This boy is going to kill me.

“I’d encourage it.”

The kiss was everything JAskier had wanted and more. Soft but firm, warm and electric. Geralt dropped Jaskier’s hands and held him flush to his body by the hips, making Jaskier’s head spin. 

When they eventually parted Jaskier felt like he was floating. 

He didn’t even realize Geralt was ten steps down the hall when he called back to him, “See you in class?”