#drunk jaskier

Kind of. Almost. He stumbles and grips Eskel's elbow, and that is close enough for Eskel's heart to make a double flip, even if he can smell the booze reeking from Jaskier. Hoo boy, it's going to be one of those nights.

"Geralt, lemme, lemme tell you this, Geralt. It is rude to call people probloms. Ploblam. Rude! Geralt!" Jaskier complains, waving his free arm about and stumbling once again.

It doesn't matter much, because Geralt has already closed the door, and Jaskier absolutely did not notice. Or care. He does that sometimes.

Eskel smiles fondly, and Jaskier lets himself be led towards the couch, still waving his hand around and making all the little offended sounds that he is so good at.

"See, Geralt was complaininging aaaaaalll night. All night! And and and, when I say my heart is hurting, he scoff! So rude!"

Jaskier still glares at the door, but Eskel manages to have him sit down at least. Flop down.

"Gonna take your shoes off?" he asks, curious but terrified about Jaskier's remark about his hurting heart. Who did he fall for now? That prick Valdo sure turned both of their lives upside down before they broke up.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier declines, sinking deeper into the cushions.

"Please take your shoes off?" Eskel asks, and that earns him a pout and a whine.

"You know I can't say no when you say please," Jaskier complains, folding his body over to reach for his shoes.

Eskel does know. He is not-so-secretly thrilled about it, and abuses it whenever he can get away with it.

As Jaskier fights his shoelaces, Eskel goes to fetch him a glass of water and a protein bar. The kind with little dried berries and pieces of chocolate that Jaskier favors, and always has at least five pieces scattered around the house.

There is another pitiful whine when Eskel pours the water, and he returns to see Jaskier slumped over his own knees, hands on the floor and hair in his eyes. So fucking cute.

"Heeeeeelp." Jaskier whines again, not in the least stuck. Probably just gave up or got lazy.

Eskel chuckles and puts the glass and the snack on the little living room table.

"You are such a mess," he teases, kneeling down in front of Jaskier and shoving at his shoulder until he is flopped back against the backrest again.

"So mean. The laces were mean too. Nobody loves me," Jaskier sighs dramatically and his body sags as if he is attempting to become one with the couch.

"People love you, Jaskier," Eskel comforts him, holding back the 'I love you' for all that he can.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier says again, shaking his hair, making it fall into his eyes again. Gods, he is adorable when he is drunk.

Eskel focuses on the oh-so-mean shoe laces, quickly undoing the double knots that Jaskier insists on making.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier sighs again, and doesn't help at all when Eskel tries to make him lift his foot and pull it out of the shoe. "I wish he loved me, but I don't think he does," Jaskier tells the ceiling, and oh no.

Eskel grabs Jaskier's ankle, lifting it to rid them of the offending shoe himself, and yes, now his own heart hurts too.

"Why don't you think that?" Eskel says, despite himself. Self sabotage, Triss once told him it is called, but it is so hard not to.

"Because he is gorg... gor... pretty! So fucking pretty! And kind and clever, and he is so kind! And hot!" Jaskier says, his arms waving around in exasperation, and Eskel is not sure if he is the one Jaskier is talking to anymore.

But at least his legs are still, and Eskel can untie the other shoe fairly quickly.

"So hooooot!" Jaskier wheezes, arms falling to his sides with a little thud. Again, Eskel gets no help with the shoe, so he grabs the ankle and lifts the leg up.

"And sweet! Sometimes he pulls my hair behind my ear when he thinks I'm sleeping!"

Hang on.

"And there was this... was this one time when I actually fell asleep in his lap, and when I woke up I was in bed!"

Wait a minute.

"So strong! Strong strong strong, so many muscles."

No. It can't be.

Because sometimes, when they watch a show too late at night, Jaskier sags against Eskel's shoulder, curling up on the couch and gripping at Eskel's arm.

Sometimes his hair falls over his eyes, and sometimes when it does, Eskel dares to trace a finger over his forehead and tuck the wild strands behind his ears.

And there was that one time when Jaskier insisted on having his hair petted, and fell asleep sprawled over the couch, face resting in Eskel's lap, and Eskel had carried him into his room.

His head had rested heavily onto his shoulder, and when Eskel struggled with the door, he shifted and gripped Eskel's t-shirt, nuzzling into Eskel's neck.

It was very, very hard to let go, and very, very hard to calm down that night.

"But he is like that with everyone," Jaskier whines up to the ceiling again. "I'm not special."

'You are', is at the tip of his tongue. It almost slips past his teeth, his last line of defence, and he stands on his knees in front of Jaskier, helpless.

"I just.. ugh.. I love him, Geralt. I'm so fuckhing in love and I can't, and he is..." Jaskier has reached the stage of emotional drunkenness, and Eskel finds himself gently grabbing Jaskier's calves, rubbing them soothingly.

Another sniffle, and Jaskier rubs angrily at his eyes with his fists.

"I just want Eskel to love me...." Jaskier whispers, and oh no, oh no.

This is not a conversation Eskel wants to have when Jaskier is drunk out of his mind. But his treacherous heart is making kickflips in his chest, and again he finds himself reaching out, grabbing Jaskier's hands that are still rubbing at his eyes, and brings them down.

"Have some water," Eskel croaks, rubbing his thumbs over Jaskier's knuckles. "It will feel better."

"Why don't you love me?" Jaskier whispers, now looking directly at Eskel and fuck, shit, bloody hell and fucketifuck.

"I do. Please drink some water, Jaskier," he murmurs back and Jaskier pouts.

"You know I can't say no when you say please," Jaskier pouts and reaches for the glass. It doesn't seem like Jaskier noticed Eskel's confession at first, but three long gulps later he stills, and abruptly puts down the glass again. "You do?!"

Ah, there it is.

"I do. Want a protein bar? It's your favorite." Eskel is still on his knees, one of his hands still holding one of Jaskier's, and he just... fuck, his hands are shaking, the adrenaline of his own confession running through him, even if Jaskier might not even remember it tomorrow, it is thrilling, terrifying, to have said it out loud.

"I do," Jaskier echoes and accepts the snack handed to him. For a moment, he struggles with the wrapping, and when it finally is open he devours it like a starving man.

While he eats, Eskel's knees have finally had enough, and he awkwardly stands up and carries the shoes over to the shoe rack.

Jaskier is suspiciously silent, but maybe that is a good thing considering he is eating something. When Eskel turns around again, Jaskier's eyelids are drooping and he looks like he is about to pass out.

Bedtime for drunk roommates, he thinks. But Jaskier is smiling, and the way he is watching Eskel approach again has his heart aching.

"You love me?" Jaskier asks again, the rest of his snack forgotten on the cushion next to him.

"I do," Eskel confirms for a second time, again with that rush of adrenaline running through him. To say it out loud, it is terrifying but liberating. "Let's get you to bed."

Immediately, Jaskier's soft smile turns into a sly smirk.

"Is that... is that so?" he slurs, and Eskel has to roll his eyes. "Yes please. Take me to bed!"

It is a struggle, but with some effort, and some neck nuzzling from Jaskier's side, they finally make it to Jaskier's room. It is a mess, as always, and they trip and stumble as they cross the boobytrapped floor towards Jaskier's bed.

"Will you stay?" Jaskier asks, again flopping down into the bed and reaching his arms up in an inviting gesture.

"Not tonight," Eskel says regretfully, because no. If Jaskier regrets it all tomorrow, Eskel does not want to be here.

"Pleaaassseee?" Jaskier pleads, and fuck, ok, maybe Jaskier is not the only one who finds it hard to resist a please.

"Fine. I'll sit here until you fall asleep," Eskel agrees, sitting down on the foot end of the bed and leans back against the wall.

Jaskier makes a happy sound, until he remembers that he is still wearing his jeans and his shirt.

"No. No no no no, this will not do," Jaskier mutters, starting the fight of unbuttoning his jeans. Eskel prays to every deity he knows that Jaskier can deal with it himself, because he is not mentally prepared to undress Jaskier under any circumstance. 

Yet. Hopefully.

Some struggling later and pale, hairy legs are revealed, together with some blue underwear with little stars on it. Like the gentleman he is, Eskel looks away, for now, only to catch a glimpse in the mirror. 

Eventually the shirt is gone too, leaving only a white t-shirt, and Jaskier dives under the covers with a contented sigh.

"You love me," Jaskier mumbles again, and Eskel lights up like a fire inside. "Love love love me. And I love you. Love love love you."

This drunk fucking idiot, morning can't come soon enough.

"I want a good night kiss!" Jaskier exclaims suddenly, and fuck.

"Tomorrow," Eskel says hurriedly, before Jaskier can do more than sit up and look at him excitedly.

"But tomorrow it won't be a good night kiss," Jaskier argues.

"But tomorrow, you will be sober, and can ask me again if you still want it," Eskel tries. Tries so hard.

"I always want to kiss you." He is informed, and that is... not helpful. "But alright." Jaskier flops down again, but forwards, so that his feet are on his pillow and his big eyes are looking up at Eskel.

"You can tuck my hair behind my ear, though," Jaskier says hopefully, and yes, that he can do.

Jaskier falls asleep quickly, and now that he has permission, he does indeed tuck that strand of hair behind his ear. And pet Jaskier's hair, and trace his jaw and the shell of his ear.

Next thing he knows, it is morning.

The sun is trying to shine through the heavy curtains, but the thick fabric wins, leaving the room in a comfortable darkness.

Eskel is laying on his side, his body shaped like an L, his feet sticking out from the side of the bed. Against his stomach he can feel a pressure, and when he looks down he realizes Jaskier has the top of his head pressed up against it.

Right.

Alright.

He is having a small debate with himself, if he should get up and leave before Jaskier wakes up or not, when Jaskier actually wakes up.

He scrunches his nose, groans in a way that sounds a little like a cow giving birth, and almost punches Eskel in the nose when he is about to reach up and scratch his cheek.

Then, all of a sudden, Jaskier opens his eyes wide, realization hitting that he is not alone in bed.

"Oh." Jaskier’s voice is raspy after sleeping and drinking. "Hi."

"Hi," Eskel says back, smiling carefully. "Sorry, it seems like I fell asleep too."

For a few seconds, Jaskier's brain seems to be working very hard, his face making a series of strange expressions until it settles on the same careful smile Eskel is attempting.

"You stayed."

"I did."

"You love me?"

Fuck, wow. Alright.

"I do."

The sounds Jaskier makes is how Eskel imagines a keyboard smash sounds, and then there are fingers carding through Eskel's hair.

"And if I ask for a good morning kiss?"

"After you've brushed your teeth," Eskel says, a little breathless.

Immediately, Jaskier rushes up, grabs his head as he sways a bit  and does that weird cow-groan again, clearly hungover, but rushes to the bathroom.

He is a little unsteady on his feet, and bumps into the door frame. Eskel chuckles, and promptly realizes he should probably brush his teeth too. With just a little more grace, he makes his way out of the messy room, without bumping into the door frame, and joins Jaskier in the bathroom.

It is a little funny how frantically Jaskier is brushing his teeth and putting on deodorant, still in his white t-shirt and starry underwear.

The bathroom is a bit narrow, but he sidles in behind Jaskier, a hand on his hip as he reaches for his own tooth brush.

"Calm down." He smirks, marveling in the little shudder that runs through Jaskier at his touch.

Morning did not settle any kind of nerves, and touching Jaskier like this still has him shaking like a leaf.

Jaskier does calm down a little, and romantically enough shoos Eskel out to use the bathroom. Eskel rinses out his mouth by the kitchen sink, and by the time he is done Jaskier is walking up behind him, reaching out to hold his sides.

Eskel turns slowly in Jaskier's arms, so close their noses are almost touching.

"Now?" Jaskier breathes, his fingers flexing as they grip Eskel's shirt tighter.

"Now," Eskel confirms, finally, finally leaning in and pressing their lips together, hands reaching up to rest on Jaskier's shoulders.

It was only meant to be a peck, a chaste press of the lips, but he lingers. And when he tries to pull back, Jaskier chases his lips with his own, clearly not done yet, and Eskel lets himself be kissed.

It is soft, warm and cold both in the way that toothpaste sometimes feels in your mouth.

For a long while they just stand there, trading kisses back and forth. Slow and lingering, every touch of lips a question and an answer.

When they finally surface for air, Jaskier leans into Eskel's chest and wraps his arms around him in a hug.

"I always wanted to do that," Jaskier mumbles, his mouth pressed into Eskel's shirt.

"You always can," Eskel mumbles back, his lips pressed into Jaskier's hair. They stay like that until their heart rates go back to normal, until their breaths evens out and Eskel's lips stop tingling.

They move apart to make coffee, and for Jaskier to put some damn pants on. When he comes back, Eskel presses him up against the kitchen counter, one hand on his hip and the other tilting Jaskier's face up.

"Please?" Eskel breathes, hovering inches over Jaskier's lips.

“I may have implied that, um, the person I’m in love with is here tonight.” He pauses before continuing reluctantly. “Or I may have said plainly that he is…a certain witcher.”

“Jaskier…”

“I know. I know! But he was relentless and I couldn’t get away!” he pleads.

“Hmm.”

Geralt’s hands tighten on Jaskier’s shoulders protectively. The bard is too drunk to even keep up with the dance, let alone fight off some unwanted pursuer. In truth, he’s only relieved that he is here with Jaskier, even though the lie is hitting a bit too close to home.

Holding Jaskier like this, swaying with him gently, is once again reminding Geralt of what he isn’t allowed to dream. He no longer dares these days. Not when he’s the one pushing Jaskier away time and time again, not when he’s the one who let Jaskier slip through his fingers and end up with Valdo, not when he’s the one who inadvertently caused Jaskier’s broken heart.

“Oh fuck.” Jaskier hisses, his body tensing. “He’s coming towards us. Okay, act natural! Wait, what is natural if we were together? Oh…um… Just roll with me, will you?”

Before Geralt can reply, Jaskier’s mouth is on his. The kiss is as chaste as it can be—Jaskier is only pecking at his lips gently, never pushing in. Geralt only remembers to close his eyes after a moment, and forces himself to respond as such. To keep up the front, he tells himself, lest the guy is watching.

And he is. Deliberate footsteps are circling the dance floor, not far from them. Geralt concentrate on identifying the man’s heartbeat and his movement—

Jaskier sucks on his lower lip once, twice, before letting go. He buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, his body still taut like a statue.

“Is he gone?”

Warm breaths ghost over the skin of Geralt’s neck and he struggles to open his eyes. The man is not gone. In fact, he’s observing them intently, just shy of stepping into the dance floor himself. Through the moving crowd, Geralt can make out his golden hair and slim shoulders, almost a spitting image of one Valdo Marx, only a little taller.

Geralt hates this man immediately.

Perhaps it’s those too piercing eyes, or the way his presence is making Jaskier nervous like this, or just the look of him. Geralt narrows his eyes dangerously.

“He is not,” Geralt says into Jaskier’s ear, mimicking a lover’s murmur, all the while not breaking eye contact. He’s heard so many times how his yellow eyes are monstrous, and Geralt is thankful for once. It takes some balls to not cower under a witcher’s glare, one that projects predator from afar. This one crumbles within seconds.

With a triumphant smirk, Geralt moves one hand up to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, the other one still pressed between his shoulder blades. He’s laying claim. Hopefully, the light can catch a glint of his fangs, but either way, the man is soon running off, tail between his legs.

“Now he’s gone,” Geralt’s voice comes out deeper and rougher. He clears his throat. “Should be out of the gate by this point.”

They are standing impossibly close. The anxious rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest slow to normal and they separate. Geralt misses the contact. He now has a harder time keeping Jaskier steady on his feet. Yes, that’s the sole reason to miss holding Jaskier.

“I—” Jaskier’s gaze is still fixed somewhere far away behind Geralt’s shoulder, oblivious of how reluctantly the witcher is retracting his hands. “Sorry I did that.”

“Hmm. It worked.”

The bard lets out a dry laugh. “Thank the fuck you are here. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“You can take care of yourself.”

Geralt only has one hand at Jaskier’s elbow, holding onto him with a featherlight touch. The music has come to an end and the quiet intimacy dissipates.

“Can I?” Jaskier says half-mockingly. “One look at that guy and I could barely breathe, Geralt, and he doesn’t even look that much like Val—him.”

Jaskier bites his lips in contrite, his eyes dimmed. Geralt dips his head to meet Jaskier’s gaze, the ocean blue so lost.

“Hey. I’ll be here if you need me,” he adds way too quickly, almost spluttering. “—to get rid of unwanted attention, that is.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness. Instead, a soft smile stretches across his face. Wordlessly, the bard leans forward to place a small kiss on Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt has to hide the gasp, his eyes wide. He doesn’t know why he’s more affected this time. Is it because it’s real? A voice at the back of his head asks. The last time—even with Jaskier’s lips all over him—was only a show, but this one is full of Jaskier’s heart.

“You are sweet.” Jaskier wipes at the spot with a thumb. “What would I do without you, my friend?”

“Hmm.”

Friend. It’s one little word that Geralt has rejected time and time again, and just when he begins to want for more, he finds himself trapped in the very same word. The irony would be laughable if Geralt is not missing the warmth of Jaskier against him so much.

How the turntables.

Stumbling and barely saving his cocktail from sloshing everywhere, Jaskier trotted after Geralt. To his horror, he realised they were headed straight for Olivia’s spot at the counter. Geralt didn’t skip a beat, linking arms with Jaskier and winking at him.

Well that didn't help at all. Jaskier’s stomach did a little backflip, even as he clung to Geralt, the alcohol swirling in his veins making it much easier to lean on him. He was momentarily distracted by how nice it was to lean his temple on Geralt’s shoulder, even if it was an awkward angle, and he went a little weak in the knees when Geralt leaned against the bar and pulled him close while they waited for the bartender to get to them. 

Jaskier whispered, “What are you-”

Only to be interrupted by Olivia, “Jullian! Hi! How are you darling?”

He felt Geralt’s grip around him tighten just a bit as she spoke and something deep in his chest purred at the protective gesture as he plastered a blindingly fake smile over his features, “Absolutely lovely, dear! How are you?”

“Good! I’m just here with Valdo,” she gestured over to the man sitting next to her at the bar. He looked like the black haired, greaseball version of Jaskier and it took everything in his liquor addled brain to keep from scoffing. Then it hit him. 

“Oh! The Valdo! Well it’s good to put a face to the name,” Jaskier barely kept from gritting his teeth. 

Geralt hugged him tighter, leaning down to stage-whisper in his ear, “We can go if you want. Lambert can go without birthday shots, love.”

Love?! 

Fuck, Geralt never called him Love. Not even at their drunkest, highest, or most deliriously tired. It had him scrambling for a moment, just looking up over his shoulder at Geralt in absolute wonder and… and probably a little too much affection.

“No! Lambert needs his birthday shot of cheap tequila. Thank you though, sweetheart.” 

The pet name rolled off his tongue far too easily. Normally he kept the pet names to a minimum for Geralt. He’d noticed a bit of bristling early on so he just- held back. Now it felt sinfully indulgent to call him that when he wanted… fuck what did he want?

Luckily they were rescued from the awkward introduction by the bartender asking for their order. 

“Eight shots of Casamigos please! And one lemonade chaser and a shot glass of grenadine please!” Jaskier piped up, whipping his credit card out of his pocket too fast for Geralt to stop him. 

“I thought you said cheap?” Valdo scoffed. 

Geralt frowned, half stepping between him and Jaskier, “It is? It’s no Barrique de Ponciano?”

Jaskier was really trying not to laugh now. They’d n e v e r bought something that fancy, nor would they ever. But they’d been googling the most expensive bottles of different alcohols the other night and Geralt had drunkenly tried for a whole half hour to pronounce the name of this particular tequila. 

The look on Valdo’s face was magnificent. Olivia’s eyebrows disappeared behind her betty bangs and Jaskier felt the purring beast in his chest get louder. 

He reached up to pat Geralt’s cheek, “No need to spoil me tonight.” 

Olivia leveled them with a piercing stare, doing that annoying ‘creating suspense’ thing she liked to do before she said something she was proud of, “I’m glad you two finally got together. I think you’ll be good for each other.”

Geralt did the remainder of the talking while Jaskier stared at him in shock. Unfortunately that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to sink into Geralt’s embrace like this all the damn time and hear his nearly imperceptible huff of annoyance at comments people made. Nothing would please him more than feeling Geralt’s stubble pressed against his temple when he pressed a kiss to his hairline every day and he did his best in his drunken state to memorize it in case it never happened again. 

He came back from his dazed fantasy to Geralt guiding his hand down to his belt and it took him a panicked moment to realize he was meant to hold on while Geralt lead them back to the party carrying the shots. 

Jaskier offered a quick “Toodles,” and flipped Valdo off with his free hand when Olivia turned her back, but they were soon lost in the sea of people. Without really thinking, he took his shot with the group and dumped the grenadine into his lemonade. Well he was thinking.

And he didn’t stop thinking, staring off into space until Geralt nudged him with his elbow, giving him a concerned look. 

“What the fuck was that?!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Geralt shrugged, popping a mozzarella stick in his mouth and speaking around it, “And you didn't have to lie your ass off.”

How Geralt was still so calm was beyond Jaskier. Well, it wasn’t, he’d been sure his roommate had absolutely no feelings for him whatsoever, but part of him had held out for a sliver of hope and that part was the dominant part right then. 

“Love?!”

“Are you- mad? I thought it would help sell it…” Geralt rested a hand on his elbow to guide him away from the group.

Jaskier knocked back what had been left of his cocktail before the shots and could feel the regret in advance. It was never a good idea to talk about important things either drunk or hungover but here he was, about to flip shit on Geralt for… being a good friend?

“I’m not fucking angry, I’m yearning!”

The second, much more intense, wave of regret hit him when Geralt’s eyes went wide and his hand dropped from Jaskier’s arm.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier snapped, wiping a hand over his face, “And don’t remind me about this in the morning if I forget.”

Before he could make his escape with his tail between his legs, Geralt gripped him by the shoulders and trapped him in a kiss so frantic and needy his head was spinning when they parted. 

“Jask?”

“Hm?” He had to remember to open his eyes, lost in the tingling ghost of Geralt’s lips on his and the firm grip still holding him close. 

The grin Geralt was sporting was far too cheeky to be allowed much longer but Jaskier refrained from kissing him again to hear what he had to say, “Can I remind you of that in the morning?”