#geraskier drabble

“Jaskier, we need to hurry if we don't want to get drenched,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.

“You know, we would get to the next inn in time if we were actually riding on a horse.” Jaskier looked at Roach, who seemed to give him a glare, but that was probably just his imagination.

“You know we can't.” As much as Jaskier wanted to protest, he knew that Geralt was right, because Roach was already carrying enough weight at the moment, and they needed all of that. It wasn't like they could just abandon everything just to get to their destination. It wasn't even freezing cold, Jaskier didn't mind the rain at all – he loved the summer rain actually – but he knew how much force a storm could have, how much destruction lightning could leave behind.

Before they know it, the rain set in. Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the wrist and pulled him towards the trees to seek shelter from the downpour. In the distance, they could hear the thunder, but they couldn't see the lightning yet, because of their surroundings.

“So, you want us to stay here until this is over?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at Geralt,

“Don't tell me you want to go out into that downpour and get completely drenched? Are you mad?”

“You do know who you are talking to, right?”

“Yeah, you are mad...” Geralt shook his had half in amusement, half in exasperation. Before he could do anything, Jaskier stepped out of the shelter the trees were providing and into the rain. It smelled sweet and earthy, like the typical summer rain, which made Jaskier smile, even ad the rain made it's way through his clothes and onto his skin. “We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” Geralt watched Jaskier stand there, already completely drenched.

“Yes,” Jaskier yelled over the sound of rain, a brilliant smile on his lips, as he tilted his face up to greet the rain. It felt amazing, it always did. He couldn't really say what it was about the summer rain, but it almost felt like it was cleansing his soul. For a moment, he simply stood there, enjoying the rain on his skin that cooled his body down after they'd been walking in the sun for hours. Slowly, he turned his face towards Geralt again as the rain was lessening. “You do know that lightning striked trees rather than flat land, right? So I'm actually safer here than you are over there.”

“I'm good here.”

“What's that, my dear Witcher?” Jaskier smirked, turning completely towards him, cocking his head to the left. “Are you afraid of a little rain?”

“That's not a little rain.” Geralt looks Jaskier up and down, his bright blue doublet now a couple of shades darker due to the water.

“So you are afraid,” Jaskier kept on teasing, but he looked up at the sky again, closing his eyes. It was already getting a bit lighter again, but the rain remained. There was still thunder and lightning all around, but still a bit away from them.

“Say that again.” Jaskier heard Geralt's voice close to his ear now, before he felt the Witcher's hands on his upper arms. The bard gasped when he opened his eyes and was suddenly nose to nose with Geralt. Still, he couldn't help but smirk.

“Scared, Witcher?”

“You wish!”

His words make Jaskier's smirk turn into a smile. His hands reach up to cup Geralt's face before he presses his lips to the Witcher's. He'd kissed a lot of people, but he'd never kissed anyone in the pouring rain before. Something that was so romanticised that he had to try it himself, and... it did live up to what he'd expected. More than that actually. Geralt's grip on his arms loosened, and instead, he dropped his hands to Jaskier's waist, pulling him closer. Seems like Jaskier wasn't the only one enjoying this kiss in the rain. They only parted when they both needed to come up for air. Staring into each others eyes, they both started chuckling.

“Maybe, we should keep going now to get to that inn... get out of these clothes, hm?” It was Jaskier's suggestion this time, because as much as he enjoyed standing in the rain, kissing Geralt in the rain, he liked being warmed by Geralt's body next to his in a comfy bed even more.

“You just want to get me naked, don't you?” Geralt asked, trying to suppress the smile that was about to break out on his lips.

“Maaaaaybe.” Jaskier pulled Geralt towards him for another quick kiss. “Can you blame me?”

No. No he could not, because he wanted to get Jaskier out of these wet clothes as well. To keep him from catching a cold of course.

Their packs were abandoned, dropped to the side back where the grass met the sand. In a haphazard pile beside it, was a colorful doublet, and frantically unlaced boots, socks tossed in without much care. Geralt stood next to it all, unlacing his own footwear slowly. The air was crisp, cool yet warm enough, and the delighted laugh of his bard brought a grin to his face. 

Jaskier seemed to love the sand almost as much as he loved civilization. His head thrown back in laughter, he ran along the beach, stopping only to pick up a shell if he saw it. This he would do very carefully, almost even scientifically, taking it into his cupped hands and admiring it, trying to figure out how delicate the object was, before lifting it up to gaze at it in the light. Satisfied with the shell or colourful rock, he would make his way over to Geralt, eyes shining bright. 

“Look, Geralt, isn’t it wonderful? I’ve never seen so green a rock in my life! I wonder what it could be from. It must be worth something, hm?”

Geralt took one of his boots to the side to look at what was placed in his hand. “Jaskier, I love you so much, you know that, right?” He asked, looking at the (admittedly very pretty) piece of seaglass in his hands. 

Jaskier seemed to have no inclination as to what Geralt would say, looking up at him with those wide, loving eyes of his, inquiring silently as to what Geralt could want. No, he wouldn’t burst his bubble, not right now. Pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, he hummed. “It’s lovely, lark. Thank you,” And watched as Jaskier swelled with pride, running off back towards the water. 

It was as if some weight had lifted in comparison to the man who traveled beside him on the path. His pants were rolled up as far as they could go, and yet Jaskier found a spot in the sand and began making something, some small primitive structure. Geralt shook his head, and found within him the incredible urge to pick Jaskier up and spin him around. He made quick work of his own shoes, and tossed his outer layers onto the pile created before. By the time he had rolled up his own pantlegs, Jaskier was long finished, and instead, was simply standing. The water rose to about his ankles, and he was smiling brightly.

Geralt wrapped an arm around his waist as he came up to him. The eyes looking back at him were so happy it almost took Geralt aback. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?” He asked, resting his head on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

The man laughed. “It’s simply marvelous here, Geralt. I haven’t seen anything like it in so long…” He trailed off, tangling a hand in Geralt’s hair and brushing through it. 

“But…?” Geralt offered, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“We should live here. Someday. Build a pretty house-”

Geralt was in shock. He never could’ve imagined that Jaskier’s true future involved a life with him, and his mouth seemed to work faster than his brain. “I’d build you the prettiest house,”

Another laugh tore from his lover, who took his hand and kissed it gently. “I’m sure you would. But could you imagine it? Us, here?”

______________

Geralt had always found public restrooms unsettling. Not uncomfortably so, they just didn’t feel… real?

“Fuck, I’m close,” Jaskier gasped, pumping his cock with Geralt’s steady thrusts in his ass. The cold metal stall door against Geralt’s palm and the bright patterns on the wall were distracting, to say the least. But hey, Jaskier was having a good time.

Jaskier bit his knuckles as he came- completely uncaring that an aggressively peppy mariachi was playing uncomfortably loud. He looked back at Geralt as if to ask when he’d cum.

“Not happening. Too distracted.”

It’s in his eyes.

From a distance Geralt looks the same as always: armored, efficient, graceful, strong. He faces every contract with the same fervent intensity he’s had since the day Jaskier met him. But when they’re alone, when he lets Jaskier inside the barriers he puts on with his armor, Jaskier can see the world weighing heavily on his Witcher, the sense of loss he holds close.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save them all,” Jaskier murmurs.

Sometimes, when Geralt sleeps, Jaskier writes down stories about the lost Witchers. Someone should remember.

Geralt had bathed quickly, listening as Jaskier finished up his set downstairs.

“It’s kisses time,” he sang quietly to himself as he dried off and slipped into his smalls and trousers. “It’s almost kisses time. Kisses for me time.”

“We should enter you in the bardic competition next year,” Jaskier giggled from his place in the doorway. The Witcher’s eyes went wide and his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “No, Geralt. My sweet Witcher, that was lovely.”

The bard crossed the room quickly and pulled Geralt into his arms, wrapping himself around the slightly taller man like a clinging vine. 

“I just...like your kisses.”

Their camp is quickly made and unmade quicker. Practiced hands in tandem, brushing fingers, knocking elbows, an ease and pace unearthed by practice and with time.

They go west with the sun. 

He follows a red mare, humming verses about gilded wheat and journey’s winding promise, all thinly veiled confessions to a yearning he won’t name.

25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be

24 - “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

All right, here you go @elliestormfound! Thanks for the ask! This was a fun little piece to write, I hope you enjoyed it :) Here is the link to the story on ao3

Geralt flexed his fingers, sore from hanging on the ladder after so long. Below him, a river of detritus and sewage boils around the foot of the ladder. Above him is the closed lid of one of the access points, which he’d been forced to duck into at the last minute as he was running to escape an angry crowd. It had hardly been his fault that they hadn’t wanted to pay. Once the man he’d presented his bounty to had started shouting, it hadn’t taken long for a crowd to gather. And once the first rock had been thrown, he knew it was time to make a swift exit. 

He hangs there, listening carefully to the sounds of the street above. Below him, the water rushes and gurgles, stinking its way out to the sea. Above, he can still hear the occasional angry voice raised in protest.

From below him on the ladder, feet inches above the sewage, floats a voice. “Are they gone yet, Geralt?”

“Not yet,” Geralt growls quietly down at his companion. “Be quiet.”

“All right, it’s just, we’ve been here for hours and my limbs feel like they’re going to fall off, and it stinks something horrible in here.” Jaskier complained, shifting the lute case on his back. “Did we really have to flee into the sewer?”

Geralt peers down at him in the darkness.

“Fine. Next time I’ll let you lead us away from the angry mob,” he replies drily.