#gerkel

This was for a Twitter reply :)

It always happens like this.

It’s late at night and Eskel is settling down to sleep, but is still lying awake when his door opens, and Geralt enters, his breathing so slow and soft it’s near undetectable, his heart pounding faster than it should be.

Geralt slides into bed next to Eskel, and Eskel lets him, knows that Geralt needs this, the simple comfort of another being. He’s spent so much time sleeping with someone nearby, it’s nigh impossible when he’s by himself. Geralt presses up behind Eskel and presses his face between his shoulder blades, slides his hands around him and holds him and sighs, steady and slow.

His heart slows the longer he’s there, the pounding slowing until Eskel can count the seconds between beats.

One, two, three, thud.

When Geralt’s had his fill he turns over, but doesn’t get up from Eskel’s bed. That’s Eskel’s cue to turn over, to pull Geralt to his chest. They’re of the same size, height wise, but Eskel is broader than Geralt, fits at his back more comfortably. Geralt shuffles closer into his grip, and they sleep that way, Geralt’s back to Eskel’s front, pressed together from knee to shoulder.

Every time, Eskel wants to do more; he wants to speak, wants to ask what happened that made Geralt so distressed, wants to talk so Geralt can get his feelings out in a healthy way and not have the issues sitting on him for nights in end in a time he’s supposed to relax.

And Eskel wants more.

He wants to be able to curl his arms tighter around Geralt, he wants to have the simple intimacy of tangling their legs together under the covers, he wants to face geralt and rest their foreheads together, lean in and kiss Geralt’s cheek, he wants to ask, everytime,

Can I love you, just like this?

But Eskel holds the words back, and lets Geralt take what he needs.

He dreams, when it happens, about a lifetime ago, training side by side, he dreams about being young and stupid, and chasing after Geralt, his laughter, just his smiles, which came so easy once, even when they were in so much pain.

He dreams of nights spent outside, looking up at the stars and Geralt saying that they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He dreams of the courage he had— recklessness, when he’d told Geralt he was in love with him.

He dreams of his love being returned.

So I haven’t forgotten about this ask, I’ve just been super busy since I got it. Your song was Nicotine by Panic! At the Disco, and it was really difficult for me to figure out a good way to write for this prompt. I also wasn’t sure which ship to use, so I went with the vibe that I was feeling when I first started writing it.

But I hope that you like how it turned out!

—

• so the song makes me think of Eskel’s Magic Hands TM, and I’ve had a few thoughts about Eskel’s hands being Very Nice.

• Eskel’s signs aren’t just strong, there’s chaos in his very soul, at the core of him, that emanates powerfully in his entire body.

• To mages, this feels like a tingling sensation, a bit tickly and to some, a little intimidating. How can one Witcher have so much magic?

• Geralt already has a... fascination with magic users. His track record isn’t exactly pure— he certainly has a type. And Eskel...

• Eskel’s hands don’t tickle to him, the way that a mage would feel his touch. Geralt feels it like lightning, a sharp, electric heat that affects him.

• It’s an innocent accident really, that starts Geralt’s... intrigue... with Eskel’s hands, and the chaos carefully controlled within them.

• It’s a firm handshake, after the second round of mutations— Eskel is happy to see that Geralt is alright, is alive and thriving, although changed, moreso than any of the rest of them. They were nearly ready for the path anyway, but with the additional mutations, Geralt would need more time to recover before he left.

• And when Eskel touches him, that sting zips through him, not enough to set off his medallion, although his chest grows warm in a different sort of way.

• Eskel leaves, shortly afterwards, leaving Geralt yearning for that shock.

• He seeks out mages on purpose, searching, desperately, for anyone who can recreate the shock that touching Eskel gives him.

• None of them feel right.

• And when Eskel and Geralt meet again in the winter, Geralt gets woozy just thinking about when the bare skin of Eskel’s fingers touch the sensitive place of Geralt’s wrist— the jolt, the burn that seems to fry all of his senses at once in the best way.

• When he and Eskel finally realize their feelings for each other, Geralt confesses this obsession, this yearning that sometimes feels to intense that he thinks about going out in a storm, sword in hand, just to draw lightning.

• After that, Eskel touches him all the time, and it takes no time at all to realize why his lover is suddenly so tactile.

• The smirk on Eskel’s face as Geralt’s senses light up tells the whole story.

—

Also on AO3

Every year, Eskel thinks: this is going to be the one. The one where it finally stops. The year he gets to stop pretending for everyone else’s sake.

He’s tired of the mask he wears, he’s sick of every lie he tells himself, exhausted every time he goes down for Breakfast in the main hall, can’t even look properly at Geralt when he sits beside him, when he wants him to be across the table, wants to look into his eyes each morning even earlier, wants to be able to see him beside him in the big bed he has in his room, wants to watch Geralt’s eyes flicker open for the first time in the morning and ask, gently,

“How’d you sleep?”

He just wants everything to crash down around him, the walls he crafted around his heart shattering like glass, no longer needing the extra defense to guard him against every surge of treacherous emotion when Geralt does something endearing that he can’t fucking mention.

He wants to say all the things they don’t say to each other— he wants to tell Geralt about how he feels when his nose crinkles up in the times he grins too wide, wants to tell him about the two strands of hair that fall out of his tie that he has to tuck behind his ear when it’s shaved short, how he wants to be the one to tuck them there, or put his ponytail up better so it doesn’t fall at all.

And he’s so tired, at the end of the year when he makes the trek home, and he’s ready to relax, really relax, after eighty years, he’s ready to collapse in tiredly into someone else’s welcoming embrace, to be held, to be loved, for the first time in a lifetime.

And so he gets to the keep, anticipation swirling in his gut, of the potential for it to happen, for this to be their year.

And Geralt greets him with the same smile as he always does, the one that says “It’s good to see you made it home in one piece,” the one that says “I’m happy to see you again,” the one that means “Try again next time,”

And Eskel takes a deep, shuddering breath in, embracing him for the first time after three seasons—

Geralt/Eskel And They Were Roommates, Part 4: You need a Nap!

“We both knew it would happen eventually,” Eskel says as Geralt walks into the apartment.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate working on the weekends?” Geralt walks over to the couch and sits down heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I get it,” Eskel chuckles in agreement. “You remember a couple weeks ago? When you brought me lunch?”

Geralt looks at him for a moment, then bends down to untie his shoes. “Yeah,” he says. “You were really tired when you came home.”

“Yeah,” Eskel said. He remembers all too well how he’s fallen asleep as soon as he’d changed into comfortable clothes, how Geralt had to come in and wake him up to tell him he’d made dinner. It was technically Geralt’s turn that day, but he’d more than earned a rest— Eskel would order pizza or something. “You look like you could use some rest as well,” Eskel said.

“But I already got comfortable,” Geralt complains, putting his feet on the table. It’s a habit of his that has stopped annoying Eskel— it’s his side of the table, he’s the one who eats there. If he wants it to smell like feet, it’s on him.

“I didn’t say you had to nap in bed,” Eskel points out with a shrug.

“Then you get up.”

“No, I’m comfortable here too!”

Geralt grins at him for a moment, then sighs. “Fine,” he says. Eskel lifts his arm in an invitation— they’ve learned that the snuggling they did as kids is better if Eskel is the one Geralt is laying on now. Something about Eskel making a better pillow…

His thoughts trail off as Geralt rests his head on his chest, turning on the couch and letting his feet hang off the end. Eskel rests his arm on Geralt, and he shoves himself into the crook. “Thanks, Kelly,” Geralt mumbles, his arms wrapping loosely around Eskel’s.

Beginning of Winter-

Geralt thought he’d been ecstatic when he saw the gates of the keep, but it seemed like nothing compared to the feeling that swelled in his chest when he saw Eskel again. He wrapped him in a hug, heads pressing together tightly.

“I missed you, wolf,” Eskel muttered, the firm hand on his shoulder loosening to rub up and down his back. “Gods, It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Geralt said, overwhelmed by his emotions, Eskel’s fingers curling through his hair. Eskel’s hair was longer too, enough that he could feel the ends of it ghosting his fingers.

As a unit they stepped back from the hug, and Eskel’s hand rose to his face, bringing him back in until their foreheads, then noses, then mouths were pressed together. Eskel’s arms slid around his neck and Geralt pulled him by the waist, tilting his head and sliding their tongues together lazily, exploratory, relearning one another after a year spent apart.

They parted gently and Geralt smiled, turning his face into Eskel’s palm and sniffing gently, inhaling his familiar scent.

“Let’s get inside,” Eskel suggested. “Too cold to stay out for long.”

Geralt nodded his agreement into his hand and stepped back. Together they turned towards the keep, and walked hand in hand into the place they called home.

A Lazy Morning-

Geralt became slowly aware of the world as the warmth at his back shifted. Kisses pressed gently at his neck, fingers brushing his hair out of the way. There was an arm around his waist and it pulled him closer, like a child’s stuffed toy.

“Good morning,” Eskel mumbled in his ear. A smile stretched over Geralt’s face and he relaxed into the treatment.

“Good morning,” Geralt hummed, closing his eyes. He shifted a little so Eskel could get to his jaw as well, and felt the rasp of lips over his stubble as he mouthed at the spot.

“How do you feel about staying in bed today?” Eskel asked. “Outside of food, I mean.”

“Sounds great,” Geralt sighed, prepared to doze off again. Eskel moved, propping himself up with a hand to give Geralt a sideways kiss. Geralt cherished it, smiling softly and moving his hands to brush up into Eskel’s hair. Eskel put his free hand next to Geralt and turned so they could kiss properly, but Geralt tugged his hair to keep him from getting closer. “I’m going back to sleep,” he mumbled. “Not really feeling up to it.”

“Alright,” Eskel said, nuzzling gently at the side of Geralt’s head. “I’ll stay with you until you wake up and we’ll grab some food?”

Geralt pressed closer until Eskel pulled him back to his chest, then let out a content sigh. “That sounds perfect.”

On the Path-

“Geralt!” A familiar voice filled his ears, and Geralt felt a smile tug at his cheeks as he turned from packing up his camp. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Geralt set down his bag and stepped onto the road to greet Eskel, who was riding closer on Scorpion. “It’s been five months since I saw you last, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right. Since we parted ways at the Pontar in Kaedwen. What are you doing this far East?” Eskel climbed off of Scorpion and led him towards Roach. The two were good friends, nickering politely at one another and exchanging friendly nudges before walking to a nearby patch of grass.

Their riders greeted each other similarly, a strong embrace with affection pouring into their grasp.

“I heard about a wraith in Hagge while I was in Wyzima,” he explained, gesturing to a log that Geralt had been using as a bench previously. It was a well traveled spot, where he’d set up camp. Shaded by a low-hanging elm, plenty of fruitful foliage in the area. It wasn’t an inn with a bed, but he’d make do.

“I see.” Eskel sat down and pulled Geralt with him, bringing their mouths together. Geralt kissed him enthusiastically, putting his hand to his cheek and leaning into it. “Mm,” Eskel hummed when they parted for air. “I’ve missed that.”

“Me too,” Geralt agreed, and returned for another. There was no urgency in the exchange, no rush pushing them to separate. Geralt knew how easy it was to lose track of time kissing Eskel, and fully intended to do so— which meant Eskel was the one to break it.