#geskel

“You’re lighter,” Eskel complained, heaving himself over the top.

He put his hands on his hips and caught his breath. All of Kaedwen fell away below them. Forests and rolling fields, green and cloud-dappled, with spiky human-made villages nestled into dips in the land.

“Do you think they’ll hate us?” Eskel said. “When it’s our turn to walk the Path.”

He didn’t realize how close Geralt had gotten until his voice rumbled in Eskel’s ear, “No one could ever hate you.”

Eskel made a disparaging noise. They stood like that for a moment, surveying the land that would come to fear and distrust both of them, though they would do nothing but try to keep its inhabitants safer. Then the sun broke through a cloud, momentarily too bright and too warm. Geralt dropped his head onto Eskel’s shoulder in a fall of auburn curls. Then, as he pulled back—

Eskel whirled around.

“Did you just kiss my shoulder?” Eskel said, astonished.

Geralt was holding both hands up like an apology. There was something in his eyes that made Eskel want to grab him and shake him, force every word he kept locked inside himself out.

“I meant nothing by it,” Geralt said. “I only…” He trailed off and looked down.

“It’s fine. I was just surprised. Don’t…”

Geralt looked so uncomfortable. Eskel hated it.

“Just don’t let it change anything,” Eskel said. He couldn’t bear if it changed anything. He loved Geralt the way he loved his lungs; he’d die without them.

Geralt said, “I won’t.”

Eskel felt the warmth of Geralt’s lips on him the entire way back to Kaer Morhen and knew that they were both wrong—that something was beginning, which meant that something else had to end. He hoped it was worth it.

*

It was Lambert who carried Eskel back to Kaer Morhen when his face got ruined, but it was Geralt who unwound the sloppy bandages and took the first look at him. Geralt didn’t flinch when he saw. Geralt would never flinch from him.

“This is going to hurt,” Geralt said. He held up a needle and a flask of vodka. “Hold still for me.”

Eskel chugged the vodka and held still.

With his eyes closed, the gut strings tugging at his skin felt foreign and obnoxious, like he wanted to break the wrist of whoever was doing that to him. He fisted his hands in the fabric of his trousers and didn’t realize he was crying until Geralt dried his cheeks.

Geralt left his hand on Eskel’s face, the good side of it, and Eskel turned into that touch.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel slurred with his torn mouth. “‘M all ugly now.”

“You were ugly before,” Geralt said. “Never bothered me any.”

Eskel wheezed trying not to laugh. He took Geralt’s hand away from his face but held onto it, unwilling to give up the contact. Geralt rubbed circles into his palm. Then he brought Eskel’s hand to his own face, turned into it the way Eskel had done to him, and kissed his palm. Eskel closed his hand into a fist, feeling unable to breathe for the tenderness that welled in him.

“Rest now,” Geralt said.

*

Geralt came home that winter battered in body and spirit, looking like he’d aged a decade.

Eskel bullied him into eating and then bullied him down to the hot springs.

“Jaskier always tries to wash my hair for me too,” Geralt said. “Am I really that bad at it?”

“No comment,” Eskel said, soaping Geralt’s hair up. He tugged at it, pulling Geralt’s head to the side and earning a slap on the arm. “You might want to name all your pet fleas, though.”

“Hah hah,” Geralt said, but as Eskel’s touch turned gentle he relaxed into it, the tense lines of his muscles softening.

Some time later, after Geralt was as clean and pliant as Eskel could get him, and they were sprawled side by side in the pool, Eskel said, “The Path was lonely this year.”

Geralt grunted. “It’s always lonely.”

“Lonelier.”

“Maybe it was,” Geralt allowed after a moment.

Eskel let his head fall sideways onto Geralt’s shoulder. He rubbed his lips against the naked wet skin. Geralt reached up to flick his nose, but Eskel caught his wrist and kissed his palm instead.

Geralt was always ahead, but Eskel always caught up eventually. 

“Thought you didn’t want that,” Geralt murmured.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I do now.”

Geralt pushed Eskel’s wet hair back from his face and searched his eyes. Eskel searched back, not knowing what he was looking for, just that it felt like he’d found it. There were no thoughts in his head when Geralt tugged his face down, just Geralt’s lips pressed to his forehead, soft but sure. Eskel returned that kiss too, and then Geralt’s mouth was on his, and his tongue was on Eskel’s tongue, and they both sighed into it.

“Wanted you my whole life,” Geralt said.

How had Eskel ever wondered if it would be worth it? His life was more bad than good, but Geralt was responsible for every good part and always had been. 

The boy Eskel was and the man he’d become said, “You’ll always have me.”

Eskel makes him feel grounded, too. Standing there in his work clothes (so different from his armor, which he hung up some time ago, and only comes out every few months), worn and well-loved, his brow shining with sweat. His hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at Geralt, because he'll never let go of his juvenile hairstyle, no matter how much Geralt teases him for it. His skin glowing golden brown in the dying sunlight, tanned from weeks of working the fields, sunrise to sundown. His scars, glowing light pink like ridges drawn on the land right after the harvest, healed and forgiven.

"I am," Geralt replies, leaning down to grab the small wooden box where they keep their healing supplies. "Come here and show me your arm." 

Eskel clicks his tongue in protest but goes anyway, pulling a chair next to him. He injured himself working on the fields a day before, a too-sharp sickle and a thoughtless movement resulting in a big gash on his forearm, which Geralt lovingly and long-sufferingly stitched up and bandaged, after, of course, lecturing his lover on his carelessness. 

“It’s fine,” he says, even as he extends his arm so Geralt can unwrap the bandage, dirty and damp with sweat. “It’s healing normal.”

“Hmm.”

The wound is, as Eskel put it, healing correctly. After all, Geralt would be embarrassed to call his needlework sloppy, and Eskel, being the Witcher that he is, withstood the stitching with calm and grace. There’s a little blood dotting the cut, and Geralt dabs it away gently with a cloth, cleaning the wound thoroughly. 

Part of him knows he’s, perhaps, overreacting. It is a small wound, after all, clean-cut and simple, and Eskel could care for it on his own. But there’s no need for it, now, he thinks as he dips the cloth in antiseptic. He can be gentle, can wash away the pain with his hands now, can bring relief and comfort to the one he loves. 

Even if there are no more gaping wounds from a kikimora, no more deep gashes from a griffin’s talons, no more arachas bites to be endured. 

Even if it is just a scratch to the skin, he wants to tend to it. 

He can take his time.

Eskel is quiet beside him as he works. He must know, indulging Geralt like this. Perhaps he has the same thoughts, every once in a while. Perhaps he, too, thinks life is precious every time he holds it in his hands. 

Geralt lets the injured arm rest on his lap for a moment, reaching down to grab some spare bandages and a small pair of scissors. Slowly, he starts wrapping Eskel’s forearm with the clean linen, making sure it’s not too tight nor too loose, covering the wound until no red skin can peek out and risk an infection. 

He looks up at Eskel when he’s done, and without a word, brings his hand to his lips, pressing a small kiss into his skin. 

“All done,” he murmurs, Eskel’s eyes warm like honey on his. “You may return to your tomfoolery now, old man.”

“Thank you kindly.” A grin, toothy and wide. “However could I repay you?”

The sun is almost gone all the way now, the last of sunlight flickering through the trees. 

Geralt looks at their joined hands, and squeezes. 

“Sit with me a while.”

And it’s easy, like nothing’s ever been. Like he believed nothing should ever be. 

“That,” Eskel says, moving his chair a little closer with an old-man groan Geralt will tease him about later, “I can do.”