#inhuman jaskier

Though perhaps that was still a possibility- things were finally becoming rather promising between him and Geralt in a physical way. Geralt was being rather sweet about it, honestly. Which both surprised him and didn’t surprise him at the same time, so he was perfectly willing to be sweet back, the same way. In private when no one could see them. 

The Witcher could use a little sweetness. 

At any rate, he’d offered to trade story for story on scars, which had amused Geralt a great deal. He’d agreed, mostly because it ‘wouldn’t take long’. Jaskier had a staggering and slightly depressing array to choose from, healing aside, and Geralt seemed to enjoy looking for Jaskier’s, despite the fact the bard would, and could point them out. He was right of course, but that wasn’t the point. 

That wasn’t what they were doing at the moment. At the moment they were rather lazily necking while a truly hideous thunderstorm- there was hail- raged outside of the stout little cabin they’d come across. Given the snug box bed, and excellent chimney and stove, it seemed it was a winter trapper’s cabin.  Roach was even under shelter in a side shed that probably held wood in the colder season, and possibly bundled furs. It was empty now, well except for Roach. 

They weren’t playing the scar game, as Jaskier called it, or in any rush to fuck. They had time, and privacy and were mostly kissing for the pure enjoyment of the act itself. It wasn’t anything they’d gotten tired of yet. Not many people were interested in kissing Witchers, and many of Jaskier’s affairs were more hurried, moving directly from a flirt to a fuck with the only kissing being a prelude or a cooldown. 

Not that he’d object to it being a prelude. Jaskier sighed happily as Geralt nosed along the muscle of his neck, leaving kisses on the skin. He stroked his fingers through the other man’s hair in long luxurious movements, rubbing the base of his neck and tipping his head to give him more room to kiss and nibble. Sharp teeth pulled a bit on his earlobe, making him shiver pleasantly, and traced up along the curve. Geralt  made a rumbling noise, and continued his explorations getting a bit distracted as Jaskier captured his mouth again, for more sweet, hot kisses before nosing along his neck on the other side. It was a very masculine giggle, but he still giggled giddily at the idea of symmetrical kiss marks decorating his neck and collar, which seemed to be Geralt’s intent. 

There was a pause and Geralt said, very quietly, just in his ear-

“Why is there scarring on the backs on your ears?”

“... that is in the running for the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me. And that list is very long, I’ll have you know.” the bard said after a moment of getting his brain back to functioning when he had been very pleasantly blissing out. 

The witcher pulled back a bit, bracing his arm next to Jaskier’s head, and bringing up the other hand to brush along the outer curve. 

“These are… Well healed. Identical.  Almost surgical, what-”

“That’s because they are.” Jaskier grabbed a handful of firmly muscled ass and squeezed. “Can we talk about this later?”

“No, we’re talking about it now, because you don’t want to.”

“Oh, when I don’t want to talk about things it’s an emergency, but when you don’t, it’s quiet time.” Jaskier huffed, and bit Geralt on the shoulder on the principle he couldn’t really hurt him. Since the witcher just gave a huff of a laugh and sat up further, he didn’t really object. Moving to sit against the wall, he pulled Jaskier into his lap, so he could continue investigating his ears. 

“You like talking.” 

“Well I don’t like talking about this.” he pouted. 

“Two.” Geralt mumbled into his hair. 

“What?”

“Two stories, one for each scar.” he elaborated. “And I’ll … answer questions about it.” 

The bard paused. The last time they’d played, he’d gotten less than a full sentence. He’d pummeled Geralt with a pillow, but it hadn’t made him give up more information. “You really must want to know.” 

He gave a small rumble of assent.  Jaskier just sighed, heavily, and leaned back against his firm chest, as one of the witcher’s hands stroked up and down his chest, petting the hair there. 

“So you know how I'm technically a Viscount?”

Geralt gave a hrm that he wasn’t sure was a yes or a no, but was certainly a go on, which was a rare enough noise. 

“There’s a lot of elven blood in the nobility in my Kingdom.” He explained. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a certain similarity of features in the courts. So sometimes, bloodlines being what they are, the combination gets to a certain… point. Charitably described as half-elves, but the math isn’t precise, it’s just… visible. More than pretty eyes and smooth skin. Of course no one wants to admit that there’s elf in their family tree, so something needs to be done.  Once they’re sure the baby will live, usually a week or so, a mage, healer or sometimes a barber surgeon comes and.” He inscribed a half circle in the air. “Smooths things over. It’s an understood thing. My older half brother went to school for medicine. Says it’s no different than a few stitches to repair a harelip.” he snorted. “Another lie I believed for a long time, I’m afraid.” 

“How?”

He made a disgusted noise. 

“It’s not like there are records. My educated guess is when the humans took over the lands there were… concubines. Again, I’m being charitable with that description.” 

Geralt's arms tightened around him in acknowledgement. 

“Some kids look more human, get taken into the main family, only male heir or something, it all gets muddled, and there you have it.” He flourished with one hand. 

“Your parents. Cut the tips of the ears off their children to make them look human?” 

“Ah, no, my older siblings escaped that fate, since they were the product of a different wife. With his heir and spare in place, my fair father got himself a second bride after the first caught ill one winter, noble and sweet and his own choosing rather than set up by his father. To be fair, they do seem to love each other; which is more than most nobles can hope for, enough that they kept having children even after they found out what it would result in.” he stared into the distance and wrinkled his nose. “The whole family is there to witness, to bind in the secret to them all. Being an infant I don’t remember it happening to me, of course, but I did have to watch it happen to my younger sisters.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Geralt asked, suddenly curious.

“Two older half brothers, three younger sisters. I’m the pretty one of the boys.” he fluttered his lashes and grinned. “Honestly, I’m glad for them. If it weren't for Edmund and Phineas, I never would have been able to study the arts. How many brothers do you have?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“Less than I used to.”   

There was a long pause, and they both listened to the sounds of the storm outside, but didn’t move from where they were still cuddled against each other. 

There was no surprise that Jaskier was the one to break the silence.

“This is not how I anticipated telling you.” he admitted.

“Did you?” 

“What?”

“Mean to tell me.” 

“Yes. But I’d decided to wait until you noticed. Fresh air, exercise and yes, some moisturizer has kept me looking much younger than a man in his forties should. It was getting ridiculous, but at that point, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.” 

“... I knew.”

“What?” 

“Figured it out after a few years. I thought you didn’t. Didn’t want to bring it up. Thought it might be implying you were a bastard or something.” 

There was another pause, much briefer, and Jaskier burst out laughing. Clambering around he turned to loop his arms around Geralt’s neck. 

“Like you’ve ever shied from calling me a bastard before.” 

There was a huff that might have been laughter. 

“Once.” 

Which only made Jaskier laugh harder. Finally he rested his head on the other man’s shoulder, and sighed. 

“Well, that’s something out of the way then.” Pulling back he looked into Geralt’s eyes. “More kissing?” 

“Sure. We’ve got time.” He pulled him close.