#jaskierswolf

When Jaskier praises her, she beams. Her smile is wide, her cheeks rosy, and she sends a smug look towards Geralt, and he smiles back. He does that more now. Smiles. It feels good.

He looks down at his mending, pretending to work as he listens to Jaskier instructing her. They have been doing this for some nights now. This far north it is far between shelters, and they have spent more than one night under the stars.

But the weather is nice, and Ciri is happy.

He is happy.

They decided to make their way towards the keep early, taking their time crossing the continent, taking the safe path up the mountain. If Geralt can spare her hardships, he will.

Roach and Pegasus are grazing among the trees, the evening birds are singing to their heart's content, and Ciri makes a twanging noise on the lute.

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Geralt has to smile again.

"Don't worry. Try to pluck it softer. Hold your fingers here. A little wider."

"It stings."

"Your fingers aren't used to it. Here, feel my hand."

Geralt looks up to see Jaskier open his open palm to Ciri. Her smaller ones touch his musician fingers, her heads tilting.

"They are so rough."

"It's my armor. They let me play all night."

"Will mine be like that?" she asks, rubbing her fingers together. The tips of them are a little red.

"If you want to. But it takes a lot of practice and a lot of patience."

"I can be patient," Ciri insists and Geralt chuckles.

Ciri is probably the least patient person he knows, asking at least fifteen times in an hour if they could stop now so Jaskier could show her the lute. By the glare she sends him, she remembers too.

Jaskier hums goodnaturedly, and replaces her hands with his on the lute. The humming turns into a song, and he plucks out a simple melody slowly, every move exaggerated for her to easily follow. Ciri looks down at the lute, her tongue peeking between her teeth again in concentration.

"There are so many strings," she mutters.

"Do you remember which is which?"

Jaskier retreats his hands and lets Ciri pluck each pair of strings as she names them. He nods his approval, and then presses down on one of the strings.

"Do you remember what this note is called?"

A lock of hair falls down into her eyes as she looks down and does some mental calculation.

"B," she says. "G. D flat."

"Good! Your turn," Jaskier says approvingly, leaning back to let her grab the lute. It is too big for her, and probably way more strings than any beginner should be learning on.

"Give me an F. Alright, yes, very clever, but use both hands. Another F. How many can you find?"

The mending lies forgotten in Geralt's lap as he watches them. That wild lock of hair keeps falling into Ciri's eye, and Jaskier pulls it behind her ear every time as he guides her through the same melody he played before.

When she realizes, her smile could rival the sun in its brightness.

As night falls and Ciri is tucked into one of the bedrolls behind them, Jaskier and Geralt sit next to each other. The embers are glowing, casting them into semi darkness.

"Thank you," Geralt says quietly.

"For what?"

"For being here. For teaching her." For being you, he doesn't say, barely holds back.

Jaskier hears it anyway and bumps his shoulder to Geralt's.

"Thank you," he says back.

"For what?"

"For trusting me. For keeping her safe." For keeping me, Geralt hears but Jaskier doesn't say.

That warm feeling is filling him up, making him foolish, making him brave. When Jaskier sits back up properly again, Geralt reaches between them and links their hands.

Neither looks at the other. They watch the embers, listen to the night, and breathe in the cooling air.

It doesn't matter that their path is slow. The path home can be tricky, Geralt has learned. Best to walk it with care and intention.

As Ciri sighs in her sleep behind them, Jaskier tightens the grip on his hand.

Home can be a place.

Home can be a someone.

Home can hold his hands or sigh in her sleep or ask a thousand questions.

“I...I never said that,” Lambert said, scratching the back of his neck, “and that was a private conversation.” His voice had gotten more quiet with every word.

“Maybe not in these exact words, but I heard you whisper to Geralt that I have the perfect ass.” 

Lambert turned around to storm out of the room, but Aiden was faster. He had walked over in quick strides and gripped his wrist.

“Stop right there,” he growled. 

Lambert pulled his arm out of his grasp.

“Now look at me, pup,” Aiden purred and lifted Lambert’s chin till they were eye to eye. He reached out for his hand again, but this time he pressed something into Lambert’s palm, something cold...a vial?

“What?...” Lambert began but was interrupted.

“White honey,” Aiden said, “drink it.” 

When Lambert frowned Aiden raised his eyebrows and said, “I want you sober when I suck your dick.”

“My what?” 

“Drink,” Aiden said again. 

Lambert blinked before he pulled out the cork and downed the potion in one gulp. It felt like something cold washed over his body. He swallowed and pressed his eyes closed for a moment before he opened them again, the alcohol cleared from his blood.

Aiden was still standing close, carefully watching his face till he was convinced that the other was sober. He took the empty vial out of Lambert's hand and a second later cupped his cheek with one of his hands. His eyes wandered from Lambert’s golden ones down to his lips and back up again.

“Now tell me again,” he purred as he leaned forward till his lips nearly met Lambert’s ear, “what you think about my butt.”

Lambert inhaled sharply.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered hoarsely, “and I really want to touch it.”

Aiden chuckled and said, “then do it.”

Lambert wrapped his arms around Aiden and pressed him close, just holding him for a moment. His hands wandered down his back and finally found the perfect curve of Aiden’s magnificent ass. He squeezed and gasped as Aiden bit his neck playfully. 

Lambert pulled Aiden desperately towards himself. The cat laughed against his neck and Lambert was sure that he had never heard something more beautiful. Aiden kissed the spot he had bitten and then along Lambert’s jaw till he pressed his lips to Lambert’s. The kiss got fierce and desperate, uncoordinated and with a bit too much teeth and tongue, but neither of them cared. 

When they came up for air both were panting, gaze linked with the other. 

“So,” Aiden began, “what do you think about my proposition from earlier?”

Lambert cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember anything that had happened before their kiss. “Proposition?”

Aiden bucked his hip forward and Lambert gasped as he felt Aidens hard cock through his trousers press against his.

“That I suck your dick.” Aiden was grinning broadly again. Lambert opened and closed his mouth a few times before he swallowed and said, “yes..ahm...I mean, please?” 

With a laugh the cat gave him a quick peck on the lips before he winked and dropped to his knees.

----------