#mywip

Back at it with more of the medieval au! I had a plan to start publishing this next Friday as a birthday treat to myself, but that would require me to actually be able to finish the first 2 chapters... we shall see!

In the meantime, have a snippet from early on

"What business do you have in town?" Tommy asks, an attempt at making peace. Evan doesn't answer right away. Tommy wonders if he'll go back to completely ignoring Tommy's presence entirely, but then Evan finally says, "I'm paying a visit to the bathhouse."  "Does the castle not have those facilities?" Evan leers at him. "It's not that kind of bath." Tommy's face flames. While Evan's certainly not the first nobleman he's served who indulges in carnal activities, the others were at least discreet about it. Courtesans or servants would be subtly admitted to the lord's bedchamber — they didn't march into a brothel for all the townspeople to see. Evan's smirk grows, clearly delighted in making Tommy uncomfortable. "Now, good sir knight, don't tell me you're a puritan. Surely a man of your experience has sampled the services of bathmaids all over the realm." "No," Tommy says flatly. Irritation flickers across Evan's face. Tommy waits to see if Evan will argue, to insist that a man as well-travelled as Tommy surely must have slept with a bathwench or two in his time, but he'll be disappointed if he does. Tommy would rather Evan think him a prude or a liar — not what else Evan might accuse him of being, should he suspect Tommy doesn't have any interest in maids at all. The rest of the trek down the hill passes in tense silence.

tagged by @corporatebanana

With a bemused smile settling onto his features, the witcher shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. Why would I introduce myself to an instrument?”

“To save me the trouble!” Jaskier says. “Obviously.”

“She’s played so many songs about me, it’s probably a moot point by now,” rumbles the witcher.

“That–” Jaskier’s laugh when the joke lands is sharp and bright, and cuts him off before he can answer. “Now who’s ridiculous?” he asks, still shaking with ripples of laughter.

“Still you,” Geralt says, pulling the bard close against his chest once more.

“Oh, but you love it,” Jaskier says, voice muffled against Geralt’s shirt as he clings to him.

“I do,” the witcher says easily, making the bard’s guts twist. “I love you, every single ridiculous bit of you.” He runs his hands up and down Jaskier’s back, through his hair, and the bard feels the words resonate through him.

He loves me. For the first time, it really sinks in. Geralt has probably said the phrase a handful of times since they were reunited, but excepting the first night in Dorian, Jaskier hadn’t really heard it any of those times. Hadn’t really felt it, known with every part of himself that Geralt really means it. He lets out a shuddering breath and holds tighter. “I love you too, even when you’re rude to me and my lovely lady.”

When Geralt tenses and looks to the open door, Jaskier doesn’t wait for the words to draw back to the bed and cross his legs. Geralt has enough time to look at him and frown before Eskel pops around the doorframe, hair still dripping from the springs.

Surveying them for a moment, he drums his fingers against the doorframe. “Dinner bell,” he says.

“If I remember correctly,” the bard carries on, mischief in his voice, “we were meant to talk of much more pleasant things this afternoon.”

Turning in Jaskier’s arms, Geralt meets his friend’s gaze coolly. He’ll need to watch closely to be sure they’re doing this right.

It should be perfect.

Placing one hand on Jaskier’s waist to pull him closer, Geralt brings his other up to gently brush the fringe out of his eyes. Those gorgeous baby blues which gleam up at him now, shining and brilliant in the phosphorescent light. “I remember,” Geralt says, barely soft enough.

Jaskier’s smile widens and he raises an eyebrow. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he says impatiently. “Aren’t you going to kiss me again?”

The blatant invitation is so much more than he had seen coming, and so unbearably insufferably Jaskier that Geralt can do nothing but happily comply. Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, Geralt kisses him roughly and greedily. He buries his fingers in soft chestnut hair and devours the taste of whiskey and lavender and musk.

When the cursed mortal need for oxygen drives them apart, Jaskier whines and digs his fingers into Geralt’s shoulders. “Not fair,” he breathes.

Geralt frowns and pulls back a bit, just until Jaskier opens his eyes to look at him. “You kept saying that last night. What does that mean? What’s not fair?”

“Someone’s got chatty all of a sudden,” Jaskier snarks with a mischievous smile. His good hand shoots to Geralt’s cheek and he brings their lips together again, letting out small humming sounds as he kisses with every ounce of need Geralt feels rolling in his own gut.

The bard’s good hand slides into his hair and grips tight, and Geralt swallows an unbecoming sound and bites Jaskier’s lip. Holding tight to his hair, Jaskier leans back, breaking the contact and looking Geralt over ravenously. “You are a vision, do you know that?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and Jaskier’s face falls a bit.

“You don’t know that,” he says wistfully. “Well, allow me to enlighten you, then.” He, yanks back the fistful of hair in his hand with surprising force, tilting Geralt’s head back. “I have been dying to get a taste,” he breathes, inches from his ear.

A shiver runs through Geralt’s whole body, as deep as his bones, at being handled this way.

END

“Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

“More like utter lack!” Lambert stands, taking the removed pelt and rolling it up. “Because watching the two of you is actually painful.”

“Don’t look then!” Seems an obvious solution to Geralt, but then he’s always been better than Lambert at minding his own fucking business.

“What’s stopping you, seriously?” Lambert shakes his head as he drops back to his knees beside Geralt. “You’re not even denying it, I mean–”

“Lambert, I swear to the gods.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. Shit with Jaskier is strained enough without adding sex into the mix. He takes a few deep breaths before pushing himself to his feet, collecting the bulk of the meat. “I told you: it’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.” Lambert scrambles to his feet with the rest of the meat in one hand and the pelt tucked under his other arm. “Don’t you ever have fun?”

“Plenty,” Geralt says flatly, “just not when you’re around.” With a small smile, he shoves Lambert’s shoulder, causing him to stumble.

When he catches his feet again, the redhead trots ahead and then turns to walk backward. “Seriously, though. Do we need to hire a surgeon to remove the stick from your ass? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always been a cantankerous bastard–”

“Fuck, Lambert, what do you want from me?” he snaps.

Rolling his eyes, the younger witcher falls back into step with him. “I want you to chill the fuck out,” he says lightly, “and I thought having him here was doing that, until it wasn’t anymore.”

Geralt grunts his annoyance, hoping from Lambert’s subdued tone that he’s done with this little crusade. Unfortunately, hope is a fool’s comfort, and his little brother has more to say yet.

“It was funny at first. It’s getting less entertaining every day.” Lambert lets out a breath through his nose that almost sounds like a laugh. “Look, that little loudmouthed freak is obviously good for you, and he’s clearly just waiting for the green light.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Geralt says tightly, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Lambert does laugh now, short and derisive. “Well that’s rich, coming from the king of ignoring feelings.”

Geralt lets out a warning growl as they pass through the gates back into the courtyard.

“It’s actually kind of insane,” the redhead carries on, either oblivious to or encouraged by Geralt’s quickly mounting irritation, “that you’ve slept side by side on the road for years, and now have shared quarters for quite some time, and you still haven’t hit–”

Before he can finish whatever undoubtedly vulgar thing he was about to say, Geralt lets out a snarl and swings. Maybe he was goading, because Lambert ducks the strike as though he’d been prepared, but the smug look on his face when he pops up only fuels the fire. Dropping the meat in the snow, Lambert tackles him and the two tussle in the snow until Geralt has him in a headlock and the younger witcher taps out on his forearm.

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard

Haven't even finished working on the main fic and I've been consumed with visions of a smutty sequel. Buck gets his hands on a copy of Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart and gets inspired

"Must we do this here?" Tommy asks, casting furtive glance around. "Can't we simply get to the cottage and pretend —?" "I told you, it'll be fine!" Evan starts digging through one of his saddle bags. "No one takes this route anymore. You don't have to worry about your reputation." It's not Tommy's reputation that he's concerned with so much as his own neck. He can only imagine what another traveller would think if they stumbled upon two men on a horse, one of them with his hands bound. After a few seconds of searching, Evan pulls a length of rope and a small burlap sack — stolen from the kitchen — out of the bag. He tucks them under his arm before taking Vulcan's lead rope and attaching it to Dragon's saddle. Dragon nickers in annoyance at Vulcan's proximity, but she tolerates Evan's whims just like her master. "Now," Evan says. He stands beside Dragon and thrusts the rope and sack into Tommy's hands. "Abduct me." With a deep sigh, Tommy does his lord's bidding.

“I was afraid you got lost,” Lambert teases. His smile is too knowing for Jaskier’s taste. “Or were you just letting off some steam?”

The teasing curl of his lip earns a half snarl from Geralt, who stabs a fork into his eggs as though they might fight back.

“Touchy,” Eskel mutters. “What’s got you–?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says sharply, then shakes his head.

Eskel looks questioningly at Lambert. “What’d’you do?”

The younger witcher draws a hand to his chest as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ before shrugging. His eyes dart to Jaskier for a moment, and understanding comes over Eskel’s face. A small smile slips onto Eskel’s lips, and he shakes his head.

“Since all of you are so full of energy today,” Vesemir says as he surveys them, “I need two of you to collect firewood and the other pair to go hunting. With all the extra mouths at the beginning of winter, we’ll need to store up some more meat before the animals disappear.”

Lambert lets out an irritated groan and sinks into his seat, pushing eggs around on his plate disinterestedly. “Esk, will–?”

“You wanna collect firewood with me?” Eskel’s question is directed at Jaskier, pointedly ignoring his brother, though it takes the bard a moment in his absent state to realize it.

“Me?” He glances across the table to Geralt, who’s looking from one of his brothers to the other with a calculating expression. “Ah, sure, yes that sounds nice,” he says quietly. How could he refuse?

When Geralt scowls deeper, he offers him a chagrined smile.

“Sweet,” Eskel says, pumping a fist. “They’ve both got weird energy today,” he mutters to Jaskier conspiratorially.

“We also have functional ears,” Geralt grumbles, standing and taking his plate. “Guess that leaves us on hunting duty.”

Lambert groans again and sinks lower in his chair. “It’s still cold as fuck out there,” he gripes.

“Could’ve kept your mouth shut,” Geralt points out over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen.

“Oh, fuck off!” Lambert shouts after him.

“You started this!” Geralt calls back.