#self-irony

When Geralt buries his sword in the werewolf's thigh, Jaskier has to stop filming. This is the ugly part and he's not too keen on watching it either, so he refreshes his dashboard and sees a new FanFiction pop up. He likes them, these FanFiction. This one is tagged 'Geraskier'. He's no clue what that means, but it's about him and Geralt and some fight they had so it's gotta be good.

He's halfway through when the werewolf dies with a gurgle and Geralt hovers over it, panting.

"Jaskier, what the fuck," he says when Jaskier saunters over, eyes glued to his phone screen again. "You could have gotten hurt."

"Nah. Look, I've been reading these stories on the internet. About us. Dear gods, they are amazing. Did you know you experience intense sexual heat on the regular? Do you, Geralt? I never noticed."

"What?"

"Yes. And, apparently, I'm immortal. And earlier I read one where Valdo gets publically flogged. I love it."

Geralt shakes his head and whips out his dagger to take a trophy from the werewolf. The monster's been terrorizing the factory grounds of a large car producer by night and the man will want solid prove that he can start production again. Jaskier would usually make Geralt take a silly picture with the head, but he is too distracted by the story.

"Okay, but listen here: in this one you apologize to me after we have a fight like you actually appreciate me."

"I appreciate you," Geralt says, sounding mildly irritated, and dumps the werewolf's head by their feet.

"Oh, come one, you barely tolerate me." Jaskier laughs and puts a hand to his hip, rubbing one shoe over the other so the blood stains won't set. He only just got them.

"What happens next? After I apologize?"

"Let me see... uh... you pull me close by the front of my shirt and cup my face with sword-roughened hands. They are warm and dry against my cheeks. You..."

"I?"

"... you smile and turn away," Jaskier finishes hastily, veiling his embarrassment with a cough. Wow, this random person on the internet really understands his deepest desires. He can never let Geralt find Tumblr or FanFiction or whatever. His face feels hot.

"You're lying," Geralt protests and makes a grab for Jaskier's phone.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are. I know your tells, Jask, give me that phone."

They grapple for a bit, but if Jaskier doesn't want his phone to get crushed in the frenzy, he has to admit defeat. Shit. This is not what he wanted.

Geralt holds Jaskier at arm's length with one hand splayed over his chest and uses the other to unlock Jaskier's phone.

“What the hell is ‘Geraskier’?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jaskier sighs, giving up the struggle. He watches Geralt’s eyes flick, left and right, left and right, as he reads on. His expression is unreadable.

"Hmm," Geralt concludes when he's done and hands Jaskier the phone. Usually, Jaskier prides himself in being able to translate all of Geralt's grunts and hums, but this one could mean anything.

"Yeah, well. The internet, huh?" Jaskier could smack himself for how awkward that comes out.

"It's not that big."

"What?"

"My cock," Geralt says, and tilts his head to the side, looking at Jaskier. "It's not that big."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jaskier splutters.