#wrsb

They had put the eldest son of their most esteemed tribe forward for the marriage: Eskel. Jaskier wasn't thrilled at the prospect of an arranged union; in fact, he had spent most of his adult life thus far drinking, barding and fleeing from responsibility to avoid it. However, after seeing paintings of Eskel in all his armour and furs, he realised he could have done worse. Furthermore, he had partied and caroused his way into more than one nobleman’s bad books (after their wife, daughter or son’s bed, of course). It was time to lay low and let the dust settle. He could endure a few years of marriage in the bed of some godly tribesman for the good of his own neck.

Eskel was even more staggeringly handsome in person. Jaskier was momentarily rendered speechless when he strode into the entrance hall and bowed low - acknowledging Jaskier and his father as his betters in lands and title - palm pressed to his chest. Only once his father’s elbow had connected with his ribs did Jaskier gather himself up, bow back, and welcome Eskel to Cidaris.

They held a ball that evening to welcome their esteemed guest and his retinue, and Eskel was the perfect gentleman. At dinner, he pulled the chair out for his betrothed, and entertained Jaskier with stories of his travels and battles. He was funny, interesting. Well spoken. Jaskier was expecting someone who struggled with the mores of an aristocratic reception, but Eskel navigated it all with ease; bright eyes, a dazzling smile.

Jaskier began to feel less like he was being chained down, and more like he could potentially have a kindred spirit in Eskel, with a little work, of course. After a breathless dance and more than a few drinks, the guests departed in their gilded carriages. Jaskier invited Eskel back to his quarters, but Eskel politely declined. "A traditionalist," Eskel explained, self-deprecating and charming. Jaskier watched him stroll down the darkened hallways of the manor house towards the guest quarters and committed the sight of his broad back to memory. He would be hanging from those huge shoulders soon enough.

The big day arrived quicker than Jaskier anticipated. Between the wedding planning and entertaining Eskel, two weeks sprinted by unmarked. The festivities were extravagant. Jaskier donned his finest silks and flowing robes; Eskel looked absolutely ravishing in fur, leather and plate armour.

They swore their loyalties between the long, dangling branches of a willow tree by the river flowing through the estate. Eskel’s family were all just as impressive and foreboding. Doves flew into the summer-blue sky, and Eskel leaned forward to place a kiss on Jaskier’s cheek, their hands bound before them. They danced together at the reception. As always, Eskel was flawless. Like something out of a damned fairytale. Jaskier almost swooned in his arms when Eskel dipped him back, a broad hand splayed beneath his back. They could negotiate the restrictions on their relationship later - taking other lovers, time spent together, holidays to the Blue Mountains as a show of mutual respect - but tonight all Jaskier wanted was Eskel.

It was sweet relief when they finally retired. It was their first time truly alone, away from the eyes of others, and Jaskier joked that they could drop the masks for a bit. There had been a note of tension in Eskel for most of the day. It got a little worse every time he glanced over at his own family at the table of honour. Like he was checking that he was performing well before them. Eskel smiled tightly. “Of course,” he said, and it was the first sign that something wasn’t right.

Jaskier didn’t have time to consider it more closely before Eskel’s hands were slipping beneath the collar of his robe. He helped Jaskier undress with the tenderness of an already devoted lover. He said all the right things; how Jaskier was beautiful, his skin soft, his eyes bluer than the many oceans Eskel had sailed.

When they consummated their marriage in the large bed covered in fur and silk, Eskel was gentle and thorough. Jaskier was so wrecked by the end, he only realised Eskel hadn't enjoyed the evening quite as much as he had when he slipped a hand between his thighs and found only oil. Eskel climbed out of bed and Jaskier can see the silhouette of his still hard cock, backlit by the flickering orange of candle flames.

“Would you like me to help you with that?” Jaskier asked in his most enticing purr, rolling onto his stomach, his chin propped on the heel of his hand. But he can barely keep his head up; he feels exhausted and heavy.

“Hm?” Eskel looked up as if surprised, already reaching for his clothes. He looked down the slope of his chest with a quiet huff. “No need. It’ll go away. Is there anything else you need this evening?”

His hair ruffled, lips kissed red, body aching in the best way, Jaskier shook his head and flopped onto his back again. Eskel bowed and left. He had asked for his own quarters, but that wasn’t unusual. Plenty of wives lived at the opposite end of the house to their husband and sons. Jaskier didn't think anything of it. But in the heavy silence that followed Eskel’s departure, Jaskier can’t help but feel a little bereft. He was used to people leaving post-coitus, but on his wedding night? Wasn’t there meant to be a little more?

Eskel was probably just as tired. It was nothing to worry about. Jaskier put it out of his mind and closed his eyes.

It didn’t take long until Jaskier began to notice more things amiss, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem. Eskel was the perfect spouse in every way. He was charming with Jaskier's friends, he attended all the banquets, he danced and joked, his hazel eyes glittering. And yet there was something a little off.

At night, Eskel attended to Jaskier in ways that he had only ever dreamt off, and said nothing of his own pleasure. When Jaskier tried to push a button one evening, demanding Eskel stay in bed with him, Eskel did so without complaint. Perhaps everything was fine. Eskel would say something if he was unhappy, and he certainly wouldn’t hold Jaskier against his chest like a precious thing if there wasn’t at least some burgeoning love in his heart.

Jaskier thought he'd struck gold at first. Someone who was devoted and dutiful to him and his needs. What more could he want? But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Eskel gave nothing of himself away.

Three months later Jaskier didn't even know Eskel's favourite dessert. Or what books he liked reading. He read a lot. Jaskier watched him in the gardens sometimes. Eskel wandered between the rose bushes, his fingers brushing the velvet petals while he clutched a novel in the other hand. Reading of adventures and different lands. Jaskier knew of Eskel's adventures, but nothing of him.

Not one to bask happily in ignorance, Jaskier decided to focus his efforts on getting to know his husband a little better. But whenever Jaskier went looking for Eskel, he was frustratingly difficult to find. And when Jaskier did find him, tried to joke with him, flirt with him, he was... polite. But brief. Jaskier asked for his favourite colour. Eskel replied "blue, like your eyes", but that was a lie. Jaskier knew this, because Eskel had a red shirt he wore all the time in the evenings, and he favoured red brocade, and red thread. His favourite colour was definitely red.

Jaskier asked him for his favourite book next, thinking of the heavy, leatherbound volumes that Eskel had probably stacked up in his private quarters. Eskel said it was the one Jaskier wrote during his third year at university. A book of tawdry poems. Another lie. Jaskier asked him for his happiest memory. Eskel replied that it was the day they married; his expression was jovial, but he wasn't looking at Jaskier anymore. Before Jaskier could push again, Eskel excused himself. He had a meeting with the head of the household staff.

When they were in bed together that night, Jaskier tried to take the lead, but Eskel manoeuvred them effortlessly into position and Jaskier was helpless to resist. Perhaps he was worrying about nothing again; someone who made love so passionately was surely at least falling in love. Arranged marriages were difficult. It could take time and Eskel was making all the right noises, doing all the right things. He was far from home and a little awkwardness was forgivable. It would iron out eventually.

It didn't reassure him.

The more Jaskier examined the last few months the more he realised that Eskel was keeping himself separate. He performed every duty asked of him faultlessly. Even if it was new to him, he listened and then practiced studiously until he was proficient; everything from the household accounts to a new dance that had become popular in the city. Everything like rehearsing the steps of a sword drill. The only part of Eskel Jaskier ever saw was that love of reading.

But how could he complain? Eskel was exactly what Jaskier wanted him to be. Jaskier couldn't even find it in himself to be angry. If someone were to ask him to define his perfect spouse, the list of traits would describe Eskel to the letter. Perhaps that was what unnerved him so. No one was perfect. To make mistakes was to be human. Jaskier needed to find Eskel's humanity; to feel a proper connection with him as a man. Only then could they begin to forge something meaningful together.

One afternoon, Jaskier finally lost patience. He had spent the day trying to locate Eskel,but every member of staff informed him that "Master Eskel was out hunting" or "Master Eskel was seeing to the books". Yet, whenever Jaskier arrived, Eskel was nowhere to be found. So Jaskier invited himself into his dear husband's quarters. If he couldn't find Eskel, then Eskel would have to eventually come to him.

Jaskier wasn't sure what he expected to find. Perhaps maps, some extravagant bear furs, weapons racks, armour. But he did expect to see Eskel's personality painted on the walls after nearly half a year. Whatever his room contained would be Jaskier's first steps into finding the man beneath the veneer of perfection Eskel had donned.

But there was nothing. The bed was neatly made, the sheets are linen with a single fur on top. There were no pieces of art, no maps, no armour, no weapons. Just a single trunk at the foot of the bed and some logs by the fireplace. It was like a guest room. Completely devoid of character.

There was a book on the nightstand. A bestiary. Jaskier walked past it, committing the title to memory. When he reached the desk, he found a neat stack of letters bound in twine, and one half finished, carefully folded over. The inkpot had been placed neatly to one side; Eskel had been called away.

Dear Geralt,

I miss you more and more every day. Thank you for the sketch of the lake. I miss our fishing trips, perhaps I can come home soon for a little while and finally beat your damned record.

Living here is much the same. My heart feels dead; my mind feels empty.

I have kept Jaskier happy thus far by being dutiful and fucking him thoroughly whenever he requests, but he is beginning to ask more about me. Of me. I'm worried that if I open my mouth too often that I'll tell him the truth.

That being here is killing me. It will be slow. I'll barely feel the pain until the very end. This place, everything inside it, seeps through my body like poison.

I hate the frippery, the false smiles; I hate the politics, the noise. The banquets are worst of all and I find myself disappearing inside my head. When I awaken, it's always late and the guests are leaving. I lose hours. Some days I look at my sword, but those are the thoughts of a coward.

It's worth it. All of this. To keep Morhen Valley safe, to keep you safe...

Jaskier's hands were shaking by the time he got to the end, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Eskel was desperately unhappy, but had said nothing.

The little bell over the door tinkled and Eskel peeked up from where he was emptying his stock cart. He couldn’t see who walked in, only the faintest glimpse of a lavender shirt disappearing around a corner, down into an aisle. Eskel shelved the last few novels before returning to the counter, sneaking his book out from its hiding spot and flipping to his bookmark. He didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps, engrossed as he was. But a soft clearing of the throat caught his attention and he startled up, his breath catching at the sight of the man before him.

The young man had on a soft-looking lavender jumper and his hair fell in chestnut waves over his forehead. His eyes were the clearest cornflower blue, and he sported just the barest beginnings of smiley wrinkles. His mouth moved in pretty pink words that tasted like spice drops on Eskel’s tongue, and-

Oh shit.

He asked me a question.

Eskel cleared his throat and blinked, shaking the blush off his cheeks. “S-sorry, what did you say?”

The man smiled, blinding white and cheeky. “No worries, I do talk a bit fast. I asked if you had any books on mythology, specifically succubi?”

Oh, and if that didn’t conjure up some ideas in the dark edges of Eskel’s brain. He prided himself on being a gentleman, but he’d be lying if he said that the very basest part of his mind didn’t imagine the young man laid out beneath him, his honey-laced voice crying his name while lust poured from their very pores.

Eskel glanced around the empty storefront as he walked around the counter, crooking his finger to the man to follow him. “Don’t have much, at least here in the store. But I’ve got one or two.”

“Lovely,” the man said with a smirk, and Eskel could’ve sworn he felt the tracks of his eyes down the line of his back and over the swell of his ass as they went to the last aisle of fiction. He bent down and pulled out two books.

“Here, this one’s not too dense, and is good for the basics. But…” he trailed off and looked over his shoulder, catching the man’s eyes glance back up to him, “this one is good for more in-depth research, without gettin’ too murky.”

Eskel watched the bob of the man’s throat as he swallowed thickly, taking the books from his hands. “Sold. Thank you, Eskel.”

Eskel blinked and racked his brain. I swear I don’t know him, I’d remember his face, his eyes, his voice, his bum-

The man chuckled lightly, “Your nametag. Must say, I was cheating a bit. Call me Jaskier.”

Eskel’s cheeks pulled up into an easy smile. The next words fell from his lips almost too easily, forgetting himself and his scars on and under his skin and who he even was under Jaskier’s intense gaze. “Well, just when might I call you, Jaskier?”

Jaskier (thank fuck) blushed and bit his bottom lip with a grin that set Eskel’s already pounding heart alight. They walked slowly back towards the front of the bookstore to the register. “Well, I should think I’ll come back ‘round soon to see if you...get anything new in stock?”

Eskel nodded as he stepped behind the counter, taking the two books back and scanning their black and white barcodes. He discreetly threw on his brother’s phone number for a discount and slid the books across to Jaskier. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier as he handed over his cash and his fingers just barely glanced over Eskel’s, sending sparks beneath his skin, “I think we already have.”

---

“Back already?” It was the next day, just shy of when Eskel was going to lock up for a quick lunch. Jaskier had blown in through the door with a bright smile on his face, and Eskel would’ve been lying if he said that his heart hadn’t skipped a beat when he recognized him.

Jaskier nodded and leaned his elbows on the edge of the counter. “Mhm. I read both of those books last night, they were fantastic. But I was wondering if you could maybe help me order one or two more? If you have time, that is?”

“Of course,” Eskel said, gesturing to Jaskier to walk around the edge of the counter and join him at the monitor. “Here, we can look through what we carry and can order.”

They scrolled through the website for what was available, narrowing and adjusting their search parameters for a while before finding some interesting titles. “Oooh,” murmured Jaskier, bumping lightly into Eskel’s arm and pointing at one of the books on the screen, “that one looks helpful.”

It was a leather bound tome entitled ‘Succubi and Incubi in the Modern World,’ by one J. A. Pankratz. It seemed almost a little too perfect for what Jaskier had been looking for, and Eskel hoped that by ordering this one book, he wouldn’t have been driving Jaskier from coming back into his store. He added two copies to the cart and placed the order. He’d save one for Jaskier, and he would take one home for himself. Looks pretty interesting.

---

The books had arrived early in the morning, and Eskel called Jaskier to let him know that he could pop in and pick it up at his convenience. Jaskier had stopped by in the evening, thanking him endlessly before swooping away as Eskel locked up.

Eskel briskly walked home with the leather-bound book weighing heavily in his pack, tempting him to just break it open with every step down the sidewalk. As soon as he got into his flat, he tossed the keys to the side and toed off his boots, making a beeline for his dresser. He changed out of his smart button-down and jeans and into a comfy jumper and a pair of dark sweatpants.

He put on the kettle and unpacked his bag, throwing the empty tupperware from his lunch into the sink and setting the book onto the side table by his armchair. Yes, the bookseller had a reading nook. Don’t judge. He pulled the kettle off just before it started to whistle and made his cup of tea, leaving it to steep for a moment while he washed the few dishes that had found their way into the sink.

Puttering over to his cushy chair with tea in hand, Eskel sighed. He sat down and nestled himself into a comfortable spot, one foot tucked under him and his elbow resting on the velvety arm of the chair. Air whistled through the notch in his lip when he lightly blew the curls of steam away from his mug before taking a sip, letting the warm tea drag down his throat and settle in his stomach.

He set his mug down atop a coaster and ran his hand slowly along the strikingly plain cover of the novel. It was a deep mahogany leather bound tome with golden embossed lettering, and it even boasted a little light blue ribbon to keep his page. The spine crackled as he tipped open the cover, revealing thick ivory paper with deckled edges. Eskel took his time in feeling the book in his hands, running his thumbs down the rough edges of the paper and along the lettering of the title page.

J. A. Pankratz. The name jumped out at him, almost as if it were peering up at him from the page. Waiting. For what? Eskel shook his head with a heavy sigh. It had been a long day, and now his imagination was running rampant before even starting the book. He smiled to himself as he pictured Jaskier, tucked away and cozy, cracking open his own copy of the book and seeking the knowledge that he had been chasing.

There was no introduction, no prelude into the lore that lurked in the supple pages. Only a simple table of contents, and publication information. Nothing odd that caught Eskel’s eyes, but his fingers felt beckoned to the page of chapter one. Myths and Reality.

Eskel felt submerged in the writing, enveloped in the dense weave of storytelling that swam into the forefront of his mind. Contrary to the myths of old, creatures of lust no longer require feeding from the unquenchable arousal of others. They live and breathe as humans, though you will find several marked differences. Their magic, though subtle, is a powerful compulsion, breaking through inhibitions to access the cravings that lay beneath the surface…

Now, Eskel boasted an ability to read and retain at breakneck speeds. He could finish a full-length novel in a night and be able to explain the plot and key details with surprising clarity. But his eyes glazed over as he darted around words and theories, letting them almost bleed into his brain as his fingers flipped the pages by. His tea sat forgotten: he read as though searching to sate a deep thirst in his belly.

The air around him grew warm as the moon rose higher and higher, and Eskel felt a welcome flush crawl its way up his chest and around his throat. His cock stirred between his legs, filling slowly while his mind swam in a hazy bliss. The words on the pages blurred together, though Eskel tried valiantly to bring his focus back to the book in his hand.

Though not for much longer. With a gentle sigh he slipped the light blue ribbon (almost exactly that odd shade of blue that was locked away in Jaskier’s eyes…) in between the pages and set the book back down on the table. Eskel dropped the heel of his palm down to drag up the base of his cock. His breath hitched and he dropped his head back, squeezing himself lightly through the soft cotton of his pants. Fuck, when did he get so hard?

The elastic band was pushed out of the way, only halfway down his thighs, just enough to let Eskel wrap his hand around his cock. He was already dripping precome, slicking his hand with every swirl around the head. His mind filled in hazy edges and wandering bubbles of arousal with Jaskier, that soft smirk and wavy brown hair and broad shoulders and a tongue that seemed like it could cut glass.

Eskel adjusted his legs, planting his feet down on the floor and spreading his thighs open, swallowing thickly as another bead of arousal dripped down the length of him. His other hand wandered up to his chest where he almost absentmindedly ran his fingers over his tender nipple just as he had thumbed along the rough edges of the pages in the book, scratching through the rough pull of the fabric of his jumper. His back arched and his hips chased a building pace, his climax building from the base of his spine.

His mind helpfully supplied an image of Jaskier, kneeling on the floor between his knees, his lips open and waiting for him. Eskel tensed as he felt himself draw closer and closer to the edge of the euphoric cliff, almost feeling the pressure of Jaskier’s hands drag up his legs. Piercing cornflower blue eyes looked up at him with burning intensity and shoved Eskel into the most intense orgasm he had given himself in a long time.

Heavy gasps tore into drawn-out sighs, his jaw clenched as his muscles tensed and rippled beneath his skin. His vision whited out and his ears rang with deafening silence, drowning him in oblivion that he couldn’t have torn himself out of if he had tried. Instead, the world came back to him slowly, waves of a tide depositing the whir of his ceiling fan, the ethereal echo of the moon’s light on the hardwood floors.

Eskel slowly blinked open his eyes, taking long, heavy breaths and smiling headily. He glanced down, finding long white ropes of his spend draping down the collar of his jumper to where he still held his cock gently in his palm. He stroked himself once more, slowly, dragging the last beads of his spend off of himself. He didn’t think twice before bringing his fingers to his lips, tasting the salty bitterness of his climax on his tongue.

Eskel sighed once more as he felt the world push in on the comfortable quiet of his mind, prodding his eyelids to grow heavy and his bed to beckon him from behind the cracked door of his room. He tucked himself away and pushed himself out of the cushy chair, dragging his feet towards his washing machine. He shucked his soiled jumper off into the empty drum and set it to do an extra pre-rinse.

He flipped the lights off and toed open the door to his room, gracelessly flopping onto the bed and shuffling under the blankets. Eskel curled up around himself, feeling warm and fuzzy, though maybe...maybe a little empty? He sighed and hugged his arms against his chest, wishing to all hopes that he wasn’t actually alone as the sweet embrace of sleep overtook him.

---

An entire week passed before Eskel saw Jaskier again. Which he couldn’t say was odd; they had only been in the same place a handful of times, and there hadn’t been any sort of routine to it.

At least, that’s what Eskel told himself.

Another long day of needy customers and screaming children left Eskel drained, and he didn’t hesitate to close the bookstore early. He flipped the sign around to say ‘Closed’ and counted down his money, leaving it in the safe in the back for the morning.

He pushed the glass door open and spun around as it fell shut, slipping his key in and letting the cylinder fall into place. Eskel glanced around, spying a familiar cock-sure smirk on the face of a man as he strode over to him from the coffee shop across the street with a quite attractive swagger. Jaskier stopped at a careful distance, though Eskel tried to keep his face as open and friendly as possible. “Hey, Eskel.”

“Oh, Jaskier,” Eskel peeked behind him towards the shop, “did you need something from in there? I was just locking up, I’m sorry-”

“Oh, no. Well, maybe. We’ll see. But uh. That’s not why I’m here.”

Eskel crooked his head, “Okay…”

“Listen, I didn’t want to do this while you were on the clock, cause that’s icky, but uh…would you be interested in going out sometime? Grab some coffee, or lunch maybe?”

Eskel had completely blue screened. He didn’t think he’d actually get this far. Shit, how long had it been since he actually went on a date? What was he gonna wear? Where were they going?

Fuck.

Didn’t even give him an answer yet.

---

The coffee across the street was fine, but Eskel really just found himself more and more enamored with the striking young man who kept gently bumping their knees together beneath the table.

It was the easiest date that Eskel had ever found himself on. Jaskier was kind, funny, intelligent. Caring. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to invite Jaskier on a quiet walk, meandering through the city streets until they found themselves at Eskel’s stoop.

Eskel glanced down at the prettiest ethereal blue eyes he’d ever seen and smirked. “Wanna come in?”

Jaskier grinned toothily, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The keys clattered to the floor as Eskel led the way over the threshold, grabbing Jaskier by the waist and kissing him deeply. Their lips danced and Eskel could almost taste the lust that poured from his very being. They pushed and tore at hemlines and buttons, craving the release of skin hidden away. Eskel finally got Jaskier’s shirt open and threw it to the floor, running his fingers through the thick hair that was so generously dusted over his broad chest.

Eskel’s own shirt fell open by Jaskier’s fingers and he let his hands drop down to the button on Jaskier’s trousers. But a soft hand stopped him, and Eskel watched his throat bob in anticipation.

“Before we go on,” Jaskier smirked, though his eyes shone with a tinge of worry, “I…have a bit of a…situation to inform you of.”

Eskel’s mind started spinning in circles, covering different scenarios and how best to respond to them. Does he have an STD? Is he a fugitive on the run from the law? Hung up on an ex? Maybe he’s ace? Poly? Enby? Trans? Is it his first time? The list went on and on, greased gears turning rapidly in Eskel’s head. However, what Jaskier actually said hadn’t even made its way into Eskel’s mind.

“I wrote that book. About the incubi.”

Eskel blinked and glanced between Jaskier’s eyes, searching for more answers, rubbing his thumbs gently along Jaskier’s hips. “O-okay…”

“How far did you get?”

Eskel thought back to the night that he had brought the book home, and the fantasy that his mind had woven for him. “Uh...not far. I...I got distracted.”

Jaskier nodded, just the barest hint of a blush spreading like watercolors over his cheeks. “Well...when I say that I wrote the book...I wrote it from personal experience. I am actually an incubus.”

At that point, Eskel’s brain completely stopped computing. He was confused beyond belief and undeniably still horny, and the only thing that he could let slip from his lips was an eloquent, “Huh?”

Jaskier offered a none-too-sheepish smile, his eyes shimmering with unbridled attraction. But he let Eskel process, the two of them standing just inside of Eskel’s doorway, naked from the waist up.

Eskel swallowed and willed his brain cells to work, dammit. "You're a-an incubus? I thought they were-I mean, forgive my ignorance I just haven't, ah, met one... or heard of anyone else... meeting one. Recently."

Jaskier chuckled, the sound like music to Eskel’s ears. “Oh gods, you’re adorable. There’s only a handful of us left, and we don’t generally tend to advertise. Of course you thought it was just a myth. Kind of the point, love.”

Jaskier gently ran his hands up Eskel’s arms, smoothing his fingers into the generous muscle. “I want you to know, though, that I…we don’t feed off of lust. Never did. It...it was a lie, a myth. Our magic is...it’s indulgence, an amplification of lust that’s already there. So I didn’t like...hunt you down, or anything creepy. You just caught my eye, and I thought I’d see if you were interested.”

Eskel nodded, resting his forehead down onto Jaskier’s. “Gotta say, this isn’t quite how I imagined this evening goin’. But...weirder shit happens. And...I’d be lyin’ if I said that I wasn’t still ridiculously attracted to you.”

He brought his lips down and kissed Jaskier sweetly, sliding their lips together slowly and languidly, relishing in the balance of wills that they had found themselves in. Jaskier broke away first, brushing the tip of his nose over Eskel’s. “A-and one more thing-”

“Whatever it is, it’s fine.” Eskel couldn’t really help the way that his brows scrunched in disbelief, even the tiniest bit, but he didn’t want to put Jaskier off by not buying into whatever he was trying to convince him of.

“Well…” Jaskier blinked, biting his lip, “I...one of the things with my magic. I can...I can change the...parts that I have. I can kinda switch? Between a-a...you know?” He gestured vaguely to the region between his legs, and Eskel nodded, somewhat getting the picture. “And I don’t really have a preference, everything’s enjoyable...so if you do, I can just kinda…*poof*,” he smiled.

Now, Eskel really wasn’t sure if anything weirder had happened, at least that he was aware of. Did I eat something off today? Not that he could remember, but this all felt...well. Like an odd fever dream. But Jaskier felt so real in his arms, and he was looking up at him with such sincerity that he figured, ah, what the hell. I’ll humor him...or, them? Ah shite, I should ask-

“Right...so, d-do you want me to call you something else? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or use the wrong pronouns or-”

Jaskier smiled and reached up, ruffling Eskel’s hair and sliding the tips of his fingers down the line of his jaw. “You’re sweet. No, Jaskier is perfect, and I use he/him always. Sometimes I change the parts that I have for pleasure, but I am always Jaskier.”

Eskel squinted, still feeling like he was maybe having the wool pulled over his eyes. “Mhm. And uh-”

“Would you like a demonstration?” Jaskier smiled sweetly, still running his fingers along Eskel’s shoulders in lazy swirls. Eskel nodded and led them further into the apartment, giving Jaskier some space to strip himself of the remainder of his clothes. Eskel wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but this seemed like a lot of effort for someone to create a falsity that intricate. He stood bare before Eskel, broad chest tapering down to a soft waist and thick thighs, with a pretty cock nestled in a bed of dark hair.

Eskel sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Y-you’re gorgeous…”

“Oh, stop it you. You’re making me blush,” Jaskier smirked, popping his hip. “Now, don’t watch too closely, or else you’ll never look at a human quite in the same way again.”

But Eskel couldn’t tear his eyes away as Jaskier’s hips lit up in a burst of buttercup-yellow sparks that dissipated with a blink of his eyes, and then there was a little slit that was just barely visible beneath the nest of dark hair, rather than what had been there only a moment prior. Eskel’s jaw fell agape, now fully in awe of the apparently magical creature that was standing naked in his living room.

“Believe me now?” Jaskier shrugged, spinning himself around to show off his pert buttocks and legs with muscles that delicately danced just beneath the surface.

Eskel swallowed, and he felt his cock throb in the tight confines of his jeans, an impatient reminder that he was, in fact, still very into Jaskier. “Uh... yeah. Yeah, I-fuck, that's incredible. I certainly don't need more convincing and I...well, um..." Eskel got a wolfish look in his eyes, "Which would you like me to start with?"

Jaskier bit his lip and nodded, stepping backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of Eskel’s armchair. Eskel quickly wrestled with the buttons and zipper of his pants before tearing them down his legs, shucking them off to the side before following Jaskier to his reading corner.

Jaskier sat down, sprawled bare with his cunt shining and dripping with his arousal onto the soft red cushion of the same chair that Eskel fuckin jerked himself off in. Eskel really really couldn’t decide just where he wanted to look, so he just...dropped to his knees and leveled his face with the blushed pink lips between Jaskier’s legs.

Jaskier gasped and his fingers flexed on the arms of the chair. “Usually, we’re the ones giving pleasure, but yeah sure, I’m not gonna say no…”

“C’mon,” Eskel rumbled as he rested his chin on Jaskier’s thigh, his breath fanning gently over the glistening lips between Jaskier’s legs. “You can’t expect me to see this whole package and not want to bury my face in you?”

And sure, maybe it had been a while since Eskel had found himself with his lips between someone’s thighs like that, but fuck he hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Eskel finally dragged his tongue through his slit and around the sensitive bud at the apex of his thighs, shooting pleasure up through Jaskier’s stomach and into his neck with a soft pink blush. Eskel even had a bit of stubble sprouting over his chin, and he could almost see the sweet burn that it left on the insides of his thighs. A dark moan crawled up out of Jaskier’s chest as he threaded his fingers into the soft strands of Eskel’s hair.

Eskel leaned into his touch and wrapped his lips around Jaskier’s clit and sucked lightly, running a finger down through Jaskier’s slit before slowly pushing inside. Jaskier arched into him, his head hitting the back of the chair and his legs wrapping around Eskel’s head. But there was suddenly one very demanding problem: Eskel, while he normally sported an unending well of patience, was running out. He wanted to feel Jaskier fall apart around him, to feel him everywhere. So he slid his hands up beneath Jaskier’s thighs and around his bum and pulled, resettling him on the very edge of the seat, basically sitting him on Eskel’s chin as he drank anew.

The glide of Jaskier’s hips up and down Eskel’s chin was enough to have him dripping slick onto the hardwood floor beneath him, and he felt more than heard the wet squelch of Jaskier’s tender spot inside of him as he slipped in a second finger. Jaskier keened high and started fucking himself on Eskel’s fingers in earnest, and Eskel crooked his elbow so that he could hit that angle over and over and over again.

Eskel could feel how close Jaskier was, with the fluttering and tightening of his walls around his fingers and the near constant drip of slick down his arm. He lapped and sucked at his clit with fervor, pushing him relentlessly towards the climax that loomed over them both with each wet slap up and down of his fingers.

And oh, when Jaskier finally plummeted over that cliff of euphoria? Eskel was drenched in a wave of slick that dripped down his chin and into the dark coarse hairs on his chest. Jaskier’s fingers tightened in his hair and he cried out Eskel’s name, even sweeter than anything he would’ve dared imagine. Eskel slowed his fingers and lapped gently at the tender flesh between Jaskier’s thighs, coaxing him down through the blinding pleasure that overtook him.

“Oh,” Eskel murmured, resting his forehead on the mound of soft hair over Jaskier’s still fluttering arousal, “th-that was…fuck that was amazing.”

Jaskier chuckled and loosened his grip on Eskel’s hair, gently scratching and running his fingers down Eskel’s cheek. “I wish I could’ve warned you that was coming, but uh…my brain was definitively not keeping up.”

Eskel rose to his feet, pulling Jaskier up onto shaky legs. “C’mon, little bird. Let’s get to the bed.”

Jaskier followed Eskel through an open doorway into his bedroom, and Eskel could once again feel the intense gaze of his eyes roving over his ass. “So Eskel, do you want to fuck me?” Jaskier smiled, pressing his lips softly to the rough valleys of Eskel’s scarred cheek.

Eskel blushed, running his hand back through his hair, the muscles of his arm swelling and running Jaskier’s mouth dry. “I-well. I was actually wonderin’ i-if you’d-well. If you’d fuck me.”

Jaskier‘s eyes alighted with a fire that sent a sounded thread straight through Eskel’s core. “Oh, you have no idea just how much that would be my pleasure.”

Jaskier set his hands on Eskel’s hips and pushed him gently towards the bed, tapping him lightly on the ass. “Mind if I have a snack?”

Eskel shuddered and chuckled, climbing onto his hands and knees on the bed with his bum pointed to Jaskier. “Help yourself.”

Eskel braced himself to be licked and brought to pleasure with a fervor that had matched his own, but what he got instead was a soft hand that smoothed up the back of his thigh, gently palming his cheek and spreading him before a sweet kiss was placed on the globe of his ass.

“Y-you dont have to be gentle with me-“

“I want to be gentle with you, you mountain of a man. Now, let me make you feel good.”

A warm ghost of breath slid over the small of Eskel’s back as Jaskier knelt on the bed behind him, settling his hands on Eskel’s hips and squeezing lightly.

“Oohhhh,” Eskel groaned as Jaskier flattened his tongue over his entrance, mouthing around the tight ring of muscle and kneading his fingers into the meat of his bum.

He felt himself relax into Jaskier’s touch, letting his mind drift into a pleasant haze. Jaskier’s hand snaked around his leg and wrapped around his weeping cock, slowly stroking in time with his tongue pushing into his entrance. His hips rocked back and forth into Jaskier, riding the comfortable waves of arousal as they washed over him.

“Fuck me dead, you’re delicious,” Jaskier’s voice was thick and husky, dripping like syrup. “I’m assuming you’ve got lube hidden away in here?”

Eskel laughed breathily, adjusting his shoulder to point to his bedside drawer. “Right up top.”

Jaskier patted Eskel’s behind and pushed himself up, reaching into the drawer and rummaging around. Eskel heard a cute little ‘aha!’ and the click of a plastic cap being opened.

A slick pair of fingers circled his entrance and he keened, gasping back into Jaskier’s touch. “I-in, please-“

“Alright, Eskel. You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

Eskel nodded and Jaskier slowly pushed his finger in, thrusting lightly until he was buried to the knuckle. He poured some more lube onto his finger and let Eskel set his preferred pace, following the rocks of his hips and the heavy flexing of his cock between his legs.

Before long, Jaskier slipped in another finger, and then another, stretching Eskel open. Eskel growled and moaned and pushed hard back into Jaskier’s fingers, only just barely brushing against that sweet spot that was nestled so deep.

Eskel was sweating, his hands tangled in the sheets as pleasure built to crescendo behind his eyes, and he felt the stirrings of the point of no return hanging just out of sight. “W-wait, Jaskier. Fuck, I’m ready.”

Jaskier hummed and slipped his fingers from inside of him, leaving him gaping and empty as he patted his hip. “Flip over, Eskel. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

Eskel flipped onto his back and looked up at Jaskier, his soft skin dusted with a generous coating of dark hair, his tummy soft and leading down to-

Hnnnggggg

Instead of the pretty cunt that Eskel had buried himself in, that same equally pretty cock from earlier now jutted out from Jaskier’s hips, flushed and dripping with slick. He spoke without thinking, “Fuck I want you in my mouth.”

Jaskier giggled and ran the bottle of lube up the line of his cock, spreading it around with his hand and dropping the bottle to the side. He clambered back onto the bed between Eskel’s thighs and ran his hands up either side of his stomach reverently. “Maybe later. For now, though, I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Eskel reached up and ran his fingers into Jaskier’s hair as he felt the blunt head of his cock press against his entrance. He breathed deeply, tasting the arousal in the room on his tongue as Jaskier pushed in slowly, slotting their hips together and leaning down atop him.

“I’m not sure,” Jaskier gasped, resting his forehead on Eskel’s, “that I’ve ever felt anyone so sweet. I could die here, and would do so happily.”

“I’d rather if you didn’t,” Eskel smirked, clenching around Jaskier in an effort to get him to move.

“Gah, ca-can I m-“

“Please. Please move. Fuck me. Ruin me.”

Jaskier grinned like the cat who caught the canary, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over Eskel’s flanks as he oh so slowly slid back out of Eskel, and just as slowly slid back in. Eskel felt every slick inch of him in stark relief, his head swimming with how beautifully he was filled.

“F-faster...go on, Jask- y-you won’t break me…”

Jaskier gasped a hitched breath as his hips snapped forward accidentally, sending a shockwave of pleasure up Eskel’s spine. “Ah, fuck. O-okay. D-don’t wanna push too f...far-”

Eskel slid his hand up to cup the delicate jaw of the incubus atop him. “I’ll tell you. I promise. But I trust you. Take me.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut and he slammed his cock into Eskel, rocking back and forth with a fervor unlike anything Eskel had ever had the great pleasure to have been a part of before. Eskel could feel the crown of his head hitting the wall behind his bed with every sharp thrust of Jaskier’s hips, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just took it, not even able to form a coherent string of words together, only offering soft grunts and drawn-out moans that were swallowed by Jaskier’s lips.

Eskel’s mind swam in an impossible oblivion, every thrust of Jaskier inside of him pushing him closer and closer to an unstoppable climax. He felt Jaskier’s hands drag down beneath his thighs and lift, settling his ass on the tops of his thighs and oh holy shit right fucking there-

And then. Eskel thought that he was about to pass out when Jaskier adjusted himself to prop one of his elbows next to Eskel’s head and grabbed his cock with the other, stroking in quick jolts that matched every time he hit his prostate and-

Oh fuck he was coming. Eskel shouted in high breaths that escaped from his lungs as his body shook with wave after wave after wave of pleasure. He spent thick white ropes of seed between them, dripping through both of their chest’s hair, his fingers clenching onto any inch of Jaskier that he could reach.

And oh sweet gods above, Jaskier didn’t miss a beat, just slipped his hand off of Eskel’s oversensitive cock and fisted his hands in the sheets on either side of Eskel’s head. Eskel lazily opened his eyes as his blinding orgasm faded away and gently ran his finger down the soft, just barely stubbled line of Jaskier’s jaw. “Go on, Jask,” Eskel rumbled, watching the shudder that ran through Jaskier’s taxed nerves, “Come for me.”

Gasps of hot breath ghosted over Eskel’s face as Jaskier drove his hips deep, his eyes rolling back in his head as he spent inside of Eskel. His entire body shuddered and rippled as he came under Eskel’s hands, something shimmering just beneath the surface of his skin. Jaskier dropped his head into the crook of Eskel’s shoulder, pressing his lips softly to the tender flesh as his spend leaked past the tight seal of his cock.

They both ran their hands slowly over each other, soothing overexerted muscles and lust-hazy minds. Jaskier hummed quietly, still nestled against Eskel’s neck and laying atop him, though Eskel really couldn’t find it in himself to complain. He swallowed thickly and rolled them over, holding Jaskier tightly to him and pressing his lips to his shoulder.

“That was...really nice,” Eskel’s voice was husky and cock-drunk, and he could feel the gentle blanket of sleep falling over his eyes.

Jaskier hummed and squeezed Eskel tighter against him as his softening cock slipped from the tight embrace of Eskel’s entrance. “Truly. You’ve rendered me near speechless.”

Eskel hummed with a sleepy smile, nestling his nose into the soft brown locks of Jaskier’s hair that just barely tickled his throat. “Stay tonight?”

He felt the muscles shift beneath his hands as Jaskier twisted around and pulled the lamp cord, bathing the room in darkness before tugging his throw blanket around them. “Sleep, darling. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“You were seen, Gascon. The guards were instructed to come find me when they saw a man in a funny hat skulking in like an admonished fox.”

“Am I admonished, then?”

“No, not by me. Nor by Meve, if that’s what troubles you.” If Reynard had to guess by the state of him, the only person doing any admonishing was Gascon himself.

“What makes you say I’m troubled?”

There was his unusually slight frame, his hunched posture, his dishevelled attire, the nervous jiggling of his leg, and, well- “You could have used the front door.”  

Gascon paused, stilled as he considered, then his head cocked to the side, and an amused smile spread across his face as he said, “Hadn’t even occurred to me.”

Neither man said anything for a long moment. Reynard only watched, wishing the other man would turn to look at him. Gascon only wrung his hands between his knees, eyes fixed on the entwined, marble stags, one white veined grey, like the fountain’s basin and the bench, the other black veined white.

Reynard had promised that when he saw Gascon again — because the man would come back, of that he’d been certain — Reynard promised himself that he would remain the pinnacle of composure, that he would let Gascon explain, and he would listen. But now, with the man himself so close, seeing him after so long — much longer than Reynard had anticipated, he couldn’t stop from feeling wounded.

“Did you sneak out the back door when you left too?” His voice shook as he spoke, but whether it was from anger or hurt he could not say.

“Reynard-”

“Why did you leave? I thought- especially after- it seemed like-”

“It was only one night, Reynard,” Gascon reminded him, sounding more tired than the older man had ever heard him.

Reynard’s body jerked away, as if slapped. The hurt evident in his voice as he spoke. “It was hardly the only night that mattered.”  

There had been so many nights, as many pints of ale and campfires as there were stars in the skies they slept under, and after, there were the lavish meals in candlelit banquet halls, and strolls through moonlit gardens when it all got too claustrophobic,  and so much laughter through it all. All from Gascon at first, far too pleased whenever he earned  himself  a scowl or a blush from the older man, but then one day, Reynard found he’d started laughing too. Then came the lingering glances, the brushing of hands on arms, on thighs, grazing shoulders and backs, growing firmer, bolder with each pass.

There was the way Gascon smiled at him — gradually less smug as a quality akin to sunlight began to blossom, a light that warmed Reynard’s heart and fluttered in his belly.  Then at last, on one of the older man’s increasingly frequent visits to Gascon’s manor, in a moment of uncommon bravery, Reynard adorned the role of romantic hero, and kissed him. He grabbed Gascon by the face and brought their lips together and in the ensuing fit of ecstasy he almost forgot to panic. Fortunately, the younger man was much better versed in such matters, and so their dance moved at last to Gascon’s bedroom. He was gone by the time Reynard woke up.

“Should have known you’d been the sentimental type,” Gascon half sighed, half groaned.

“Why are you here, Gascon?” Reynard asked — demanded, a steely edge in his voice that at one time amused Gascon greatly, but now cut deeper than any blade ever could.

“I need to tell you something.” Gripping the edge of his seat tightly, he rocked forward as if he were about to be sick, his face suddenly taking on a concerning pallor. If the younger man were being at all honest with himself, he would have confessed a desire to be in bed, perhaps with his face pressed against Reynard’s chest, the older man’s fingers in his hair like they laid that night, warm and glowing, feeling like so much lay before them. Perhaps then it would have been easier to speak.

Perhaps Reynard sensed something of the sort, for his fingers itched to take off Gascon’s stupid hat, and card through his surely sweat damp hair. But he stayed his hand, too wary of being stung again, and waited.

“I- it’s my birthday tomorrow.” Of all the things Gascon could have said, Reynard would never have thought to expect that.

“Okay-?” he prompted when Gascon seemed to have lost courage again.

“I’m not turning eighteen,” the younger man confessed, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Aren’t you?” Reynard asked dryly.

“You knew?”

“I had an inkling.” He’d had a well of inklings. Reynard hadn’t once believed that the bandit was a mere boy of seventeen, childlike though he was. But Gascon had his secrets, and Reynard didn’t want to pry. “How old will you be then?” he prompted Gascon again, when he fell into another uncharacteristic silence, leaving Reynard with the tiresome task of being uncharacteristically vocal. He’d do it though, if that’s what Gascon needed from him then, he’d do it a thousand times over.

Gascon’s eyes were nervous now, fraught, and far away where they bored into the ground. “Twenty-eight.” His voice even quieter than it was before. He swallowed dryly.

“Not a bad age. Why hide it?”

“Because! Because I- I wasn’t a child when- when they-”

“When your family was killed?” Reynard finished softly. Any other night, had they been talking about anything else, Reynard had no doubt that Gascon would have found  his tone unforgivably patronising, but now he just nodded slowly, looking at the older man with wide eyes, looking every bit the child he claimed he hadn’t been.

They never talked about it. Reynard first began to suspect just who Gascon was that night he asked to take his leave of them, and Meve followed, his strange demeanour causing her concern. He’d been so quiet when they returned, and Meve so evasive. Reynard knew the area well, knew they were near the Brossard estate. When Meve ordered the family graveyard repaired, the pieces slid into place all too easily; when she returned the land to Gascon’s care outright, there was simply no denying it. But still Gascon never spoke of his family, and Reynard never pried, though now he was beginning to think he should have.

“I should have been there,” Gascon whispered. With his eyes fixed downward at nothing again, it was hard to say if he spoke to Reynard, himself, or the earth below their feet.

“Then you’d be dead.” Reynard answered bluntly.

Suddenly outraged, Gascon whirled around, standing in front of the other man, his arms spread wide as he spoke. “Do you know why I wasn’t there? They’d sent me away. To fucking Cintra. With a friend of my father’s, hoping he’d be able to entice me into being the heir they needed.”

“Gascon-”

“They loved me so much.” His voice, thick with emotion, dropped again, and even in the low light, Reynard could see glistening tears swelling at his eyes. “They did everything for me, gave me everything, they loved me so much-”

“So they would have been relieved  you weren’t there. They would have been happy that you lived.”

“I  failed them.”

“You’d be dead now, if you’d been there. You would have died.”

“So? I was old enough. I should have died for my family.”

“Dying for, and dying with, are not the same, Gascon. And you were only a child.”

“I was a man!”

“You were hardly a man when I met you,” Reynard laughed in spite of himself.

Gascon glared at him reproachfully, pouting in a way that more than proved his point, and dropped to sit on the fountain’s edge, head in his hands. Reynard pushed away from the bench, walking over slowly, his boots crunching deliberately on the gavel. When he stopped in front of the other man, he crouched down, his face level with Gascon’s bowed head. Carefully, he pried those remorseful hands away, leaving Gascon no choice but to look at him.

“So say you died for your family, hm? And then what? Where would that have left us?”

“You would have been fine,” Gascon insisted weekly in answer to Reynard’s unvoiced question.

“Fine, maybe, but fine isn’t living, is it? You taught me that.”

“Reynard-” Gascon moaned. Before he had a chance to hide away again, Reynard was on his feet, cradling his head to his stomach, holding him steady as sniffed wetly, hands fisted in the sides of Reynard's tunic.

“Is that why you left?” he whispered. “The guilt of being there became too much?”

Gascon shook his head, and gasped, “No. Well, yes, but not like that.” As anticipated, finding the words was easier now that he had Reynard against him, touching him, but it still took a moment, quietly nuzzling into Reynard’s stomach, for him to find his voice. “I went back because I thought that I could finally be the man my parents would have been proud of, but after that night-”

Reynard’s stomach turned cold at those words, at that loaded silence. Unconsciously, his grip on Gascon’s hair tightened, but if the other man noticed, he didn’t show it.  In all the months of his absence, it never occurred to Reynard that Gascon might be ashamed of him.

“I just- I thought you deserved to know the truth, to know the man I am, but I- I couldn’t tell you. I only meant to be away a few days, but the longer I was gone, the worse I felt about leaving and I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Loosening his grip as the cold fled from his body, Reynard instead took Gascon’s face in his hands and pulled him up, looking him in the eye unyieldingly, almost sternly as spoke. “I know the kind of man you are, Gascon,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Relief lightened Gascon’s chest as something warmer bloomed where the weight of his guilt had been, spilling over to flood his skin, his eyes watering again. “Fuck- Reynard-”

“May I kiss you now?” Reynard cut in. They weren’t going to unpack everything Gascon was feeling in its entirety in one night, let alone resolve all of it, but certainly they’d done enough to earn a kiss, and Reynard had been left waiting for so long.

Quite agreeing that they’d lost enough time, Gascon simply grabbed Reynard by the waist and pulled their bodies flush, so that nearly every inch of them from their chests to their feet were touching. Tilting his head so his silly hat wouldn’t get in the way, he brought their lips together with barely tempered desperation, eager to treat the man in his arms right. Reynard’s lips were thin and soft, naturally turned down in a dour expression that Gascon teased him for relentlessly. All it had taken was one night with those lips on him for Gascon to spend the better part of a year missing them dearly.  

Reynard had promised himself that when they at last kissed again — because this moment had been inevitable, he was certain of it — he would not get carried away; it would be slow, and tender, and almost chaste. And it was, for a while. He pressed softly against Gascon’s wind-chapped lips, his tongue poking out just enough to lick a little, and, thankfully, Gascon was content to follow his lead this time, grateful for his attention. But before Reynard knew it, his hands slipped to cradle the back of Gascon’s head, thumbs pressed into  the hinges of his jaw as he tilted the younger man back, nipping, then biting on his lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. And Gascon was parting his reddened lips, and licking inside his mouth to invite the same. Happily, Reynard obliged, moaning into Gascon’s mouth with all the airs of a sailor’s wife at last seeing her husband returned to shore.

“God’s I missed you,” Gascon breathed when he was at last allowed to come up for air, and it was the easiest breath he’d taken since they last saw each other.

As much as Gascon would have liked to stay in the garden, in that night, lost in Reynard’s kiss forever, Reynard did eventually convince him of the delights and virtues of a good bed. Late as it was, neither could in good conscious call for a bath, so they made do with a bucket of well water and a couple of washcloths, Reynard helping scrub Gascon to get him in bed all the faster. He’d waited far too long to sleep in Gascon’s arms again, and been denied the joy of waking up in them even longer.

Face to face, Gascon snoring lightly into his neck, his arm around his waist, holding him tightly, it should have been easy to fall asleep. Perhaps it would have been, if Reynard had not been quite so eager to watch him, feel him, make sure that he was really there after so many months of missing him, and not some vision conjured by the heat of a midsummer’s night.

His worries were quickly dispelled when Meve snuck into his room, sliding the false wall shut behind her, as he usually did when he made the journey in reverse.  

“I hear you got your puppy back.” She said quietly, padding  around  to sit on the farther side of the bed, so that she could see Reynard’s face as they spoke.

It had been well over a year since their relationship transformed into something more… intimate, and yet still Reynard fought the urge to at the very least sit up in deference to her presence. However, being shirtless, he supposed that would be rather more indecorous, and besides, he didn’t want to risk stirring the man sound asleep in his arms. He was so tired.

“You see him too, then?” He asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.

“I do. I take it  he explained himself?”

“He did.”

“To your satisfaction?”

“To my satisfaction, yes.” He sounded almost reproachful. “You needn’t worry, Meve.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She only watched them for a moment, taking in the sight of what she knew her lover had so longed for. They were pretty together, she had to give them that, and there was something delightful in the very idea of Reynard being softer on the bandit than she was. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke Gascon’s dark hair, and the back of Reynard’s hand where he held the younger man’s head.

“It’s his birthday tomorrow.” Reynard said softly, absently, but with a sense of wonder in his voice, like he found it truly marvellous that Gascon’s birthday was tomorrow.

“Oh? How old will he be?”

“Twenty-eight.”

She mulled that over silently, quickly puzzling out why the young man had lied in the first place,  letting the weight of Reynard’s knowing — of Gascon’s telling him the truth, sink in. So, it appeared, the puppy was finally ready to live a little more honestly. “I should have a special breakfast brought up to you then.”

“And you’ll eat with us?” Reynard inquired hopefully.

“If you wish it.”

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. It was a game she’d been playing, trying to get him to express his wishes to her. “I’d be grateful if you did.”

“Well, how could I deny you now?” Neither spoke for a moment, both their eyes cast tenderly upon the man sleeping between them. Then she laughed, snorted. “‘Seventeen’ my arse.”

In spite of himself, Reynard laughed too.

Meve stayed long enough for him to fall asleep, his arms still wrapped tightly around Gascon, Gascon’s hair kissing his lips in a way she knew the older man found inexpressibly gratifying.  She kissed one man on the temple, and then the other, and existed once more through the concealed sliding door. She never spent the night, not since she and Reynard first fell into bed together, the day the paperwork had been signed on their victory. True, there was no small amount of relief that the deep, abiding affection they held for each other had finally spilled over into something outwardly passionate, and with any luck it would continue to do so for years to come, but Meve also knew they couldn’t work together in a way that suited them both.

First, she had long felt that Reynard would make someone the perfect husband one day, told him as much for years, but she’d already been married, and had no inclination to being so again, even to a man like Reynard. Second, though she would never tell him this, Meve suspected that her chief advisor would never be able to fully remove her from the pedestal he’d set her upon for so many years. So she kissed one many on the temple, and the other, and slipped back through the sliding door to her own room, and into her own bed, assured in the knowledge that they — the two men who were perhaps her best friends — would wake up in each other’s arms feeling as close to complete as humanly possible, and alone in her room, so would she.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.