Jaskier smells of his soap. In his bed. He burrows his head into Geralt's collarbone and frowns.

“Ugh. Fucking alarm.” Jaskier complaints. He leans backwards and distangles himself somewhat from Geralt. Stretching his arms upwards and yawning big, legs still touching.

“Can you pleeaasee turn that off? Or I might have to murder your phone.” Jaskier threatens, voice gravely with sleep. Silently Geralt twists back to shut up his phone, trying to calm down his nerves.  He sits up and gets out of bed, mind racing. Jaskier really doesn’t seem to think this was a big deal. Should Geralt say something? Or are they going to pretend they didn’t just wake up fucking cuddling each other?!

“Are you making coffee?” Jaskier calls after him as Geralt walks over to the kitchen. “Can I have some?” Geralt only grunts as a reply, but Jaskier correctly assumes it is affirmative and he gives a thumbs up from the bed and throws his arm over his eyes.

“What time is it anyway? It feels very  much like I should not be awake yet.”

“It’s 6.30.” Geralt starts the coffee maker and enjoys the smells coming from it.

“Unholy.” Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Pray tell, why are we, I, awake at this horrid hour?”

“Because I have somewhere to be in 45 minutes.” 

Geralt gets back in the bedroom and opens a closet. He picks out the things he needs, a warm shirt and jeans and a wind jacket.

“Ugh. Ok. I smell you are still doing the horse thing.” Jaskier wrinkles his nose and Geralt chuckles.

“Yup.”

“Ok, so you have a reason to be awake. Why am I awake?”

“You can always go to sleep again.” Geralt shrugs and pulls off his sleeping T-shirt. Behind him he can hear Jaskier sit up.

“Yes but I did also ask for coffee. Might as well drink it.” The cool air hits Geralt's back and a shudder falls down his spine. He tries to hurry to get his shirt on but the arms just won’t cooperate and it is so cold.  

“Still working out too, I see.” Jaskier remarks. Geralt turns his head to look at him, only to find Jaskier leaning on his elbow, studying Geralt's back.

“Uh.. Yeah.” Geralt replies and turns back to his evil sleeves. Finally he can untwist in and pull it over his head in a big rush, hiding from both cold and looks.

A gurgle and a beep from the kitchen announces the coffee is done and finally Jaskier gets out of bed.

They drink in comfortable silence, and then Geralt is on his way. “See you tonight!” He calls, entirely forgetting that Jaskier doesn’t have a key yet. He only remembers as he hands out the last buckets to impatient horses and has to call him.

It’s fine. It’s a saturday.

Geralt thinks about buying an air mattress. He thinks that is a reasonable thing actually, so that they don’t need to share a bed. But he doesn’t.

And again that night they go to bed facing away from each other. Geralt is pretty sure they could fit a third person in between them, that’s how far apart they are.

And again, as morning comes, he finds himself plastered against Jaskiers back. His head rests between his shoulder blades, the rest of him curled around his friend's form. 

Slowly, carefully Geralt pulls back. An arm, a leg. He scoots back to his side of the bed. When did he become a cuddler?

He stares at his closet doors as the alarm goes off again. Behind him Jaskier groans.

“Again?!”

Geralt is so fucked.

Jaskier is given the spare key and when monday comes they go off to their respective duties. Geralt has his art classes at the local highschool and Jaskier his… whatever it is. It sounds like he is working in a bookstore with the occasional gig at some bar. The pattern doesn’t change however. They fall asleep looking away, and they wake up in a pile of limbs and they don’t talk about it.

The worst one yet is friday morning. When Geralt wakes up to find what torture the night brought him, Jaskier is already watching him. They lie face to face, forehead close together. Geralt scrunch up his forehead as he tries to make his eyes focus on those blue blue eyes. For once they are not touching, but Jaskier is watching him. Eyes roaming his face with open fascination.

“You said my name.” Jaskier tells him quietly. Geralt feels his face heat up.

“Did I?” Jaskier nods. “I think I dreamt you were a horse.” He says, trying to hide his embarrassment and Jaskier snorts a laugh.

“Yes, exactly like that.” Geralt teases, and Jaskier boxes him in the chest.

“You ass.” He says fondly.

“What time is it?” He asks, looking out the window. The sun is barely up, the outside world not yet awake.

“Too early. You are rubbing off on me, I would never voluntarily wake up before noon.” Rub off on. Ah. Geralt hasn't had this problem in a while. He turns on his back and pulls up his knees as he stretches to hide his... problem.

“Good. Your time to make coffee then.” Jaskier looks at him for another heartbeat, eyes roaming up and down his arms. And then he actually gets up! Second surprise of today.

“Are you going to the stables tomorrow too?”  Jaskier asks from the kitchen. Geralt looks at him as he moves around the kitchen, as comfortable as he is the one living in here. Comfortable in Geralt’s space.

“In the afternoon. Gonna take Roach for a ride down by the water.”

Water pouring and the familiar gurgling from the coffee maker. Jaskier comes back into the room and lays down on the bed. On his back, looking over at Geralt.

“Sounds nice. I'm going out tonight but if you want to we can watch a movie tomorrow night?” Jaskiers blue eyes are trained on him again. He looks soft and very huggable and somehow Geralt is sad he didn’t get to touch today.

“Sure, what do you have in mind?” 

As Saturday comes around it turns out Jaskier was in the mood for a horror movie. That never ended well before. The couch feels too cramped with the both of them so Geralt sits on the floor leaning back on the couch instead. That lets Jaskiers restless fingers make a million tiny braids in Geralt's shoulder long hair. It feels nice, familiar. But when there is a jumpscare (there always is at least one) Jaskier clenches his hand and tugs at his hair. It doesn’t hurt too bad, but heat flares up in the pit of his stomach. Fuck.

And Jaskier apologizes and smooths his hand over Geralt's hair and somehow touches his ears and Geralt is on fire.

When the monster is sneaking up on the collage girl (like it always does) Jaskier bends down and tries to hide behind Geralt. That puts his mouth very close to his neck.

Fuck indeed.

The rest of the movie is safe, but it’s too late. Geralt pretends like nothing, clamps down his feelings, his need to turn around and drag Jaskier into his lap already.

And this time when they sleep, Jaskier is curled around Geralt's back.

“Why do you always want to watch a scary movie when you can’t sleep like a normal person afterwards?” Geralt asks him in the darkness, acutely aware of Jaskiers arm over his ribs.

“It is perfectly normal to not be able to sleep after this kind of movie, Geralt.” Jaskier scoffs and cuddles closer.

There is nothing to it. Barely a week in and Geralt is well and truly back in it. Once again he is crushing on his roommate. 

The week after, on a wednesday to be exact, Geralt gets a text on his lunch break.

Hello stranger it says, and he has to smile. It’s been ages since he heard from Renfri. They quickly decide to meet up after work and go take a coffee. 

Like always when he meets her, it’s like they never were apart. They catch up quickly on the latest gossip and what’s going on in their respective lives. And suddenly the topic of Jaskier appears and Renfris entire attitude changes. She never really liked Jaskier. Probably because she often was the one to pick Geralt's drunk ass up when Jaskier once again found his love in someone else.

“So you are living together again?”

“Yeah. He said it would take two months until he could move back in.”

“Wow, Geralt, that is kind of a long time. Is he staying during all that time?”

Geralt only grunts and nods, he knows where this is going. “Did you get a spare bed since I was there last time?” Renfri asks pointedly over her mug. The silence speaks for itself and Renfri shakes her head.

“Really. You share a bed too?” They don’t say anything for almost a minute. Geralt knows what she thinks about it.

“Please be careful Geralt. I don’t want to see you like that again.” Renfri says quietly.

“I know. It’s not like that anymore. It’s fine. I'm over it.” 

Renfri only lifts an eyebrow at him and sips at her latte.

This is not good. Not good at all. Jaskier has both arms wrapped around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together. The puff of Jaskiers breath hits Geralt's neck and he shudders. He can’t help it, but he is hard. Helplessly hard. Jaskiers body against his own, the warmth, all the tension he felt these past weeks.

It’s still dark outside, it can’t possibly be more than three in the morning. Geralt tries to pull back, but Jaskier pulls him closer, grinds their hips together. A groan escapes his lips as he can feel Jaskiers own erection against his hip. Fuck.

There are three ways this can go. He can wake Jaskier up and do something about it. He can ignore it and hope it goes away. Or he can push out of bed at escape.

The last one wins and he frees himself abruptly from Jaskiers arms and flees into the bathroom for a sad and furious wank. He never looks back to see if Jaskier woke up.

The morning after is as awkward as expected. There is a prickle of guilt when Jaskier comes out of the bedroom. Geralt never went to bed, how could he go back in there after that? So he stayed up, sneaking around in the living room and kitchen, preparing the coming day. Jaskier comes out the bedroom door with a big yawn, hair sticking up in odd angles. It’s adorable and Geralt frowns and turns back to the dishes he is doing.

Jaskier pads right up to him and leans against his back.

“Mornin’” he gruffs out, chin pressed against Geralt's shoulder. “You’re up early.” His voice is gravely with sleep and a bit muffled against Geralt's shirt. “I am.” He agrees, putting another plate in the stand next to the sink.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jaskier asks, nuzzling closer and putting his arms around Geralt's middle. Jaskier always was affectionate. This also happened in their room when Geralt was folding clothes, sorting books, whatever. And now as then, it makes Geralt's heart ache. 

“Something like that.” he says and digs in the sink for his next prey.

Jaskier yawns again.

“Do we have any coffee?” 

“Not yet.” Jaskier nods against his shoulder and pushes away to give them that sweet sweet cup of fake energy. But instead of sitting down on one of the chairs he gets back and puts his arms around Geralt again.

“ ‘m cold.” Jaskier complains.

“Then maybe you should have put on some pants?” Geralt suggests and Jaskier makes a sound of disgust.

“Excuse me sir, we don’t sleep with pants in this house.” He sounds so insulted that Geralt has to laugh. Jaskiers arms tighten around him and there is peace. The gurgling of the coffee machine, the smell of dish soap and Jaskiers arms around him. 

They are a month deep in the torture when Geralt finally gets enough. He is snappy and frustrated and irritated and he can barely stand it anymore.

So he turns to Tinder. Taking the first opportunity of a date as soon as it presents itself. When he tells Jaskier he won't be home that night, that he is going on a date, he just gets a long look. He puts on his jacket and flees out the door. Ignoring the churning feeling in his chest.

Her kisses are nice. Soft. Wet. Wrong. Her nails on his back should feel good. Her legs around his hips and her voice as they collide together against her bedroom wall should make him burn. Should.

Jaskier never shows any sign of going on dates. Never mention another person, never bring anybody home.

Home is a strong word for it. It’s not Jaskiers home, it’s Geralts. But somehow it feels right to have him there. But since that date something feels off.

And Geralt can’t put the finger on why.

Geralt slowly blinks awake. His nose is buried in Jaskiers shoulder, his friend pressing him closer. Geralt finds he has one arm pressed to Jaskiers hairy chest, the other leaning on his side. Rain is falling on the window, setting a soft mood. He really, really doesn't want to let go. Jaskiers hand finds his chin and his face is tilted upwards. 

For a moment they just look at each other. There is a peace, a calm, a sort of safety you only find when you are this close to somebody else. 

“Hi.” Geralt manages, and Jaskier gives him the softest smile.

“Hi.” Jaskier replies, tucking Geralt's head in his shoulder again and resting his chin on the top of Geralt's head. “Just five more minutes.”

Geralt breathes in the scent of sleep and sweat and Jaskier and finds his arm snakes to Jaskiers back and pulls them just a little closer together. From above him he can feel Jaskiers exhale in his hair and a small content sound.

They stay like that for more than five minutes.

The next time he meets Renfri she takes one look at his face and sighs.

“So you’re in deep huh?”

They are spending a calm saturday afternoon together in town. They run some errands and Geralt stocks up on art supplies and they go visit the bookstore where Jaskier works. He apparently forgot his headphones, and when he goes to the backroom to fetch them Geralt looks around. He picks up a book at random and turns a few pages. Puts it back. Picks up another one.

Suddenly arms are snaking around his middle and he jumps. Jaskier laughs and leans his chin on Geralt's shoulder. “Finding anything fun?” He asks and Geralt's heart is almost beating out of his chest. He hums in reply.

“Want me to point you to the erotica section?” Jaskier laughs when Geralt splutters.

“Look at you two lovebirds flirting.” Yennefer appears among the shelves of the bookshop.

“Wasn’t flirting.” Geralt murmurs self consciously and Jaskier slowly lets go of him. Geralt misses his touch immediately.

“Suuuure.” Yen says teasingly. “Hey, what are you boys up to tonight? Want to join me and the girls in the pub?”

That actually sounds really nice and they end up in a bar with a log theme with a small dancefloor and many dark corners. The whiskey burns as it makes its way down Geralt's throat, and he looks at Triss, Yen and Jaskier dancing in the throng of people. He stays with Yen's latest conquest by the bar, a lanky guy called  Chi-. Hm. Chireadan. That’s not a name he will be able to say another drink in.

“Gorgeous” Chi-something remarks looking at the three of them on the dance floor. Geralt hums his agreement, only having eyes for Jaskier. Chi-something drains his drink and nods towards the dancefloor. Fuck it. Geralt finishes his whiskey too, making a face as it burns it’s way down, and gets up. Chi-something immediately puts his hands on Yen, dancing close and kissing her deeply. Triss seems to find her own prey, a pretty little redhead pulls her off to one of those dark corners. Jaskier and Geralt face each other on the floor. Their eyes are fixed on each other as they move to the music. Drifting closer. The pulse of the beat resonates in Geralt's lungs like a second heartbeat. Then somehow Geralt's hands are on Jaskiers hips and he is pulling him closer. Jaskier never takes his eyes from him, lets his arms come up to rest on his shoulders.

Geralt's chest flutters, stutters, fights for all that it’s worth. Jaskiers eyes flick down to Geralt's mouth and up again. Licks his lips. Fuck. He can’t do this.

Geralt takes a step back, lets go of Jaskier, but Jaskier won’t let him. He grabs his wrists and leads him away. Out, as it turns out.

They walk all the way home, inside the door without a word and then, finally inside the door Jaskier turns to him.

“Geralt.” He says and Geralt's chest aches. It longs and it wants and it needs and Jaskiers arms reach for him and his hands travel up his arms, his shoulders, his neck. He looks wrecked already, fragile in Geralt's arms.

“Jaskier.” Geralt answers, and he is scared. So so so scared to have his heart broken. “Tell me this is not just tonight.” he begs. He bares himself like this he knows. But if he 

“It’s not just tonight.” Jaskier replies and Geralt feels like a string someone plucked. Vibrating and resonating with his words. He leans in but still doesn’t dare to take that final step.

“Why did you go on that date?” Jaskier asks him and damnit.

“Because I want you. Because you don’t want me. You never wanted me.” He confesses, probably more thanks to the whiskey than anything else.

“Darling.” Jaskier breathes and press their foreheads together. “I always wanted you.” and then he snakes up a hand in Geralt's hair and pulls him into a kiss.

Slow, hot drag of lips. Geralt draws in a ragged breath. He has wanted this for so, so long. But insecurity gnaws at him. He draws back to look at Jaskier, his friend, the man he has fallen so helplessly in love with. There is no denying it.

He draws a breath.

“What about the others?” He has to ask. All these years, all these people.

“What others?” Jaskier asks, frowning. “Oh, you mean from when we shared a room?” A sad smile  as he looks up at Geralt. “It is never a good idea to fall in love with your roommate.”

Ain’t that the truth.

“No it isn’t” Geralt agrees and Jaskier looks hurt. “It sucked so much to see you with them, Jaskier. That you never once looked at me.” 

“I always looked at you.” Jaskier murmurs. “But they always left. And I was… I am… scared that you will leave too.”

Geralt smiles and leans in again.

“Where will I go, Jaskier? I live here.” They stand so close together, breath mingling in the darkness. Jaskier chuckles and pulls at his ear fondly.

“Idiot. I need you to know Geralt. I was only with them because I couldn’t have you.”

“But you could have had me.” Geralt whispers. “You only had to ask. Always I-” But he can’t say it. But he has to. It has been burning in his veins, in his fingers, burning in his lungs to come out. It needs to be said.

“Jaskier I.. for years, all I wanted was you. Not even Yen was enough. It was always you.”

Geralt gets pulled into a kiss again. A hard, desperate, longing kiss, imperfect and not near enough. They part again and Geralt lets his lips rest on Jaskiers forehead.

“We really are such idiots, huh?” Jaskier says quietly. “All this time we could have had this, if we only talked to each other.”

“Talking is overrated.” Geralt mutters, but he agrees.

Jaskier presses a kiss to Geralt's throat and lets his hands wander, finding their way under Geralt's t-shirt. 

“Talking really isn’t what I want to do with you right now, no.” Jaskier says and presses himself against Geralt's body. 

So the only talking they do is sweet nonsense, filthy whispers and quiet moans. Geralt finally gets to explore that body, kiss the sensitive skin on the inside of Jaskiers thigh, play with that happy trail under his navel. In turn, Jaskier drags his nails over Geralt's back when they rock together, he bites his shoulder and his toes curl when the angle is just right. They fall asleep together in a tangle of limbs, all pretense of facing away finally thrown out the window. Geralt wakes up to Jaskiers soft snores in his ear and his hair in his mouth. 

The jingling of keyes announce Jaskiers presence at the door. Geralt looks up with a smile, only to be greeted by a frown.

“What’s up?” he asks from the couch, feet on the armrest and laptop on his knees. 

“My landlord called.” Jasker closes the door behind him and puts down his bag. 

Geralt closes the lid on the laptop and makes room for Jaskier to lean on him on the couch. They settle into a comfortable embrace, Jaskier leaning back against Geralt's chest. 

“Oh? What did he have to say?” Geralt asks him, cuddling closer. To be allowed this, to be the one to hold him Geralt is not sure he will ever get used to it.

“My apartment is done in a few days.”

“Oh.”   Right. Fuck. Jaskier draws in a breath. Hesitates. Tries again.

“I have this… uhm. Crazy idea.” Jaskier finally says.

“Do tell.”

He settles for glaring at them both. “Jaskier, would you go get me a drink?”

“Even if I knew where to find the bar in this place, I’m not going to let you drink when you have a—”

“Go get yourself one, then,” Geralt says, at the same time as Yennefer says, “First room to the right as you come down the stairs.”

Jaskier’s smart enough to see he’s being dismissed, but he obviously isn’t happy about it. He hovers for a moment longer, his fingers flexing nervously, before he marches out of the room with as much dignity as he can muster.

“He seems very . . . loyal,” Yennefer says, her tone deceptively mild.

Geralt tries to find some way to explain how the circumstances of the past few days have conspired to bring the two of them together, but he can’t find any words that convey something greater than the sum of its parts. Two days ago, Jaskier was just a witness Geralt needed to question, and now—well, he’s not really sure what to call this thing between them, but it’s more than he could have ever anticipated. All he can offer is, “It’s been an odd couple of days.”

Despite Geralt’s evasion, the look Yennefer gives him is knowing.  “Does he care about you enough to stop you from sacrificing yourself?”

Geralt lets out a frustrated growl. “I’m not—”

“Aren’t you?” Yennefer interrupts. Her smile is more of a sneer. “I saw how you were treating your injuries on your own, Geralt. I suppose intentionally running headlong into danger to save Cirilla is preferable to drinking yourself to death, but I won’t watch you kill yourself out of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.”

“Would you stop calling it that?” he snaps.

“What would you call it, then? Because it certainly looks to me like you don’t care whether you live or die.”

“It’s not . . .” Geralt breathes out a sharp breath, longing to look anywhere but at Yennefer, but she won’t let him off the hook even if he did. “If I can’t do this—if I can’t help her now, when she really needs me—then what good am I? What’s the point of any of it, if she’s not—” But he can’t go on, can’t even entertain the possibility of failing Cirilla again. He doesn’t know if he’d survive it. He doesn’t think he’d want to.

Yennefer’s expression softens, marginally. “You always were an idiot,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. “Cirilla needs you, that’s true enough. But she doesn’t just need you right now.” Her hand comes to rest on Geralt’s thigh, her weight barely even a pressure as she leans forward to look him in the eye. Her violet eyes are brighter than he remembered, clear like stained glass and just as cutting. “She’s going to be needing you for a long time to come, so you can’t burn yourself out in the here-and-now. You’ve got to be playing the long game, from now on—for her.”

“Yen, I . . .” Geralt doesn’t know how to tell her how badly that prospect terrifies him—how he can’t convince himself that’s something he’s even capable of, let along figure out how to do it. And isn’t that the hell of this whole mess? Can’t live with himself if he fails, can’t see how he’ll ever manage to succeed. Instead of trying to tell her, he leans forward and kisses her, the springtime scent of her perfume a reminder of a time when he thought he knew what he was for. She melts against him for a moment, before her hand comes up and she pushes him away.

“Don’t do that,” she says, and there’s a note of regret in her voice that makes him ache. The hand on his chest pushes him further from her, until he’s lying back against the pillows. “You need to rest. One day. Tomorrow, I’ll let you go and you can pursue whatever hare-brained scheme you’re cooking up to find Cirilla.”

Just then, Jaskier returns, and it’s Geralt’s turn to freeze up like a kid caught misbehaving. Jaskier, however, just holds up two glasses and a bottle of whiskey and says, blithely, “He hasn’t shared the particulars of his plan with me yet, but I can almost guarantee it’s exceedingly reckless.”

Yennefer glances over at Geralt as Jaskier pours out the golden liquor into one of the glasses for her. “You do know Geralt, then.”

Geralt finds he wants Jaskier to look at him in that moment, but Jaskier’s gaze is fixed on his own glass as he says, “I think I’m starting to.”

“Well, if your plans are as foolhardy as Jaskier seems to think, that’s all the more reason for you to rest today.” Yennefer downs her drink in one swallow and Geralt’s throat burns in envy. She sets the glass down on the nightstand and turns to Jaskier. “You’ll watch over him tonight?”

Jaskier nods, still not looking up at them. This more subdued side of Jaskier troubles Geralt, and yet he doesn’t dare ask what the matter is.

“In that case, I’m turning in for the night.” She stands, smoothing down her skirt, though it falls flawlessly around her hips. “You two can make your plans for Cirilla’s safe rescue without me. But you know that if there’s anything I can do—”

“I know,” Geralt assures her. “I will.”

Yennefer nods and leaves them, shutting the door behind her. The silence that remains seems to fill every corner of the room. Jaskier sits back down in the same chair from which he watched Geralt’s examination—as if he wants to be at a safe remove.

After a while, Jaskier takes a fortifying sip of whiskey and says, “Well, you may be a terrible patient, but you’d better believe I’ll be an even worse nursemaid.” He flashes Geralt a wicked little smile that’s only a shadow of his usual grin.

“Will you sit with me, at least?” Geralt asks.

“I shouldn’t,” Jaskier says, in a tone that says he would very much like to. “You need to rest, Geralt.”

“There’s plenty of room.”

Jaskier considers him seriously for a moment, but can’t seem to resist the invitation. “You’ll shove me off if I jostle you too much?”

Geralt absolutely will not. “Hmm,” he says, and Jaskier must take this for agreement, because he toes off his shoes and climbs onto the other side of the bed. He stretches out on top of the coverlet, which is disappointing, because Geralt thinks he’d rather like to lie tangled up in Jaskier’s limbs again.

“So, should I sing you a lullaby, or something?”