Chapter Text
For a moment Geralt tensed, bristling all over at the danger. Then Jaskier tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He licked into Geralt’s mouth, making a happy noise as he did so, and Geralt let himself relax.
He didn’t know how to kiss; he’d never kissed anyone before, never so much as thought of kissing. He’d never thought he’d be able to kiss anyone. Jaskier’s kiss was hot, wet, sweet, guiding him, coaxing Geralt’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Geralt groaned low down in his throat, clutching at Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier’s tongue worked in and out of his mouth, slow and easy, his thumb stroking along Geralt’s cheek to the corner of his mouth. He could get drunk on this, he realised. He could do this for hours. He wanted to do it for hours.
His thoughts dissolved into a soft, lusty haze.
Gradually, it ended, Jaskier kissing him open-mouthed, sucking upon his lower lip – drawing away.
“Mm.” Sitting back on his haunches, Jaskier wiped the back of his hand over his lips. “That made my mouth tingle,” he said. “Is that how it starts? Am I going to die?”
“I think if you were going to die you’d be dead already,” said Geralt.
“Good to know.” Jaskier’s mouth worked as if exploring it from the inside with his tongue. “Oh. That’s weird.”
“It was good,” said Geralt.
“Yeah?” The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tilted up.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Leaning forward Jaskier touched their foreheads together, resting there a moment, breathing Geralt’s air. He was so close and he smelled wonderful, smelled of sex and sweat and rain. “You know,” he said, “I think we could both use a bath, but I cannot be bothered moving.”
“Hm,” Geralt agreed, drowsy, and content. “Yeah.”
“Hang on,” said Jaskier, and leaning off the bed he heaved his pack closer. “Gotcha.” He rummaged for a moment and produced a clean handkerchief.
He mopped quietly at Geralt’s belly, and Geralt sat listening to his breaths, his slowing heartbeat. Jaskier scrunched up the handkerchief in his hand and said, “am I going to have to burn this now, or what?”
“Depends on whether anyone else is going to use it,” said Geralt.
“Not likely,” said Jaskier. “Anyway, it’s silk,” he added, which had no bearing on whether or not it was safe to keep it. Tossing the handkerchief to the floor, he said, “lie down.”
Obediently Geralt lay down upon the bed. He felt soft and yielding, like he’d do anything Jaskier asked, like his body was clay for Jaskier to mould. It was a good feeling. An easy one to let himself sink into.
Flopping down atop him, head pillowed upon his chest, Jaskier breathed out. “Oh. That was nice.”
Geralt grunted.
“Did you like it?”
“Mmmm,” Geralt groaned, drawn-out and contented, and Jaskier laughed a little – not an unkind laugh, but still it gave him pause. “Did you?”
Jaskier raised his head. “Did I like it?” Geralt grunted an affirmative. “I said I did, didn’t I?”
“I know what you said.” He didn’t know how to find the words to explain. “You’ve been with a lot of people. People who are –” Beautiful. Charming. Good lovers. “– Experienced.”
“So?”
The so struck him as self-evident. “I can’t give you that.”
Jaskier pursed his lips. He propped himself up on his elbow. “I’ve been waiting eight years for this, Geralt,” he said, “and it was wonderful.” So saying, he leaned up and kissed Geralt softly on the mouth.
Geralt jerked his head away.
“No?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows, disappointed, vaguely incredulous.
“You said it was – weird.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad weird.” Jaskier kissed him again, this time with a little tongue. “It’s good,” he said huskily against Geralt’s mouth. “It’s just – different” Dipping his head he nuzzled at Geralt’s neck. The feel of that contact made his skin prickle and he grunted, clutching at the blankets beneath him, a ripple of tension going through his body.
Jaskier huffed and taking Geralt’s hand by the wrist put it on his thigh. Again Geralt tensed, slipping his hand from Jaskier’s grip.
“You can touch me.” Jaskier drew back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to break.”
“You might,” Geralt reminded him.
“Whatever this is, I don’t think it’s about to stop working.” Taking Geralt’s hand, this time Jaskier planted it squarely upon his face. Geralt’s fingers brushed his eyelids and he couldn’t breathe. The thought of what it might do to Jaskier – to his face, to his eyes – “See?” Jaskier moved Geralt’s hand away, revealing a blithe grin. “It’s fine.”
He guided Geralt’s hand back to his thigh. “Stop bristling and touch me,” he said. “I want you to touch me.”
Geralt sat for a moment frozen, his hand upon Jaskier’s thigh, fingers digging into his soft, pliant flesh. He wanted to – he so badly wanted to. But the habit, the fears, of a lifetime stopped him. He couldn’t.
Could he?
Carefully, afraid to push too hard, he rolled Jaskier over onto his back and Jaskier went easily, happy to be moved this way and that. He flopped back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, the other hand reaching down to stroke his own thigh. He looked up at Geralt, a curious glint in his eyes. “Hm?” he said, a voiceless sound of encouragement.
Geralt put his hand to Jaskier’s neck, where he could feel the blood rushing beneath his skin. Jaskier tilted his head back, to give him better access, and the trust in that tiny motion made Geralt’s heart beat faster. Jaskier was letting him put his hand to his throat – was enjoying having Geralt’s hand upon his throat.
His eyes tracked down Jaskier’s body, his skin tender and untouched like a stretch of perfect, untrodden snow. Slowly, he ran his hand down Jaskier’s chest, feeling as much as hearing that catch in Jaskier’s breath at being touched so.
He touched Jaskier’s hip, his inner thigh, where he was soft and vulnerable, and Jaskier lay still beneath him, not speaking, not making any move to stop him. He ran a hand up Jaskier’s thigh, to the inside of his knee, and at last he moved.
Shifting on the bed, he sighed, “mmm. That’s nice.” Reaching up he cupped Geralt’s face and not thinking – not letting himself think – Geralt put his hand atop Jaskier’s. Jaskier’s thumb traced over his lips in wordless invitation and taking his hand Geralt kissed it, kissed his palm, the inside of his wrist, and again Jaskier sighed.
He kissed along the inside of Jaskier’s arm, pressed his lips to his inner elbow, making him shiver. He kissed his shoulder, his neck, where the scent of him was thick and heady. He couldn’t help but groan in satisfaction, his chest rumbling with it.
“You like that?” said Jaskier.
“You smell good.”
“I imagine I smell like I need a bath,” Jaskier laughed.
Jaskier smelled best, Geralt felt, when the scent of his perfumes and bath oils had faded away, when he smelled only of himself and of rain and wood smoke and the green smell of the outdoors. He chased that scent deeper, along his neck, behind his ear.
“Each to their own, I suppose,” Jaskier ruminated. He stroked Geralt’s hair, calmly, steadily. He breathed out, slow, and Geralt felt that breath tingle against his skin.
He wanted to feel Jaskier’s breath on his skin, to fill his lungs with his scent, wanted it forever. He didn’t want to move from that narrow bed, didn’t want to face the next day, didn’t want to think about why they could touch. He wanted only to drink all of Jaskier in, and let his mind drift.
He left his mind drift.
*
Later, he lay back in the bathtub, awake but not alert, his mind still adrift with idle, indulgent thoughts. He might have been floating, high up in the air or in a warm sea.
Jaskier, already washed, was puttering about the room with damp hair, changing into his clean clothes. Geralt let his eyes fall closed, enjoy the water, the rare freedom of being naked indoors.
“Want me to wash your back?”
“Sure.”
Sleeves rolled up, Jaskier knelt behind the bathtub and nudged him to sit forward. His hands were gentle. The soap was slick and good on Geralt’s skin. The shock of it was fading; the fear was passing. He could almost enjoy it freely. Almost.
“I can wash your hair while I’m here,” said Jaskier.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to do that,” Jaskier said. “Here.”
He used his own soap. Geralt recognised the scent, light and pleasant and citrusy. It was good. The feel of the pads of Jaskier’s fingers working against his scalp was even better. He moaned aloud, unable to help himself. “Mmm.”
“Hm?”
He settled back against the tub, and said nothing more as Jaskier rinsed out the soap, leaving its fresh scent behind. He didn’t stop touching Geralt’s hair once it was clean. He sat stroking it, running his fingers through it.
“Can I braid it?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. “Just always wanted to.”
“If you want.”
There was a gentle tugging at his scalp as Jaskier began to divide his hair into sections. “You have lovely hair, you know,” he said. “And – wow, it is really white, isn’t it?”
“You knew that.”
“I suppose I don’t often get to see it clean,” said Jaskier, starting the braid. “It’s beautiful.”
Geralt shifted into a more comfortable position in the bathtub.
“You okay?”
“Hm.”
He tried, for long minutes as Jaskier braided his hair, to slip back into his comfortable, drifting doze. But unease was creeping up his spine. His scalp prickled where Jaskier had touched it.
He didn’t dream often. When he dreamed, he rarely had good dreams, the kind he’d be reluctant to wake from. He didn’t remember how it felt. This, he imagined, was how it felt.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Braiding your hair?” said Jaskier. “Because I think it’ll look nice.”
“No,” said Geralt. “All of this.”
“Do you mean the sex?”
“Not the sex,” Geralt said. “Not just the sex.”
“Then I really don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Geralt changed tacks. “How long have you wanted the sex?”
“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. “How long have we known each other?”
Geralt’s heart thudded, once, in his chest. “That long?”
“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed. He tied off the braid, and put his hands on Geralt’s wet shoulders. “You had me at the silent brooding.”
“You never said.”
“What would I have said?” Jaskier draped the damp and heavy braid over his shoulder. “Oh, by the by, Geralt, I’d like to take you upstairs and fuck your brains out but unfortunately we cannot do that on account of your being deathly poisonous. Pity, that. It would only have made things uncomfortable.” Geralt heard him shift. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I don’t get uncomfortable easy.”
“Still.”
“You wanted to fuck me?”
“Do you want the full list of things I’d like to do to you?” Jaskier’s hands stroked his shoulders. “It’s quite long.”
“Not tonight.”
“But another night?” said Jaskier, and Geralt could hear his smile.
“Maybe.” Again he closed his eyes. “You’ve really wanted me all this time?”
It was all but unimaginable, that it might be so. For him to look out of his world and see Jaskier and want him was one thing. For Jaskier to look into his world and want what he saw was another altogether.
Jaskier’s arms slipped around him, his chin resting upon his shoulder, and Geralt started at being embraced so suddenly, so easily. “My darling, I’ve been a little bit in love with you since I first laid eyes on you,” he said. “I think by now I’m a lot in love with you.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Jaskier touched a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t understand how everyone doesn’t fall in love with you.”
“I think you know why.”
“Because people are very stupid,” said Jaskier against his ear. “And don’t see how beautiful you are.”
Again, his heart did that strange throb deep in his chest.
*
Slowly and gently, he woke up.
The bed was firm. The straw mattress prickled him. But it was more comfortable than the ground. More comfortable still was the feel of Jaskier’s warmth pressed against his side, Jaskier’s body curled alongside his, still asleep.
Rolling over, Geralt watched him, counting his steady breaths. Feeling bold he reached over and took Jaskier’s hand from where it lay outstretched on the pillow. It was unharmed. He squeezed it, ran his thumb over his knuckles. Still, it was fine.
He put Jaskier’s hand back upon the pillow and pushed himself up. Jaskier stirred, eyes half opening. “Hm?”
“Shh.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s morning,” said Geralt.
Jaskier squinted up at him. “Mm-mm,” he murmured, reaching out, coaxing Geralt back down.
“But it’s morning,” Geralt protested.
“Fuck that.” Jaskier burrowed into his neck. “Stay a while.”
The next hours passed in a sleepy, blissful haze. They didn’t make love again; they lay under the blankets, Jaskier’s arms around him, trading kisses and soft touches, drifting in and out of sleep. He forgot the itching of the straw mattress, the pressures of the new day, the towns of the sound waking up. He let himself forget everything.
It was well into the morning by the time they ventured out of bed. As he dressed he found his skin felt different, tender and delicate to the touch. The world had shifted off-kilter.
“Can I try this on?” Mostly dressed, Jaskier stooped to fetch his mask from the floor.
“Why?”
Jaskier shrugged. “Just for the hell of it.”
There was no harm in it that he could see. “Be careful.”
Shooting him a look as if to say what could possibly happen? Jaskier fitted the mask to his face.
“Oh,” he said, at once snatching it away. “Fuck me, it smells awful in there.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I think you must be used to it, because it really stinks.” Jaskier thrust the mask at him. “It smells like it’s been soaked in piss and then left in a warm room for a month. I don’t know how you stand it.”
“As you said.” Geralt snatched the mask back. “I’m used to it.”
“Well, I shan’t be trying it again.” Wandering over to the bed Jaskier sat down to fasten his shoes. “Have you given any more thought to this – business?”
“You mean you being able to touch me?” Geralt toyed with his mask. He couldn’t quite face putting it on, yet.
“Yes.” Jaskier leaned over to fasten his other shoe. “That business.”
“I don’t think it’s a spell.”
“No?” said Jaskier, glancing up. “What do you make of it, then?”
Geralt had been thinking on and off since the night before, wondering how best to ask, and still he had no idea. He said, “tell me about your parents.”
“Hm?” Jaskier looked up at him. “My parents?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, Jaskier straightened up. He rested his hand firmly upon his knee. “Geralt, I’ve known you eight years and I think this is the first time you’ve ever asked about my family. What’s brought this on?”
“Just answer the question.”
“It’s just that it’s a bit of a big question and somewhat of a non-sequitur,” said Jaskier.
“It isn’t a non-sequitur.” Restless, Geralt began to pace their little room.
“Then what on earth are you driving at?” Jaskier spread his hands. “Is there something specific you’d like to know?”
“Were they –” Geralt sought the right word. “Ordinary?”
“That would depend on how you define ordinary.”
Geralt gave up trying to be tactful. “Were they human?”
“What?” said Jaskier. “Yes, of course. Naturally they were.”
“You certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“You sure about who your father was?”
“Well –” Breathing out, Jaskier deflated slightly. “As – as sure as anyone can be, I suppose.”
“You look like him?”
“Not noticeably,” Jaskier admitted. “You know, I’m not sure I like what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything,” said Geralt. “Just trying to make sense of this.”
“You’re implying there was some kind of, of – interspecies adultery going on in my family,” said Jaskier. “Which is ridiculous, and I could very well take offense.”
“This isn’t a spell,” said Geralt. “If it’s not a spell it must be something natural about one of us. I know it isn’t me. So it must be you.”
“I don’t see that that follows,” said Jaskier. “And I don’t see how you go from there to interspecies adultery. Non-humans are affected by witchers, aren’t they? And, and half-elves and so on?”
“There are things that can breed with humans that wouldn’t be affected.”
“I don’t doubt that you’re right, this being your area of expertise,” said Jaskier. “But I still think you’re making some leaps here.”
“There’s no leaping,” said Geralt, his tone heating even as he tried to keep it cool. “Anything mortal dies at my touch. You didn’t die. So something in you isn’t mortal.”
“Well, when you put it like that it sounds logical enough,” Jaskier conceded. “But I really think I’d know if anything in me wasn’t human.”
“Would you?”
“Yes!”
“How?”
“Well –” Jaskier fell silent. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Anyway, we don’t know for sure this isn’t a spell, do we? For all we know I only started being immune to you some time yesterday afternoon.”
“Hm,” said Geralt.
“See, don’t have a smart retort to that, do you?” Jaskier lounged back on the bed, face scrunching in thought. “Although.”
“Although?”
“Now that I think about it, I do recall a few instances shortly after we met when I borrowed your waterskin after being expressly told not to.”
Searching his face for any sign that he was joking, Geralt said, “you what?”
“Mine was empty and I was thirsty,” said Jaskier with a nervous shrug. “I thought you were exaggerating.”
Geralt said nothing.
“Were you?” said Jaskier, his tone bordering on plaintive. “Exaggerating?”
“No.”
“So that really ought to have killed me?” Wordless, Geralt nodded. “Ah.” Jaskier drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Well, then. That would suggest this isn’t a recent development, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Geralt. “It would.”
He’d suspected as much. But being confronted with evidence that Jaskier wasn’t what he appeared to be on the surface was still – daunting.
Rising to his feet, Jaskier folded his arms. “Sooo,” he said. “I probably could have been hugging you this whole time?”
“That’s not the right take away from this,” said Geralt.
“I disagree,” said Jaskier. “I feel it’s the most important take away of all.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m going to get some breakfast. Do you want some breakfast?”
He sauntered towards the door. “Jaskier,” said Geralt.
“Hm?” Jaskier looked at him, wide-eyed and guileless, and he found he had no idea what to say.
He settled for, “the sheets.”
“The sheets?” Jaskier’s eyes went still wider and throwing back his head he clutched at it. “Fuck! The sheets. I said I’d pay for the sheets.”
“Yeah.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Jaskier moaned into his hands. “I shouldn’t be allowed to make financial decisions when I’m that horny. I hope they don’t charge too much for them.”
“Sorry,” said Geralt. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to.”
“No,” said Jaskier. “No, I said I’d pay and I meant it. It’s fine. I’m just – frustrated.”
“You don’t have to pay for them,” said Geralt again.
Jaskier shot him a look. “I said I’d pay. Consider it my treat. Let’s just not make a habit of it.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“I’ll think of something.” He clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “See you downstairs.”
*
Long minutes later, Geralt ventured downstairs to find that Jaskier had paid for the room – and the sheets – and was waiting in the yard with pastries.
“Got you breakfast,” he said, thrusting a warm pastry into Geralt’s hands.
Side by side, Jaskier a safe distance away, they fetched Roach from the stable and left the yard. Jaskier ambled along the street, thoughtfully chewing his pastry. “You paid for the sheets, by the way.”
“I did?”
“In case anyone asks,” said Jaskier between bites. “You were injured and you needed somewhere to sleep it off, so you gave me the money to pay for the sheets.”
“That was good of me,” said Geralt.
“I thought it would come off better if you were paying.”
“Hm,” said Geralt. “Thanks.”
Jaskier finished his breakfast. He licked crumbs of pastry off his fingertips. They reached the edge of town and started along the track down the valley, the stream tumbling on one side of them, the hill rising up on the other. Jaskier drifted a little closer to him, and a little closer still. Geralt took off his mask, breathing easier at the feel of cool air on his skin.
He dug into his breakfast.
“I’ve been thinking more about what you said earlier,” said Jaskier.
“Yeah?”
“What sort of things might a person be mixed with, that might make them –” Jaskier flapped a hand at Geralt as if trying to encompass his whole body. “– Immune?”
“A number of things,” said Geralt.
“Could you enlighten me?”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Yes, I want to know!” His tone had been easy, but now there was a touch of heat in Jaskier’s voice.
Geralt chewed a mouthful of cheese pastry. He swallowed. “The fair folk,” he said, and heard a sharp intake of breath. “Elemental creatures. Some kinds of demons.”
“Okay,” said Jaskier before he could go on. “Okay. So we’re in that sort of territory, are we?”
“Yeah. That sort.”
“But, I mean –” Jaskier motioned at his chest. “Your medallion. Doesn’t it do its – thing, for demons and the like?”
“It signals danger,” said Geralt. “Whatever you are you’re harmless.”
“Thanks,” said Jaskier. “I think.” He bit his lip. “Could you hazard a guess?”
He’d never met a human with fae blood before but he knew it could be – eccentric. It could lie all but hidden in a family line, coming out only in strange quirks that could easily be written off as luck or charm or talent – generations in, it might come out as real power.
Jaskier had a way with people. A magnetism. A natural flare for music and for performance. A touch of immortality.
“No,” he said. “I couldn’t.”
“So you think I could be part – demon? Or something?”
“I don’t think it’s likely you’re part demon,” said Geralt. “Couldn’t say anything for sure.”
“That’s almost reassuring,” said Jaskier. “Should I – do something about this?”
“You could ask your parents,” Geralt said. Jaskier scoffed. “Or you could see a mage. They might be able to figure you out.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that either.” Jaskier nudged Geralt. “Do you think I should?”
“It’s your choice.”
“You’re no help at all today,” Jaskier snapped. He breathed out, and said, unsteady, “sorry. I’m sorry. You’re not – it’s just not every day you find out you’re not entirely human.”
Geralt grunted.
“No offence,” Jaskier added.
“None taken.”
Jaskier was still tense with anxiety. Geralt could see it in the tight set of his jaw, hear it in the thrumming of his heartbeat. “Whatever this is,” he said, “it doesn’t change anything about you. It’s been inside you all your life. It’s not done you any harm so far.”
“Hm,” said Jaskier.
“You’re the same as you always were. Anyone who thinks different of you isn’t worth your time.”
“Is that so?”
Geralt finished his pastry. He brushed away the crumbs and tugged off his gloves.
They were alone, under the clear blue sky, shaded on one side by the rising hill. The only other living thing in sight was the black dash of a kite high above them. Summoning his courage, he took Jaskier’s hand in his.
At being touched so suddenly, so confidently, Jaskier started. But then the tension left him, and he breathed out, his stance loosening. Lacing their fingers together he squeezed Geralt’s hand.
Geralt squeezed back, firm and steady, and the smile Jaskier gave him in return was everything.