Chapter Text
“Hey, heard you fucked the twink, way to go!”
Lambert's voice comes clear through the speakers of Geralt's new smartphone - a gift that Jaskier had insisted on getting for him, muttering about old men and their shit phones having no right being so handsome and charming.
“Lambert,” Geralt hisses, cheeks blazing red, “I'm at work!”
Lambert makes a vague noise of disinterest, then continues, “I mean, it's about time. Cock was drier than old Matilda's almond cookies. And you know that shit was dry-”
“Lambert!”
“My point is, little blue-eyed birdie is just what you need. How was it? Was he any good?”
“For fuck's sake, *Lambert*-”
“I mean, he's kind of a whore, isn't he? Well you did both fuck that firefighter, thanks for not telling me about that by the way, had to find out from Eskel - don't tell him I told you he told me, he'll be pissed,-”
“Shut up!” Geralt growls, trying to ignore the way his veterinary assistant is giggling behind a gloved hand across the table from him, “I'm in surgery you ass, you're on speaker!”
A beat of silence, then Lambert bursts out laughing, “Oh! Oh, that's hilarious! Are there people with you?”
“Hello, Lambert, was it?” Anne giggles, “I'm Geralt’s surgical assistant, Anne.”
“Shit, Oh my god,” Lambert snorts, almost choking on his laughter, “This is amazing.”
“Hang up,” Geralt tells Anne.
“No, no, hold on, I wanna hear about the sex! He turned me and Aiden down, you know, pining after you, you bastard.”
“I told him to turn you down.”
“Jealous.”
“I don't want him to get mange.”
“Mange!? You fucking asshole, Aiden does not have-”
The line disconnects and Anne drops the phone, gently, back into its spot on the counter, “Whoops, lost connection. How unfortunate, your new phone seems to have terrible reception here Doctor Rivia.”
“Terrible indeed,” Geralt agrees, and turns back to his procedure, quietly thankful.
–
Lambert calls him twice more that day, Geralt hangs up on him both times, not having the energy to put up with his youngest brother. He genuinely will never understand how Aiden manages to put up with him, the amount of patience that man has astounds him to no end. Especially when Lambert is lighting their kitchen on fire, or setting off fireworks in their garage. Jaskier is a menace too, but not like Lambert, at least Jaskier doesn’t have a penchant for arson.
“Stop hanging up, prick!” Lambert snarls at him, having called him from Aiden’s phone on this particular attempt.
“Stop calling me.”
“I’m trying to have a damn conversation!”
“You’re trying to get on my nerves.”
A beat of silence, then, smugly, “Is it working?”
Geralt hangs up.
– – –
“So,” Jaskier starts, once Geralt has gotten home, gotten showered and gotten into some more comfortable clothes, “I got a very interesting call from you brother today.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Geralt groans, head tipping back to rest on the back of the couch they are curled up together on.
“Oh don’t be like that, dear, he was perfectly lovely. As lovely as Lambert can be. I maaay have accidentally insinuated that you’re a bottom. So sorry about that.”
Geralt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Well, suppose he can’t say much about that at least,” Jaskier continues on, “Considering his very interesting relationship dynamic. Speaking of bottoming, I had a really rather lovely dream last night and-”
“Doesn’t bother you?” Geralt interrupts.
“Does what bother me, dear?”
“That I… told them?”
“Darling, why on earth would it bother me?”
Geralt shrugs, feeling wrong-footed rather suddenly.
“Oh, sweetheart, you know I adore you, don’t you?” Geralt grunts, his face scrunching with discomfort at the words and the way Jaskier reaches out to cradle his hand in his own, like something precious, “Darling man, tell me, if I adore you, and I do, why then would I not be immensely flattered that you have told your family about us?”
“Just Aiden. Aiden told Lambert, I- I wanted to tell Ciri before anyone else.”
“Oh,” Geralt glances up when he hears a slight tremor in Jaskier’s voice, and startles at the sight of tears welling in those bright blue eyes. Panic rises in his chest, but before it can consume him Jaskier chuckles, “You’d tell Ciri about… about me?”
“Ciri loves you,” Geralt mutters, confused, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I just… I’ve dated other single parents in the past and they always hide me.”
Geralt grunts, displeased, “I want you to be part of her life too. She sees you as her family.”
Jaskier tucks his face into Geralt’s shoulder and sniffles, “Even my actual family doesn’t see me as family,” he mutters, “They never wanted me, I just…”
“Idiots,” Geralt mutters, drawing a wet laugh from Jaskier.
“Gods but you are lovely,” the producer says, almost absent-mindedly, eyes going droopy and fond.
“You deserve better than them.”
“Mm,” Jaskier sighs, not looking convinced, “Maybe. They were right about some things. I am too much, too loud, but… You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not too much,” he murmurs back, squeezing Jaskier just that little bit closer, “S’nice, to have the quiet filled.”
Jaskier sniffles, “Know what else could be filled?”
Geralt rolls his eyes but can’t help the little smile that quirks his lips, “One track mind.”
“Just wanna feel close to you,” the words are mumbled into the crook of Geralt’s shoulder, so soft and earnest that he shivers with it, fingers tightening on the other's waist. Geralt lays him back on the plush black leather and kisses him so deeply his soul splits with it - opening and wrapping around Jaskier, drawing him in and becoming one.
“You’re perfect,” he tells Jaskier as he opens him with slow, tender touches.
“Beautiful,” he breathes across porcelain skin, worshiping each freckle and scar with a kiss of lips and teeth and tongue.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers into slackened lips, parted with panting breaths and low, breathy groans.
“Mine,” he gasps like a plea when Jaskier shudders over the edge of orgasm, two of Geralt’s fingers curled into his prostate and a shout of,
“Yours, fuck - Geralt! Yours,” falling past those ruby-bitten lips.
–
“You mean it,” Jaskier asks him a bit later when they’ve tired themselves out and are curled up sated and sweaty, skin sticking to one another but not uncomfortable, “Am I… yours? You really want me to be?”
Geralt hums, “Yes.”
“Good,” Jaskier nods like it was the obvious answer, but his voice is small and timid, “Right. I’ll just be yours then. And you can be mine.”
“Mm,” Geralt agrees again, “Deal.”
– – –
“Uncle Lambert said that you had a surprise for me,” are the first words out of Ciri’s mouth once she’s tossed her bag haplessly into her room and returned down the stairs with thundering steps, far louder than any human of her small size should be able to make.
“Did he now?” Geralt sighs, trying not to let his frustration with his youngest brother show on his face more than usual. He’s going to kill Lambert.
“Yep, an’ Uncle Aiden says that I’m gonna have a sleepover next weekend with them an’ Uncle Eskel!”
“That’s exciting,” Jaskier chirps, sidling up next to Geralt where he’s leaning up against the kitchen island peeling oranges for a sauce to put on the salad he is planning for lunch.
“Mhm!” She beams at them, “So, surprise?”
“I don’t think it’s that exciting,” Geralt mutters, making Jaskier huff a little indignant, ‘rude’ under his breath.
Ciri glances between the two of them, then a big, feral grin splits her face, “You’re dating,” she squeals, “Ahaha! I knew it! I knew you liked each other!”
“Are we that obvious?” Jaskier laughs, Geralt frowning beside him and shaking his head in fond exasperation.
“I am an excellent matchmaker! See! I told you both!”
Jaskier rolls his eyes with great amusement, “Yes, darling, you are a genius. Perhaps we should start a business, hm? Cirilla’s courtships.”
“We can set up Coën and Uncle Eskel next!”
“Oh?” Jaskier leans forward, elbows on the counter and palms cradling his chin, “Do spill the tea, dear, is there a spark brewing?”
“They like each other too,” Ciri agrees, “But Uncle Eskel thinks no one can love him cuz he’s ugly, but he isn’t ugly!”
Geralt frowns and sets down his knife, “Did he say that to you?”
Ciri shrugs, scratching at the counter with a thumb nail. “Overheard him talking about it,” she admits, looking only slightly guilty.
“Eavesdropper,” Geralt accuses playfully, making Ciri flush and laugh.
“He looked sad, I just followed him to help, but then he called someone,” She shrugs, “But I know Coën likes him, he always tucks Uncle Eskel’s hair behind his ear for him like Uncle Lambert does for Uncle Aiden.”
“Ah yes,” Jaskier agrees, “The legendary hair tuck, a universal sign of affection, isn’t that right, darling?” He smirks at Geralt, who had tucked Jaskier’s hair behind his ear just that morning before dipping down to whisper words of adoration into his bared throat. Geralt just grunts, cheeks a vibrant shade of pink.
– – –
“So you’re fucking the twink,” Yennefer’s voice greets him, coldly even and uncaring in a very calculated way that Geralt knows immediately spells anger, “I suppose that is part of the deal with a sugar daddy, isn’t it?”
“Yennefer,” Geralt greets in return, ignoring her opening comments, “How is Ciri?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised that this is how you choose to spend your time, really Geralt, I mean, shaking up with a man half your age is one thing-”
“Half my age would make him a child,” Geralt grates, frustration rising up and into his very pores.
“But subjecting Ciri to that, making her think this kind of relationship is okay-”
The phone is plucked from his hand, he turns to object but the stern look he gets from Jaskier has him sitting back and observing the chaos.
“Ah Yennefer, darling, how lovely to hear from you! It’s me, the poor, innocent youth that Geralt is corrupting with his magic penis,” Geralt hears Yennefer say something in response but can’t quite make out the words before Jaskier is barreling on, “You know, I do understand you’re jealous, what with him leaving you for a younger, prettier model and all, but don’t you think you could be spending your time better? Have you nothing more important to do than harass your ex -ah, ah, ah, I’m not finished, and don’t you dare say it’s not harassment because calling to tell him how shit of a father he is, when really he is wonderful, is honestly rather pathetic, dear.”
Jaskier wanders out of the room again, leaving Geralt to the book he had been reading. He doesn’t get another call from Yennefer.
– – –
“So,” Jaskier flops across his lap, insistently nudging his way up until they are laying chest-to-chest on the couch, “I was thinking for this summer, what do you think about going to Skellige? I hear the islands are a bit cooler than the mainland, though I have always wanted to go back to Toussaint. Might be a bit boring for a young mind, all the vineyards. What about Novigrad? Lots of things to do in a big city like that-”
“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, and by the look he is giving him it’s not the first time he’s called his name.
“Ah… yes, dear?”
“I can’t afford to go any of those places.”
“What? Of course you can, and by you I mean me, I’m not going without you, that’s just rude.”
“I have Ciri for a month.”
“Well, yes, obviously she would come too. It’d only be for two weeks.”
“I can’t afford that, Jask.”
“Nonsense, I’m paying and I insist.’
Geralt frowns and Jaskier sighs.
“I know you don’t want handouts. That’s not what this is, dear, I swear.”
“It’s an expensive vacation,” Geralt argues, incredulous.
“It’s a family vacation,” Jaskier emphasizes, wriggling a little further up so he can look into those oh-so-familiar golden eyes properly, “I’ve never had a proper family before. I don’t want to waste any more time. I know that… Ciri is not my kid, but I love her and I-” he swallows, glances away, flushes, “I love you,” he mutters like he’s embarrassed, “Let me do something nice for you.”
When he glances back Geralt is watching him with wide, surprised eyes. Eyes that look like they are searching for something, reading Jaskier down to his bones. Eventually, he swallows and nods, almost shy, “Alright. You can take us somewhere.”
“Good. Right.” Jaskier smiles, small and shaky, “Good.”
That night when they make love Jaskier can feel the difference in Geralt. Every touch a caress, every kiss an act of worship, ever utterance between gasping breaths a confession.
He doesn’t say the words, Jaskier can’t really fault him for that, they’ve only been together a little less than a month, but with every mark bruised into his body, Jaskier has never felt more loved.
– – –
“Hello, is this one Coën Griffin?”
“Er,” a very confused voice greets Jaskier on the other end of the line, “Yes?”
“Ah, wonderful! My name is Jaskier, I’m-”
“Oh, Geralt’s boyfriend?”
“And- ah. Yes, that would be me.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Coên’s voice shifts, something moves in the background, “It’s nice to speak to you finally.”
“You as well! I hope you don’t mind, I kind of stole your number from Geralt.”
“No harm done. Did something happen?”
“No, I just… Well, I was curious about something is all, have you a moment?”
“Sure,” another shuffle, it sounds like Coën sits down, a TV is on in the background, “How can I help?”
“It’s my understanding that you may have… feelings for our dear Eskel.”
Coën chokes on whatever he was evidently taking a sip of, coughing and sputtering. The speaking that Jaskier thought was the TV gets closer.
“Shit, you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Coën rasps, “Wrong pipe.”
“I’d say drink some water, but apparently you don’t know how.”
“Very funny,” Coên grumbles back, “Go finish what you were doing, I’m fine.” A moment passes and then Coën is hissing, “Who told you that?” Into the receiver.
“Doesn’t matter who, what matters is if they were telling the truth.”
“It doesn’t matter, he’s- we’re friends, alright? I’m not fucking this up again.”
“You’re sabotaging yourself, my friend,” Jaskier warns him.
“Why are you-” Coën huffs, frustrated, “I don’t understand why you are doing this.”
“I want Eskel to be happy. And he may or may not have told me that he’s interested in you, but that he thinks you find him repulsive since his accident.”
“That’s not true! I never said that!”
“Yes, well, we both know that. Listen, I’ll tell you this now, because I want my boyfriend and his family to all be happy and that includes you. If you like him that way, tell him. You’re not doing either of you the favours you think you are. Have a good night.”
“Wait don’t just-” the line is already disconnected.
– – –
“Land ho,” Jaskier calls and Ciri giggles, tucked up in front of him, held securely between his arms and the railing of the boat, Geralt’s hand on the small of his back. The wind on the water is surprisingly brisk for late July, but the sun is hot on their skin and Geralt’s nose is already starting to pinken with a bit of a burn at the very tip from just the few hours they’ve spent ferrying from the mainland to the isles.
“We didn’t see any mermaids,” she complains.
“Don’t want to see mermaids, dear, they’ll gobble you up! Fish food!”
“Nooo,” Ciri squeals with delight as Jaskier feigns eating the top of her head, mussing her hair even further.
Yennefer is already on the docks when they come to port, her raven hair pulled up in a tight bun away from her face, black maxi dress with the back and sides mostly cut out hugging her every curve. Next to her, in sharp contrast, is Triss, her wild red curls let loose over her yellow sundress.
“Hi!” Triss greets, giving each of them a hug in turn, “Lambert and Aiden are already at the villa, Eskel and Coën got delayed until tomorrow, not sure if you saw.”
“No service on the ocean, Triss, dear, you know that.”
“Oh yes, because of all the travel that I do? In all my hours of free time?”
“You’re the one that decided to be a nurse, not my fault you have the world’s busiest profession.”
“I’m tired,” Ciri complains, tugging at Geralt’s sleeve until he scoops her up to sit on his hip.
“Nap before the beach,” Jaskier suggests.
“Nooo, I wanna go swimming!”
“If you’re not too tired to swim, you’re not too tired to walk,” Geralt accuses and Ciri whines but relents.
“Fine. But only a little nap! And only if you and Papa Jaskier nap with me.”
Jaskier stops in the middle of the boardwalk, heart slamming against his rib cage. Ciri doesn’t seem to notice what she’s called him, but Geralt does and gives him a very soft, very fond smile over the top of his daughter’s head.
“Sure,” Geralt agrees easily, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand, “Papa and I will nap with you.”
Ciri coos a pleased noise and snuggles against her father’s shoulder. Jaskier tries to covertly wipe away the tears gathering in his eyes, though Yennefer notices and sighs.
“Come on,” she wipes at him with a handkerchief pulled from her far too fancy for the Skelligan beaches purse, “You’ll ruin your mascara.”
“I’m not wearing any,” Jaskier sniffs.
Yennefer blinks, “Your eyelashes are just like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like… long.”
“... Was that a compliment?”
Yennefer scrunches her nose, “Don’t get used to it,” she huffs, and turns on her heel to strut away. Geralt chuckles and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple, “Let’s go,” he mutters, “Ciri’s papa needs his rest.”
“Yeah,” Jaskier agrees, throat tightening again with the wave of newfound, overwhelmed happiness that rises, “Yeah, he does.”