#for clarity geralt is generally sex neutral but he has a lot of shit going on too and mostly wants to be held

[podcastenthusiast]

A fic featuring: ace Geralt, some trauma, discussion of consent, and a whole lot of love.

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Touch is difficult for Geralt. Desire, too; witchers are made to want nothing except to serve their purpose. He wants even less, yet somehow more than he should.

He's been known to spend months, even years, on the Path with only Roach for company. Never touching anyone beyond the brush of hands as coins are exchanged. He will go to brothels occasionally--let the whores trace his scars, cataloging each one like it's evidence of something, asking for the story behind it. He satisfies their curiosity and fucks them, too, because he knows how this transaction works, what is expected. He gives them whatever they want, and takes what pleasure he's supposed to. It's too much and it's over too soon.

Sometimes he leaves the brothel feeling lighter, almost like a person. Other times he is empty, bereft of that warmth, and unsure why he can't feel the way others do.

Geralt has theories. He keeps them to himself. Doesn't even tell Roach.

One theory goes like this: witchers are rendered sterile by the mutations, and Geralt was given an extra dose. Maybe that stripped away his sexual desire as well as his capacity to procreate. Or maybe it's still in there somewhere, buried deep along with a majority of his emotions and the kid he once was.

Maybe it has nothing to do with being a witcher at all. His brothers don't seem to share the same experience.

And Jaskier isn't at all like him; he loves fiercely and loudly. Jumps into bed with practically anyone who's willing. He will meet a barmaid and perform a ballad he wrote about her all in the same evening.

So it shouldn't be a surprise that Jaskier's soft heart has room in it for Geralt, too, but it is. It's also a surprise when the bard stays, like no one ever has before.

They share a bed now, as they have many times, but it's different as lovers. At first Geralt assumes Jaskier simply wants sex, and is fine with giving him what he needs.

But the bard loves to please others. Jaskier asks what he wants, and Geralt replies, "Nothing."

Truer than it's ever been, in this context.

"Everyone wants something. Even you."

"I..."

I just want you to stay. He can't say it. He is a creature defined by what he lacks--desires, fears, feelings, humanity. He has little to offer Jaskier or Yennefer or anyone else, just danger or a quick fuck. It isn't enough. He has no business asking for anything. He was made to be useful.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"That's all right. We'll figure it out together. For now let's take things slow, yeah?"

"Been twenty years."

"And I wouldn't trade them for all the wine in Toussaint. But this--" He kisses Geralt's neck. "--is new."

"Hmm."

"I just want you to be comfortable, dear witcher."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

It's too quick. Defensive. Like parrying before your opponent even draws their sword.

"Well...I know you feel things differently." Fuck. Fuck! He knows. "Heightened senses and all that. I imagine it could make certain things...a bit intense."

He doesn't know. He can't.

"I'll be fine."

"And if we do have sex, I want it to be good for you. Because...honestly, Geralt, you deserve pleasant things, more than you know. You always say you don't want anything."

"I don't."

"And that scares me to death, darling." Jaskier's voice is low, suddenly breaking. "There's no shortage of awful people out there who will at best take that as an invitation not to care, or at worst to hurt you."

The wolf inside him snarls. He's not weak. Witchers might be harmed in battle, never in bed. But he takes a breath and tries to hear what Jaskier is really saying. He owes him an attempt at decent communication.

"Jaskier," he says. "You'd never hurt me."

"Not intentionally, no, which is why I need you to talk to me. Tell me if I ever do something you don't like, even if you've liked it in the past, and I'll stop."

Jaskier's calloused fingers idly trace a scar below his collarbone. He won't ask about its origin because he doesn't need to; he was there. Geralt's muscles grow tense even so.

"Stop," he snaps before he can think better of it. Jaskier stops immediately. His hands withdraw from the witcher's skin, and Geralt knows he just fucked up everything. He couldn't bear even that and now his bard is never going to touch him again and so few are unafraid, fewer still truly know him--

"Thank you," Jaskier says. He doesn't sound angry or upset. He sounds almost proud. "Can I ask-- Are you feeling overwhelmed emotionally, or was it the touching? And don't you dare give me that tired 'witchers don't have feelings' line right now."

"Touch," Geralt manages although, if he were honest, it's both.

There are times he can't stand to be touched at all, Jaskier has seen that-- after a hunt, when the lingering effects of his potions make the world feel impossibly sharp. But there are other times. There are safe people and places and Jaskier never looks at him like he's a curiosity, an inhuman thing, but Geralt's body doesn't always know that.

"You don't want to be touched right now?"

Geralt shakes his head. Then shrugs. Nods.

"I really need some words here, love."

"It's. The scars."

"Oh. Gods, I'm sorry. Do they hurt?"

Scars trouble him the least of his old wounds. They itch, sometimes, but they don't hurt in the way, for example, his knee aches when it's going to rain. Scars are an absence of pain. Of anything. Sometimes a reminder.

"No. Just numb." He takes a breath. Averts his eyes and counts the stitches on the blanket. "Most people I'm with... it's all they see. Like to touch the scars. I can't feel it. They ask questions; I tell them or I don't. Over either way."

They leave, he means. Or he leaves first. That fucking mountain. He's run out of words. His throat feels tight.

When he looks up again, Jaskier's eyes brim with tears.

"You are so much more than that to me, dear heart."

"I know," Geralt says, and finds that, quite unexpectedly, he believes it.

"Is-- Would a hug be okay? Honest answer only."

Geralt nods, and the bard pulls him in close.

"You know," says Jaskier after a while. He never could let silence remain unfilled. Geralt is grateful. "There are artists who mend pottery by carefully filling the cracks with gold. It's beautiful."

"Sounds excessive. Just make another bowl."

"It adds to the complexity, the beauty of the whole. I'm trying to say that's how I see you."

"As broken pottery to fix?"

"Gods, no. As someone who's survived so much, and is very dear to me. But your scars, your lovely eyes and your hair, all of it-- They're not everything you are, nor is witchering, despite what ignorant fools or careless bed partners may think."

But Jaskier has mended something. His reputation, for a start. His wounds on numerous occasions. And... more than that, besides, he thinks.

When Geralt finally does tell Jaskier the truth about his desires, or lack thereof, he'll think about that and form a new theory. Maybe he isn't a broken thing after all, and even if he is, maybe that can be okay.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier #witcher fic #asexual geralt #should i start posting this stuff on ao3? #jaskier paraphrases amazing devil lyrics and I'm not sorry about it #for clarity geralt is generally sex neutral but he has a lot of shit going on too and mostly wants to be held #tbh i struggle to write characters who want to have sex with other people at all. can't relate #to me there's something so uncomfortable about the brothel svenes in TNW and witcher 3. i dunno #asexual headcanons