oh my god, I need this in my life ;____; Pairing is dealer's choice.
36. unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping
Look. I kinda missed the mark here, in a sense, as did I miss the timely window to write/reply.... xD
anyway here it is? some Geraskier, a healthy dose of pining, and a lot of semi-platonic cuddling!
Thank you Ebs my love for beta-reading! And I hope you like it, Kuri-darlin! Please enjoy <3
On Ao3 here!
It starts, as it often does between the two of them, with a deep bottle of spirit and a great idea. Usually, it’s one of Jaskier’s, but this time neither of them will claim the responsibility.
Skinnydipping is a much better plan in summer temperatures, rather than in late spring. Cold water from the icy mountains is still trickling down in rivers and finding itself in the lake they are now rushing out of, bare as the day they were born.
Jaskier isn’t shrieking, he never is, he is just flexing his vocal chords. Geralt is telling him that he is indeed shrieking, and that he should stop before it gets shrill enough to call the local dogs over.
Punching Geralt’s chest is very different when he is not wearing any clothes, skin cool and slippery, and Jaskier loses himself for a moment.
This is where it all begins, in a sense.
They are both rather lost, directionless in the free way of the traveling pair they are, but still trying to make out what path is theirs, and if what they will find at the end of the road will please them.
Geralt grasps Jaskier’s hand, and holds it to his chest. If asked, he will say he is clearly making sure Jaskier won’t be able to punch him again, but if you ask Jaskier, the only thing he will remember is firm fingers around his wrist, chest hair rough against his knuckles.
When Jaskier does not immediately protest, just stares at their hands with wide eyes, Geralt declares the bard too drunk, and he pulls Jaskier with him towards land by the hand.
Getting dressed one handed is… even more complicated while drunk, but the witcher does not let go of the bard, and leads him all the way to their rooms. They technically have their own rooms, but somehow they both end up in Jaskier’s room, only half way into the bed.
Later, Geralt remembers waking up with Jaskier’s fingers laced through his, and turns to look at his face lax in sleep, pressed against the mattress.
It happens again, of course it does. This time they are between inns, with winter and his bad timing stealing one last cold night before spring broke through properly.
They have found alright shelter, compromising the comfort of the open forest floor for keeping warm, snuck in the crack of a rock formation.
The fire is doing wonders, and despite the smoke stinging their eyes, Jaskier is looking decidedly snuggly with the fire behind him outlining his figure.
Their bedrolls are side by side, and Jaskier has grabbed onto Geralt’s hand, marveling over… well, marveling in general actually.
This time there is no alcohol between them, just a sense of peace and amusement, and Geralt watches Jaskier trace each digit, using both hands to look this way and that.
His knuckles are getting a great deal of attention, as is his thumb and palm. While he does it, Jaskier tells a story about his mother and a fortune teller that probably was a sham, but there once was this palm reader he met in Novigrad, and did you know that the placing or lack of calluses really tells a lot about you as a person?
Geralt listens with a smile, and snarks at the obvious holes in the storytelling when Jaskier is making too much up again, and, between one heartbeat and the next, Jaskier’s eyes droop shut.
He is still holding onto Geralt’s hand, one cradling the side of his hand and his pinky, the other holding onto his thumb. Even as specks of snow trickle down from above, and the wind howls, the fire crackles merrily, and Jaskier is holding his hand in his sleep.
Geralt doesn’t take his hand back, and in the morning they have inched closer, and Jaskier is holding Geralt’s hand against himself like you would a teddy bear.
Not long after the summer solstice, they make a close acquaintance with death. Her foul breath brushes the bard’s cheek as a Necker’s claw dug into his flesh.
Lucky for all of them, Jaskier is wearing a leather coat, and instead of being fatal, it just ends up being very fucking painful.
Blood is not a good look on bards, at least not their own, Geralt decides when Jaskier sits eerily quiet after being patched and bundled up in a barn that they’ve got to borrow for the night, with the promise not to bleed on the hay.
That night, Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand, holding it as he presses himself up against the bard’s back, listening to his even breaths and rapid heartbeat, infinitely grateful he made it in time to save him.
As with anything, spend enough time doing something and a habit is formed.
It isn’t every time, nor is it a conscious thought, but if there is but an arm's length between them, they will either end up half way out of their bedrolls and meet in the middle, fingers lacing together, or when they’re sitting idly next to each other for whatever reason, their fingers will seek each other out, sometimes barely touching, and other times overlapping.
It stops being a conscious choice, it is something just done. Jaskier eagerly grabbing his hand as he tells exciting news and then forgets to let go, or Geralt wanting to keep track of him, or to support him, or when in a crowd.
It’s natural, an anchor when they are in danger of getting lost.
They part, and they reunite later that summer, and that fall Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hands to rub them warm, to breathe on them to help him regain temperature.
He knows you shouldn’t breathe on them, knows how a breath actually can make them colder, but Geralt may or may not be accidentally brushing his lips to Jaskier’s knuckles, and Jaskier is pretending not to notice, pretending he doesn’t have fine rabbit gloves tucked in his backpack, gifted by the very witcher right in front of him.
Things change, and also they don’t.
Dragons and witches and a child of the elder blood marks each change in their own way. Jaskier finds himself waking up, holding his own hand in his cold room in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt’s hand reaches across the empty bed for the bard’s even before he registers not to.
Another bottle of spirits, this time a stolen Nilfgaardian booze smelling absolutely terrible with the aftertaste of dirt, and another bright idea later, and Jaskier and Geralt once again find themselves sprawled halfway across Jaskier’s bed.
Geralt had to pull him up the stairs by the hand to keep their balance, or so they told themselves. The White gull Geralt ended up downing tastes terrible on the second day he notes, shifting and pulling the warmth by his side closer.
Jaskier grunts in his ear and knees his thigh, but only when he tightens his hold around hot, sweaty fingers does Geralt realize what he’d been missing.
Jaskier is tangled against him, arm trapped under himself in an angle that will promise complaints the moment he wakes up. It is warm, and it is comfortable, and Geralt is slowly coming to terms with what pleases him.
Relearning how to share a bed is much easier when you have an anchor, a focal point, or it would have been if Geralt wasn’t startled awake by Jaskier almost falling out of bed. They resettle, Jaskier now firmly between the witcher and the wall, and the back of Geralt’s hand pressed against his lips as sleep reclaims him.
It doesn’t matter if they are awake or not, they reach for each other like a weed craves the sun, like roots seeking dirt, like vines growing where they find purchase.
The day Geralt wakes up and finally finds courage, he kisses Jaskier’s palm, and Jaskier kisses his lips.
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i finally watched witcher season 2 (i know) and also finally listened to Ruin (i know 😭 neurodivergent brain doesnt like new content) and ive been thinking about how. i wish there was more of TAD in Jaskier’s songs. like, TAD’s lyrics are so creative and evocative and dramatic. theyre so human and so grand at the same time. and the songs written for Jaskier I feel like are a little commercial? a little predictable. i think Her Sweet Kiss is the one that seems the most like what i’d wish the rest of then were like.
if i remember right Joey is somewhat involved in the writing of Jaskier’s songs and i think MUSICALLY theyre very very pretty songs, but ive wondered if maybe the lyrics are simplified for Mass Consumption and that i wish they could be weirder. :p
As a fellow ND-Brain-Doesn't-Like-New-Content Individual, I toootally get it.
Also, I can see your point about the difference between TAD's music & Jaskier's music, and for me it brings up a kind of interesting point about the Commercial/Mass Consumption thing you mentioned, but not only as something between the show and it's audience, but rather... Jaskier and his own audience in the show?
I mean, Jaskier is a popular bard at this point, and it's his profession as well as his passion, so even though he bases his songs on what he witnesses/gets told about and there's passion behind his songs, he also focuses on what will be popular and reach big audiences (so he doesn't go back to getting bread chucked at him :D). I think it also ties in to him changing the story of Geralt's encounter with the elves in Toss A Coin because "Respect doesn't make history."; he picked what would give the ballad a more inspiring "hero" that would make it more popular than if he'd told the truth about the elves. He's a bard, so he follows his passion in making music, but as a professional bard, he does so while also making it marketable.
Anyway, uh... yeah. I got to thinking about how it could be a mass consumption sort of thing in canon and not just in relation to the irl audience and thought it was kinda interesting :D
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