Archive of Our Own

"Yeah, there's nothing I can do," Yennefer says with a shrug. "It should wear off in like... a week? Two at most."

Her nonchalance is a bit grating, seeing as she's the one who's responsible for casting that botched spell, but Geralt decides not to comment on that.

Instead, he turns to Jaskier.

"Maybe you should stay here, then."

The sensations he feels from Jaskier are immediate, the emotions so strong that Geralt almost has to brace himself against their force. It's shock and outrage first and foremost, but there's a note of disappointment in there, and fear as well, fear of Geralt? No, that's not it. It has something to do with Geralt, that seems certain, but Geralt can't figure out what exactly the fear is about because Jaskier's mind is quite different from his own, and he seems to experience so many emotions all the time, it's very confusing.

"No! No, no, no, no, no. I'm not staying anywhere near her!" Jaskier takes a mocking imitation of a bow in Yen's direction. "No offense intended, of course."

Geralt tries to follow Jaskier's thought process without meaning to, but understanding the other man's mind is not easy. What surprises him is that Jaskier seems to respect Yennefer a great deal, even while playing up the disdain to mask his well-founded fear of her. There's something else there—jealousy?

There's the memory of a house, hands on Jaskier's shoulder, egregious, that's the word!, a half-finished melody that keeps repeating itself.

Jaskier's thoughts make Geralt dizzy. Who thinks like this, emotions and images chasing each other without pause? Geralt begins to appreciate his own thoughts a great deal, they are clear and to the point, never this complicated.

"None taken," Yennefer replies with a smile that borders on arrogance, then adds towards Geralt, "And he can't stay here, anyway, I don't have time to babysit."

There's a whole lot of other emotions emanating from Jaskier in response. Geralt tries to shut them out but the spell is stronger than his resolve. It's like standing in the rain: no matter how much you try to keep yourself dry, the water will find its way onto your skin.

Geralt thinks about telling Jaskier that his thoughts are a distraction, that they will be a liability during fights because Geralt won't be able to concentrate, but he decides against it. Because if he is being honest, Jaskier's emotions are also intriguing in a way, and Geralt is very much fascinated by Jaskier's mind. Not that he is going to tell Jaskier that, either.

"Alright," Geralt says to Yen. There are more things he could say about being settled with hearing Jaskier's thoughts, but it's always a good idea to show at least some courtesy to one the most powerful sorceresses in the world, especially when said sorceress is your ex. "Say hello to Triss for me."

Yen grins.

"Triss, darling? Geralt says hello!" She shouts in the direction of the house.

It takes a lot of self-restraint for Geralt not to shake his head at this.

"Let's go, then," Jaskier says, a sort of urgent resolve behind the words.

In his mind is that melody again, the smell of Roach, and several images that to Geralt seem random but to Jaskier, they are connected somehow: a stony road, flanked by tall trees, a page from a book, the last drop falling from a now empty flask, the dark red liquid shiny on wooden floorboards.

"Hmm," Geralt says simply.

**

Ignoring Jaskier's thoughts does get a little easier with time. After half a day of being on the road together, Geralt can shut out most of the at times confusing, at times fascinating images, even though the emotions and the undercurrent of music in Jaskier's mind are still hard to tune out.

To be perfectly honest, Geralt is not giving it his all. Even though Jaskier's emotions are distracting and demand his attention at the most inopportune moments, they are also warm, somehow. Like soft spots of sunlight on the forest ground. And Geralt doesn't want to stop feeling them.

On the whole, Jaskier sees the world very differently than Geralt does.

Geralt assesses threats, checks his surroundings for potions ingredients, automatically thinks of strategies: that boulder would be useful in a fight to gain the high ground, then launch an unconventional maneuver involving a jump. That cluster of trees is perfect for a surprise attack, a group of three to four people could conceal themselves there with ease, he has to keep an eye on that to make sure nobody attacks them from behind.

Jaskier sees beauty in the world. He sees hellebore plants and he thinks they look pretty, he sees beggartick blossoms and associates them with love, with fleeting happiness, with a bouquet of red flowers he gave to a young noblewoman years ago and her beautiful smile when she held them in her hands.

And he's humming or singing in his head all the time. It's weird because in his mind, Jaskier's own voice is a little different to how Geralt usually hears it out loud, and Geralt is too fascinated by this to be annoyed. He told Jaskier once that his voice was like a pie without filling, just so that he didn't have to admit he actually likes hearing Jaskier sing. Not all the time, of course, but still.

The one thing that confuses Geralt more than anything else is that he is included in Jaskier's warm view of the world. That every time Jaskier looks at him, there is a fondness deep in his heart, so strong it seems overwhelming to Geralt, but Jaskier is unbothered by these emotions. He must be used to them, Geralt reasons, he must view almost every person this way. Jaskier is like that, he loves easily, unashamedly, without holding anything back. Geralt has seen him woo countless people over the years, and Jaskier has never lied to one of them, each confession of love genuine, even if the love in question lasted for no more than half an hour.

Come to think of it, the fondness he feels for Geralt is probably nothing compared to what he feels for those other people. Yes, that must be it, Geralt is sure of it, he just isn't used to this level of emotion, to the intensity of it all, that's why it seems out of proportion to him.

**

They finally come across an inn where they can stay for the night. Geralt takes care of Roach, makes sure she is groomed and fed, while Jaskier enquires about rooms inside. Geralt follows the conversation involuntarily, Jaskier haggling with the innkeeper isn't an exciting subject matter but even in this situation, Jaskier keeps seeing the world in warm colors. Jaskier is charming, and he's being charming on purpose, Geralt can feel that Jaskier knows exactly how to behave, that his charm is very calculated in a way. Even so, he also means it when he pays the old man a compliment, doesn't even consider lying. Geralt keeps wondering about this weird mixture of earnesty and cunning. It's one of those things where rationally, you know how it works, but there is something wondrous about it when you actually see it, and somehow you want to keep watching, want to indulge in the fascination.

Geralt takes his time with Roach. Feeling Jaskier interact with other people is strangely comforting because Jaskier feels so at home in the center of attention, and Geralt doesn't want to ruin it by going inside and having to interact with those villagers himself.

He listens in as Jaskier starts talking to a man who, in Jaskier's opinion, is gorgeous. Middle-aged but in shape, Geralt can't really see much of him because Jaskier focuses on details he likes, his eyes, his laugh, his slender fingers around the mug of ale—but Geralt tries to assess him anyway, even with the limited information he has, needs to make sure Jaskier won't come to harm. The man could be a soldier or a mercenary, he seems to have the build for it, and Geralt wonders whether he should go inside and take a look for himself.

Then again, if something does happen to Jaskier, Geralt will be the first to know due to their newfound magical connection, he will be able to help right away. And the two are in the middle of an inn, surrounded by witnesses. The stranger would be stupid to harm Jaskier in broad view of those patrons.

Jaskier's thoughts turn lewd soon, he wants to spend the night with this guy and he has some very specific ideas about what he wants to do with him. What puzzles Geralt is that Jaskier's emotions do not match what he felt from him earlier, as Geralt had assumed. There is a playfulness in Jaskier's mind, hope also, and a good measure of arousal, and Geralt can tell he really does like this person, but all of this is nowhere near as intense as what he had felt when he looked at Geralt.

Hmm, that's weird. Geralt assumes this must be because Jaskier has been his friend for so long, the emotions must have compounded and deepened over time.

There's another thing that Geralt doesn't really understand: one of the reasons why Jaskier wants to be with this guy is so that he doesn't have to think about something else. Or someone else. These thoughts are not entirely clear, and Geralt can't figure out what they mean, but there is a definite sense of Jaskier using the stranger as a distraction.

Geralt shakes his head. He shouldn't be prying, he should be trying to ignore Jaskier, who he spends the night with and why is really none of his business. It's not Jaskier's fault that they got hit by this spell, and Geralt should at least make an effort to give him some privacy.

This is easier said than done, though, because he still hasn't mastered tuning out Jaskier's thoughts completely, and Geralt has the sneaking suspicion that he won't be able to until the spell wears off.

When it's clear that the stranger is interested in spending the night with the bard, excited delight spreads through Jaskier, sweet like honey, and he excuses himself for a moment to tell the innkeeper that Geralt will come inside soon, about this tall with white hair, two swords, can't miss him, and asks the old man to take Geralt to the room Jaskier already paid for. There are several memories of Geralt that rush through Jaskier's mind while he makes this request: Geralt's head on a pillow in the early morning light, eyes still closed, accompanied by a rush of affection, the feeling of Geralt's shoulders under Jaskier's hands when he tried to ease the tension there, once, unsuccessfully, Geralt buttoning his shirt, almost ready to leave, and a profound, sad longing that Geralt can't make sense of, longing for the shirt? No, that's not it, but it has something to do with the shirt, that much is clear.

The innkeeper gives his word that he will show Geralt to his room, and then Jaskier follows the stranger upstairs. Geralt sighs. He might as well retire for the night, then, because if he has to listen to this, and he will have to, then he'd rather be alone.

People stare at him when he enters the building, but Geralt is used to that, it would be cause for concern if they didn't stare. The innkeeper recognises him from Jaskier's description, greets him with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and shows him to his room. Geralt buys bread and cheese from the old man, as well as a mug of ale.

Somewhere close by, Jaskier is losing himself in the sensation of being kissed, and because he's bored and he has no choice but to watch this play out, Geralt does what he's been trained to do: he analyses.

Jaskier enjoys when people take the initiative with him. When the guy, whose name eludes Geralt because Jaskier doesn't care about it enough to think it, grabs Jaskier and shoves him against a wall, Jaskier's emotions light up, like this, like this!

Jaskier enjoys when someone grabs his hair, like this guy is doing. It makes him feel wanted and—safe? Once again, Geralt isn't sure whether he is interpreting Jaskier's emotions correctly, but that might just be because some of them are so alien to Geralt. Being manhandled has never made Geralt feel safe, not once in his life.

Jaskier doesn't enjoy when someone tries to rip his clothes off him. The fear he feels in that moment runs so deep that Geralt is almost gripped by it himself. Strangely, at the same time, Jaskier is completely aware that he's overreacting, they are just clothes after all, but he does end up giving the guy a short lecture about the value of Novigradian silk and craftsmanship nevertheless. Geralt can tell there is more to this, there aren't any specific memories that he can see, but rather a general sense of something bad that happened long ago. He can't help but wonder how somebody ends up with childhood trauma about ripped clothing, even though he knows he won't ask Jaskier about it.

Jaskier enjoys when he's being undressed slowly and with great care, and he suggests as much to the other man.

This ends up taking a while, and Geralt considers going downstairs and buying more alcohol for himself, but ultimately decides against it. He doesn't want to be amongst staring villagers when the actual sex begins and he might have a reaction one way or the other, having to listen to Jaskier's thoughts is bad enough without accompanying public humiliation.

A minute later, Geralt is glad he made this choice, because Jaskier's clothes are finally gone and he gets on his knees before the guy.

Jaskier enjoys sucking dick. This one seems pretty straight-forward, but Geralt is surprised to find that he does so mostly because he wants to give pleasure. Jaskier takes a lot of pride in the fact that he's so good at it, that he can make people moan and beg in a matter of minutes. It's almost a personal challenge to him: the less time until a guy swears and tells him to stop, the prouder he is of himself.

Geralt's own cock is twitching, and Geralt rolls his eyes, grumbling. Oh, well. Bodily instincts are bodily instincts, and not even witcher mutations get rid of those. Geralt is aware of this. Right now, he is experiencing arousal, and whether it's through somebody else's mind doesn't make much of a difference to his body. Geralt sighs, takes a large sip of ale and resigns himself to his fate.

Jaskier enjoys being praised. Fuck, stop, that's the best blow job I've ever had, the words makes him light up, almost giddy, and he wants more of it, tell me I'm good, tell me I'm good for you.

Jaskier doesn't enjoy taking things slow, at least not tonight. He wants to be fucked now, that's the whole reason he came into this room, he doesn't want slow and considerate right now. He doesn't protest being kissed and caressed, but Geralt can feel that he's only tolerating this. It's still enjoyable to him, but barely. Come on, Jaskier urges, I want you to fuck me.

Jaskier doesn't enjoy feeling unclean. He hasn't had the opportunity to take a bath today and he knows it and it irks him, but he also doesn't care enough to stop his tryst now. It's just some random guy he'll never meet again, Jaskier tells himself it's no big deal but he still thinks about it, still cares about it.

Jaskier enjoys being fingered open.

Jaskier doesn't enjoy how this guy does it, though, something about the movements of his fingers that doesn't feel good, and Geralt can feel Jaskier's frustration burning brightly because he doesn't know how to explain how he likes it without that explanation taking a while, and he doesn't want to waste time on this right now. It really doesn't feel good, though.

Jaskier doesn't enjoy seeing this guy's face right now. Jaskier likes him well enough, it has nothing to do with that, it's just that—Geralt isn't sure how to interpret this. There's some sort of sadness, some sort of longing that Jaskier doesn't dwell on, but it's still there, deep down, and he doesn't want to see this face. Yearns to see another face, maybe? It's not entirely clear.

Jaskier enjoys being fucked hard. Unfortunately, that is not what this guy is doing, he's too gentle, too concerned, and no amount of harder and faster gets Jaskier what he really wants. Geralt can feel that frustration again, Jaskier wants to like this, wants to lose himself in this, but isn't successful. There is a part of him that almost regrets coming up here, but he's had worse sex, this is at least acceptable, and it will get him off eventually.

Geralt realises that his own cock has settled down, and he's lost the desire to touch himself. In a way, Jaskier's feelings seem to be worse on him than on Jaskier, because Jaskier himself feels only vaguely disappointed but wants to make the best of it, while Geralt can't stand seeing Jaskier so unhappy. Jaskier is not supposed to be unhappy, it's not who he is, this isn't what he deserves. Geralt feels unexpectedly strongly about this, and, not for the first time that day, wishes he could ignore Jaskier's thoughts to be able to focus on sorting out his own.

Jaskier has started touching himself to bring the whole thing to an end, and comes shortly afterwards, even though, in his opinion, he's had better orgasms. He lets the guy do his thing, and he comes soon after Jaskier, which both Jaskier and Geralt are grateful for.

Jaskier picks up his clothes slowly and wants nothing more than a hot bath, and Geralt feels like Jaskier's mind has been dimmed a little, it's not as warm and bright as it was in the afternoon. It doesn't feel right, fundamentally doesn't feel right, and Geralt wants to do something about it.

He goes downstairs, inquires with the innkeeper about a hot meal and a bath for Jaskier, and decides they can spare the coin.

**

Twenty minutes later, Jaskier leans back in the tub, grateful for the warm water engulfing him, and his mind feels much lighter again. Geralt is glad, because he needs to have a serious talk with his travelling companion and he's not quite comfortable doing that when Jaskier's already feeling down.

"Was that really necessary?"

Geralt's voice comes out harsher than expected, but maybe that's for the best. He doesn't want to show how much the whole mind reading thing is affecting him.

Jaskier looks up at him, honestly confused.

"What do you mean?"

"You know I can hear your thoughts. Did you have to make me privy to all that?"

Jaskier blushes slightly, but Geralt can feel he's not ashamed of what he did. He's just embarrassed because—

"Oh. Forgive me, I kind of forgot..."

—because he should have remembered the whole thought sharing business, it's a big deal, after all, but it somehow slipped his mind.

Geralt scowls at him.

"You forgot that I'm forced to read your mind?"

A slight touch of contrition colors Jaskier's thoughts, but he doesn't let it show in his face.

"Well, it's not like I can actually feel it, is it? I have no idea what you can and cannot hear from me. And if it bothered you so much, why didn't you just tell me to stop before anything happened?"

Geralt is taken aback by this, because somehow, that hadn't occured to him.

"Would you have stopped if I'd asked you?"

"Yes, of course!"

There it is again: the all-encompassing sincerity, he can't believe Geralt has to ask, like there's anything he wouldn't do for Geralt, how does Geralt not know this? There's a sadness there also, but on a deeper level, a yearning for something that Jaskier knows he will never have.

Geralt is not sure how to respond, partly because Jaskier's emotions are burning so brightly, it's distracting; soothing and strange and intimate all at the same time. The other reason why he doesn't know what to say is that unfortunately, Geralt is very much aware why it didn't occur to him to put a stop to the whole thing, and he sure as hell is not going to admit to Jaskier that he wanted to watch him because it's the closest he can come to touching Jaskier himself.

"Hmm," he grumbles.

**

The bruxa is fast, almost too fast for Geralt. She dances nimbly around his blade, snarling at him, the Sign of Heliotrop protecting Geralt from the worst of her blood-curdling scream, but he can still very much hear her trying to rip him apart with her voice.

More dangerous than this, however, are Jaskier's worried thoughts. Even though Geralt made him stay by the tent, and he's therefore a safe distance away, Geralt can still hear those. Distance doesn't seem to matter a great deal when it comes to their burdensome mental connection.

The bruxa screams again, so terribly that any ordinary mortal would lose the use of his ears in an instant, but Geralt is no ordinary mortal. He's not worried, he's dealt with bruxae before, sometimes even without taking his potions. He's taken his potions today, and even though she's fast, Geralt is confident that he can make her grow tired, that his endurance is greater than hers.

Jaskier, however, seems to be of a different opinion.

There's fear, deep-seated, all-encompassing, terrible fear, and Jaskier actively tries to suppress it which just seems to fuel the emotion.

What if he doesn't come back? No, no! He always comes back, always—but what if he doesn't this time?

It's rare that Geralt can actually make out individual words from Jaskier's mind when he's not talking, but these are clear, and unfortunately, very distracting.

Geralt tries to concentrate on his movements. He can't give the monster an opening for attack. If he could just tell Jaskier that he's fine, that there's really no need to worry, this is an easy one for Melitele's sake...

Geralt can see his own face in Jaskier's thoughts, only it looks slightly different to the one he usually sees in the mirror. The details are right, Jaskier has a good memory for images and visuals in general, as Geralt has had to find out over the past couple of days, but there is something different about it. It must be the way Jaskier looks at this face, he sees something in it that Geralt himself has never seen, something that is too large for Geralt to grasp. Simply put, when he thinks of Geralt, the image is accompanied by warmth, like gentle sunlight, like the crackling of a hearth fire.

Geralt has never associated himself with warmth.

The bruxa uses the moment of distraction and slashes him across the cheek, her talons painful on his skin but thankfully not cutting deeply, and Geralt's silver sword only just misses her. Geralt grunts in frustration and pain, this would never have happened if—

He can see several memories, all involving himself. Geralt, covered in blood, mud and guts, taking a sip of beer; Geralt, dragging himself to their campfire after a long fight, exhaustion clearly visible on his face; Geralt, standing in a pile of slain drowners, beheading the last of them...

He needs to focus, get that bard out of his head, the bruxa is charging again and Geralt slashes at her, misses her once more, draws another Sign of Heliotrop as the monster releases her terrible scream.

It's so loud even Jaskier can hear it, faintly, despite the distance, and his fear increases ten-fold, singularly focused on Geralt, losing Geralt, not a single thought to himself and his own safety. An idea arises in Jaskier, aided by more images, but mostly guided by that fear, and Geralt is pretty sure that Jaskier is about to leave their campsite in order to come and help him.

Fuck.

Of all the terrible, stupid ideas that man has ever had, this is by far the worst one. The bruxa could kill Jaskier simply by screaming, or leave his ears permanently damaged, and what is a bard if he can't hear himself sing, if he can't tune his lute? If he can't hear music ever again?

This thought chills Geralt far more than anything the bruxa has done so far. He is starkly reminded of the way Jaskier's mind felt after his tryst in the tavern, muted and subdued, and if his music is taken from him then the effect will be a thousand times stronger, he will be but a shell of himself.

Geralt can't let that happen. Will not let that happen.

He charges at the bruxa, he needs to end this, now, caution be damned, his plan for wearing her out be damned. If he gets injured, he will heal, he's had worse. If Jaskier were to be injured, that Geralt couldn't bear.

He gets lucky. A few slashes of his blade later, the bruxa is lying dead before him. It cost him another gash in his face, but this is a price Geralt is more than willing to pay if it ensures Jaskier's safety.

**

Jaskier is sitting by the fire, anxious until the moment he sees Geralt, then his fear and worry turn into pure, bright joy.

"Geralt! Oh no, what happened to your face?"

Geralt stares at him.

"You happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Were you thinking of coming after me?"

For some reason, Jaskier seems much more embarrassed by this than by anything else that's happened since Geralt got stuck with Jaskier's thoughts inside his head.

"I wouldn't have actually done it!" He defends himself hotly, a blush rising in his cheeks. "I'm sorry I thought about it, but how do you expect me to stop having impulses and fantasies?"

Geralt can feel that Jaskier regrets using the word fantasies, because that reminds him of something he's trying to bury, trying not to show Geralt, something private and sad, and Geralt wishes more than anything that he could just remove himself from Jaskier's head and give him some damn privacy.

"Hmm," Geralt replies non-committally.

Jaskier hums a tune in his head, in order to distract himself from something, drag his focus away from it so that Geralt will not see his terrible, pathetic, pointless longing...

It's mostly effective, because Geralt can't figure out what those feelings are about. He doesn't try to pry, but the spell forces him to sense what Jaskier feels, and that makes him wonder about the things he sees, naturally. It is a perfectly normal reaction to be curious about mysteries, Geralt tells himself, it's in the nature of nearly all sentient beings. He won't ask Jaskier about it, however, that would be a step too far.

"Want me to clean your wounds?"

Geralt gives a grunt of assent and sits down so that Jaskier can wash the blood off his face.

Jaskier experiences a strange calm in this task, not unlike what Geralt himself feels under Jaskier's care. His touch is gentle but experienced, he's done this before and he will do it again. No, he wants to do it again, Geralt realises, he wants to be there for Geralt for as long as he is able, he wants to be the one to take care of him. There's a possessive quality to these thoughts that Geralt doesn't altogether mind, quite the contrary.

There's also that sadness again, that same sadness he briefly felt from Jaskier at the inn, Geralt is sure of it. Something Jaskier wishes for, with all his heart, something that is impossible.

Love, Geralt is quite sure now that it has to do with love. He is surprised by this but doesn't show it on his face, this really is a private matter he should not want to know anything about. Still, he can't help but wonder who Jaskier might be in love with. He has never seen him treat any of his affairs with more care and affection than the others, Jaskier usually doesn't send or receive letters while they're on the road together, and he's never spoken of falling in love.

Well, no, that is not accurate: Jaskier speaks of falling in love almost every day, but it is always either a part of some song or an exaggeration when he talks about past lovers. He has never spoken of it with the sadness that Geralt can feel, a sadness that is silent and unfathomably deep, like a lake in the middle of an impenetrable forest. Honestly, out of all the things he's learned about Jaskier during the past few days, this is the most unexpected one.

Geralt reminds himself that this is really none of his business and he shouldn't dwell on it, because the longer he dwells on Jaskier, the more possessive he usually gets, the more he doesn't want Jaskier to be in love with someone else, and that line of thought just isn't appropriate. Jaskier doesn't owe him anything, least of all love. Geralt has to simply forget about this and move on.

Jaskier finishes cleaning Geralt's wounds.

"There, all better," he smiles easily, in spite of the sadness Geralt just saw, with a wave of affection towards the witcher, accompanied by a melody in his mind.

"Hmm," Geralt says in lieu of thanks.

Jaskier understands.

**

When Jaskier sleeps, their connection is usually more subdued, which Geralt is glad of. Otherwise, he might never be able to get any sleep himself.

The one thing he does keep noticing, however, is that Jaskier even dreams with warmth and affection. Geralt is used to having nightmares, his line of work gives his subconscious plenty to process each night, and he had always assumed it was more or less the same for everybody. He hasn't felt a single nightmare from Jaskier yet, though.

He watches Jaskier's sleeping face in the dim light of the candle that the tavern wench gave them: he looks soft and relaxed, open and so very vulnerable. Geralt knows he should go to sleep. After all, they paid good money for warm beds and a roof over their heads for the night, and he shouldn't let that go to waste, but he can't tear his gaze away from Jaskier.

Something about seeing the bard like this makes Geralt feel like he's been given something very precious, something delicate that he needs to take care not to break. Not that Jaskier's particularly delicate: he does make a fuss about his clothes and his looks, but Geralt knows for a fact that Jaskier is a lot more resilient than most people give him credit for. No, Jaskier might look vulnerable right now but he can hold his own just fine. Nevertheless, there's a fierce protectiveness inside Geralt, an urge to take care of Jaskier, to keep him from ever coming to harm.

Which is ridiculous. Jaskier is travelling with him, of course there are risks. Risks that Jaskier is aware of and made the conscious decision to take.

Again, Geralt tells himself to snuff out the candle and just go to sleep already, but he doesn't. He keeps looking.

And then he feels it: there's a shift in Jaskier's thoughts, slow but noticable, like Jaskier is sinking into something bad. The beginning of a nightmare.

His expression changes, his lips tighten and there's a crease between his eyebrows. Geralt can feel his emotions more strongly, too: it's that same sadness again that Jaskier has been trying and failing to hide from him, but now laced with fear. The images that Geralt can see are disjointed. A road through a forest that seems slightly familiar to Geralt, only there's a stench of death and decay, both road and stench going on for miles and miles, endless, the last road in existence, the loneliest one. Geralt's hand on Jaskier's wrist, this one isn't so much an image as it is the memory of a feeling, accompanied by the certain, deadly knowledge that Geralt will never touch Jaskier again. A room that is unfamiliar to Geralt but that holds a lot of meaning to Jaskier, a room in a castle that is decorated splendidly but that radiates icy coldness and fear and death, a mighty storm brewing outside, and Jaskier wants to flee, wants to escape, but the door is bolted shut.

Jaskier mumbles something in his sleep that might be Geralt, Geralt, his eyelids twitching. Geralt can feel Jaskier's pain like it is his own, and that makes him act.

Without thinking, Geralt gets out of bed, crosses the room quickly and kneels down next to Jaskier. He cups one of his cheeks gently, marvelling at the feeling of Jaskier's skin beneath his fingers, soft and warm.

"Shh," he whispers. "Everything's fine. I'm here."

The effect is immediate. Geralt almost withdraws his hand, the emotions are so overwhelming, but he steadies himself against their onslaught. Relief and trust and something more, something so much bigger that Jaskier himself can't quite grasp it, and so Geralt can't either, but he has never felt anything like it.

For the first time in his life, Geralt can't help but wonder whether Jaskier is in love with him. No, he can't be. Why would he—?

But the evidence seems to point that way: the next image Geralt sees in Jaskier's mind is Jaskier kissing his forehead, holding Geralt's face in his hands.

Stay with me. Stay with me, Geralt. Forever. Stay with me.

"I will," Geralt promises before he can think better of it.

Jaskier is just dreaming, Geralt reminds himself sternly. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. He shouldn't be jumping to conclusions. Even if it might seem that way in Jaskier's dream, that's no reason for Geralt to assume that Jaskier is in love with him, with a witcher of all people. Humans dream all kinds of weird, unrealistic stuff, that's nothing unusual, so maybe Jaskier's subconscious just connected Geralt's face to something that has nothing to do with him when Jaskier is awake.

Obsessing about this won't do anybody any good. Geralt takes a deep breath and tells himself firmly to just forget the whole thing.

**

The next morning, Jaskier is radiating loneliness. Geralt has the strange urge to go to him, to take him into his arms and hold him there forever, like he promised. He doesn't, though.

"I dreamed of you, actually," Jaskier tells him over breakfast. "You saved me from being, uh, locked into a tower."

It's supposed to come over light and fun, and if Geralt weren't privy to Jaskier's thoughts it surely would, he is unexpectedly amazing at putting on a brave face. But Geralt can feel that in reality, Jaskier is hurting so much it feels like his soul is splitting apart, and Geralt wants to protect him from that, protect him at all costs, but he doesn't know how.

"You were very out of character, though," Jaskier keeps teasing, "one could almost say gentle."

He laughs, but even laughing hurts him inside.

"Did you have any weird dreams?"

"No," Geralt replies tonelessly.

**

Geralt isn't sure how Jaskier has ended up throwing insults at the bandits that were trying to rob them. Are trying to rob them, to be perfectly accurate, but Geralt is easily keeping them at bay, duelling four of them at once.

Normally, bandits don't make the mistake of challenging anybody as powerful as a witcher, but these people must be either stupid or desperate enough to risk it.

"Did your mother take a fancy to manticores?" Jaskier shouts at the biggest and meanest-looking one of them, who is unfortunately not duelling Geralt right now and thus actually hears Jaskier's insult. "You seem to have inherited most of your traits from your father's side!"

Geralt can't help admiring Jaskier. He doesn't have a weapon and he's actually scared, but Geralt only knows this because he can sense Jaskier's feelings. To anybody else, Jaskier makes it look like he's completely unfazed. Even Geralt would be fooled if not for the whole thought sharing business.

"Shut your mouth, you little rat," the bandit growls in response.

"Or what? You'll run to your manticore daddy, begging for help?"

Jaskier laughs, and the man charges at him. Geralt draws the Sign of Aard just in time to stun the attacker and keep him from harming Jaskier. A moment later, he parries two blows at once with his sword, then ducks to avoid a third.

"Word of advice: don't try to rob a witcher!"

There's pride in Jaskier's voice, and normally, Geralt would be annoyed by that, Jaskier isn't even doing anything useful after all, but now, he understands that Jaskier is proud of him. Of Geralt.

Geralt can see himself in Jaskier's thoughts, as Jaskier watches the fight, and Geralt is sure his movements aren't as graceful as Jaskier sees them, his face is not as lovely as Jaskier thinks it is, and he is not worthy of admiration the way Jaskier is admiring him right now.

With a blow to their legs, Geralt manages to take out two of his attackers at once. He's trying not to kill these people, killing people is not something a witcher should do, even if they're common thieves.

"Yeah, Geralt!" Jaskier shouts triumphantly. "You show them!"

The fight doesn't take much longer. Humans hardly stand a chance against a fully trained witcher, even if there's a handful of them and only one of Geralt. They're still alive when the fight is over, although all sport a variety of wounds. In cases of self-defense there's a gray area as far as killing people is concerned, of course; however, Geralt would rather not repeat Blaviken.

The bandits flee into the woods, supporting each other, even their leader retreating without trying to kill Jaskier first. So, perhaps not that stupid. Jaskier, of course, shouts more insults after them.

Geralt turns to him to tell him to stop—mostly because it annoys him, he doesn't care about bandits' bruised egos—but the moment Geralt's eyes meet Jaskier's, there is a thought that Geralt can see, loud and clear and impossible to ignore.

Jaskier, walking up to Geralt, grabbing his face and kissing him, hard, kissing him until neither of them can breathe, kissing him until it's all they know.

There is no embarrassment, even though Jaskier suspects that Geralt can see this. There is only longing and irrational hope and the dooming knowledge that this is an impossible dream.

Jaskier is the first to break their eye-contact. He hums a melody in his head, adjusts the lute on his back.

Geralt decides not to acknowledge what he just saw. It would probably be a mistake to act on what Jaskier is thinking, Jaskier was right about that after the fight against the bruxa: they're just thoughts, and Geralt is not proficient enough a mind-reader to know whether what he sees is something that Jaskier really feels or something that's more like an impulse, a passing flight of fancy that Jaskier doesn't have control over.

However, it's like Jaskier's fantasy broke a dam inside Geralt's own mind. He had always firmly told himself not to dwell on Jaskier, not to think about him in that way, and it had usually worked, because he'd been sure there was no way Jaskier was interested in him. Now, Geralt can't stop thinking about him: taking Jaskier by the shoulder, making him turn around, grabbing his face and his hair and biting his lips, his neck, leaving marks on him, mine, mine—Geralt shakes his head. Now, in addition to Jaskier's thoughts he can't ignore, there are also thoughts of his own inside his head that he can't ignore. Great.

"We should tell the alderman in Cronlow about these people," Jaskier says lightly.

Geralt shrugs.

"He probably already knows about them. And he'll be furious I didn't kill them."

"Well, we still should," Jaskier replies, and he is right, of course, which Geralt doesn't want to admit.

"Come on," he says roughly, not wanting to linger too long.

He watches Jaskier walking in front of Roach when they set out again, and Geralt can hear the tune he's humming to himself, a new one, accompanied by a few ideas for lyrics. The song seems to be about a fight against bandits. Geralt shakes his head affectionately. Typical Jaskier: if something even slightly interesting happens he puts it into a song first chance he gets, no matter how dull the original altercation was. This is complementary to his general view of the world: not only can he see beauty in many things that look quite ordinary to Geralt, he can also tell mundane stories in a way that makes them seem grand and alluring, share the beauty that he sees with others. In Geralt's opinion, this might be Jaskier's greatest gift. It certainly is the thing that Geralt admires most about him, although he would never admit that he feels admiration for anything Jaskier does.

Watching Jaskier has one major drawback, though, and that is that it makes Geralt think about him, wondering what it would feel like to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him... Geralt takes a deep breath, tells himself to get it together. While there might be a possibility that Jaskier has feelings for him, this isn't a certainty by far. On the contrary, Jaskier's mind is, on the whole, still very confusing to Geralt. There's a good chance that he's misinterpreting things, that his own desires are clouding his judgement.

Wishful thinking will get him nowhere, Geralt knows this. If he wants answers, he will have to ask, he will have to lay bare his own feelings and risk rejection. Which is something he doesn't intend to do. Which means it is pointless to dwell on fantasies, Geralt tells himself firmly.

**

Once the idea of kissing Jaskier has taken hold inside his mind, however, Geralt finds it increasingly difficult to ignore. When they finally reach Cronlow, a small village that consists of no more than twenty houses, one of them a shabby inn, Geralt is exhausted from all the mental exercises he's put himself through over the course of the day. He can't really meditate while riding Roach, but he does have a lot of training in clearing his mind even without meditation.

The one problem throughout the day was that clearing his mind wasn't altogether easy when he could still feel Jaskier constantly. And Jaskier's feelings and music and images weren't just distracting in their own right, they also kept reminding Geralt that he would like nothing more than to grab him, the way he apparently likes, push him up against a tree, one hand on Jaskier's dick, teasing him, the other in his hair; kissing the moans and whines from his mouth all the while...

So, when they arrive at the inn for the night, Geralt is exhausted, annoyed, short-tempered, and, quite frankly, horny. There's only one room available, which makes Geralt swear under his breath, because that means that in addition to everything else, he will also have to watch Jaskier sleep, and then he will have pointless fantasies again, of holding him in his arms, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair while he's sleeping next to him, protecting him—Geralt grits his teeth. Apparently, Jaskier doesn't even have to be sleeping for him to have these thoughts.

Sweet Melitele, have mercy, Geralt thinks.

It's a shame he's not religious, otherwise, he would be praying in earnest right now to be freed of these fantasies.

Jaskier ends up performing for the villagers, who are a lively bunch, dancing and singing in the cramped common room of the inn, and Geralt uses this opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

He's not proud of finding a dark corner behind the house, and even less proud of himself when he opens his pants, grabs his cock and wonders what it would feel like to fuck Jaskier. Geralt imagines him hot and wanting, begging to be fucked harder, moaning and panting under him, and he comes with a stifled groan.

Geralt doesn't think he's come this fast since he was a hormonal teenager, and he's glad that there aren't any witnesses to this embarrassing moment. Not that it's any wonder, though: it's been days of perpetual torment without relief, and Geralt needed this. His head is almost clear again.

Well, apart from the fact that he can still hear Jaskier singing inside, and is still kind of thinking about fucking him, and also about kissing him softly and holding him through the night, and fuck. Is he in love with Jaskier?

Geralt closes his pants, leans back against the wooden wall of the house and sighs, long and hard.

**

Geralt is sure that all of this is Jaskier's fault, anyway. Because Jaskier is the one who started all this, he has been projecting his loneliness and yearning onto Geralt for a week now, no matter how unintentional or inconsequential to Jaskier himself; and now he's somehow infected Geralt with these emotions.

Jaskier is singing one of his lewder songs at the moment, to the great amusement of the assembled villagers. Geralt is watching him from the far end of the room, feels his bubbly happiness: the bard loves nothing more than performing for an eager crowd, it's where he feels most at home, most at peace with the world.

And Geralt can't deny that he loves seeing Jaskier like this. That he wants to see him happy, to see him smiling like that, his wonderful smile that lights up a whole room, to see him delightedly trading insults with strangers in between raunchy songs, to see him wink at people he thinks are gorgeous, to see his fingers manipulating the strings of his lute without any apparent effort, although Geralt knows better than anyone how much time Jaskier spends practicing his craft...

That he wants Jaskier to come to him, afterwards, to find shelter in Geralt's arms, to stay with him, no matter what, to smile at him, a smile just for Geralt and nobody else, to wake up with their limbs tangled, no, Geralt can't deny that either.

Their eyes meet for a fraction of a moment, and Geralt can feel a shudder going through him, and he's not quite sure whether that originated with Jaskier or himself. The feeling is disconcerting, but also thrilling in a way. Once again, though, he is starkly reminded that Jaskier is incredibly skilled when it comes to hiding his feelings. There's not even a slight hitch in his voice as he continues singing, just from watching him nobody would ever know that something just transpired between Geralt and him.

Geralt can't help but wonder how many years it's been like this, how many years Jaskier has been hiding these things from him, then, he reminds himself yet again that he can't be at all certain that these feelings actually mean anything substantial to Jaskier. Maybe in reality, Geralt is the one who is projecting his own desires, maybe he just interprets Jaskier's thoughts the way he does because that is what he himself wishes for.

And if this is the case, Geralt would rather be devoured by a zeugl than risk rejection from Jaskier.

**

Geralt is the first to go up to the room they payed for, the only one that was available, and realises with a jolt that there's only one bed. It's not like they've never slept in a bed together, far from it, but right now, with these strange newfound feelings and urges, Geralt doubts this night will bring him any sort of peaceful rest.

He sighs and resigns himself to his fate. There are worse things, he tells himself, than sleeping next to the man he loves, he faces worse things every other day. However, he can hardly duel his own emotions, can't cut them open with a silver sword as easily as he does monsters.

Geralt sets down his pack and his swords and decides to inquire with the innkeeper about the possibility of taking a bath.

It turns out that there aren't any bathtubs at the inn but there is a public bathhouse next to the river, and Geralt listens to the directions carefully. He also tells the innkeeper to inform Jaskier of Geralt's whereabouts after he ends his performance. Not because he's hoping for anything, absolutely not. Or because what he wants most in the world is to take care of Jaskier, to make sure he's spoiled and happy and carefree, no, that is not the reason. He just wants to be certain Jaskier knows where to find him in case of an emergency. That's all there is to it.

**

Geralt is alone in the tub for a grand total of fifteen minutes. Then, Jaskier waltzes into the room, all smiles and elation, and his eyes are sparkling so beautifully, Geralt can hardly take it. This isn't exactly a surprise, because Geralt actually witnessed the thought process that led to Jaskier's decision to follow him here, but once again, theory and reality are two very different things.

"Oh Geralt, what an incredible day!" Jaskier muses animatedly, divesting himself of his clothes all the while. "If every village were as lively and as welcoming as this one, I'm sure every person in the world would want to take up travelling. I shall write a song about this warmest of welcomes, to inspire other communities to follow this example."

Geralt doesn't really know where to look. He's seen Jaskier naked plenty of times, they've known each other for years, been on the road together long enough, bathed together often enough. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, it's just that now he's seeing Jaskier's body in a new light, so to speak, and he doesn't want to stare. He also doesn't want to make it weird by visibly keeping his eyes averted, though. He opts to look into Jaskier's face, that's harmless enough. Well, except for his gorgeous eyes and his rosy lips and his jaw and his cheeks and his nose and his temples and—

Geralt forces himself to take a breath, even though it does little to calm him.

"Can I join you?" Jaskier asks, already halfway into the tub.

"Sure," Geralt says in the gruffest voice he can manage.

Jaskier sits down opposite Geralt, which isn't that big of a problem, the tub is made for four or five people to share it comfortably, it's just that Geralt is very aware they are both naked and in close proximity and, if he were so inclined, he could touch Jaskier's skin right now, he'd just have to move his arm a little, he's so close...

"Ah, nothing like taking a bath after a great performance," Jaskier smiles, eyes half closed, splashing water onto his face.

Like so often, there is something hidden under Jaskier's outwardly happiness, feelings that Geralt is familiar with by now: longing and hopelessness most of all.

"Why are you such a good liar?"

Geralt asks before he can think better of it, and regrets it the moment he says it. Jaskier's eyes are wide all of the sudden, staring at Geralt, and there's a tension in his face that hadn't been there all day.

"What do you mean?"

Geralt shakes his head.

"Forget it."

Jaskier sits up straight. Geralt can feel his thoughts racing, he's scared, worried about losing something, but his voice is calm because Jaskier is forcing himself to sound cool and collected.

"No. Geralt, tell me what you meant by that. Please."

Oh, fuck. This can't end well.

"It's just, I've noticed you're very good at... At pretending that you are happy and everything is fine when it's not."

Jaskier looks at him sadly, accompanied by odd images in his head: the room that Geralt has seen once before, in Jaskier's dream, splendid and cold and full of bad memories, a shouting man, towering over the world, ripping fabric, the sounds of a storm whistling through the cracks of an old house... Jaskier shudders almost imperceptibly, but Geralt notices. Of course he does.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

It's an honest question, and Geralt can feel the desperation in Jaskier, like something is slipping out of his hands, something he's been holding onto all his life.

Geralt doesn't have an answer.

"Any bad feelings I have, I put them into my songs. That's were they belong."

"It just..." Geralt swallows, then keeps speaking before he can think better of it. "It worries me."

Jaskier actually laughs then, even though he feels terrible on the inside, or maybe because he does.

"So, you're stuck in my head for a week and now you're worried about me. You've never been worried about me in your life." He chuckles, but the sad kind of chuckle, the kind that closes an icy fist around Geralt's heart and squeezes hard. It's not a sound Jaskier should be capable of, in an ideal world. "Great. That's great, yeah."

Jaskier splashes his face with water again, but Geralt can see that this time, he does it to hide his tears, make it seem like it's just water running down his face.

"You want to know? I mean, really want to know?"

"Yes," Geralt says.

Jaskier takes a deep breath, and suddenly Geralt gets the feeling that he has never told anybody about this. That Jaskier regards this as a secret although it isn't really one, there are a lot of people who know about it, but Jaskier hasn't seen any of them in many years. His thoughts are a bit confusing, laced with painful memories and nervous apprehension, and a deep fear of rejection.

"Alright. You know I'm a Viscount by birth, right? Did you ever wonder why I never introduce myself by the name my family gave me? Why someone of my station would travel the world as a bard, sleeping in tents and seedy inns, when he could be living in a manor full of servants and never worry about a thing?"

Geralt shrugs.

"You wouldn't want that life. You'd get bored after two weeks."

This time, Jaskier's laugh is genuine.

"True, yes. And I also like to think I would have become a bard in any case, no matter what my... I mean, music is what I live for. I can't picture myself without it. Anyway, the very first reason for me to take up travelling and singing for coin wasn't boredom or my inner need to share my ballads with the world."

Geralt can feel how hard it is for Jaskier to tell him, although his voice is steady.

"I ran away from home when I was fifteen. Because it was hell, Geralt. It was hell for me there. But I lived under that roof long enough for my father to beat the expression of emotions that bothered him out of me."

It's like suddenly, a lot of the pieces start to fit together. Things that formerly didn't seem connected begin making sense to Geralt. The fact that Jaskier can be calculating with his charm, how he insults bandits even when scared, that he wants to make people happy more than anything, give them the opportunity to sing and dance and forget about their worries, that he's desperate for praise when he sleeps with older men, tell me I'm good for you. That he's never minded Geralt's outward gruffness because there's an honesty to it that makes him feel safe—Geralt realises belatedly that that last one isn't his own observation, those are Jaskier's thoughts right now.

In this moment, more than ever before, he wants to hold Jaskier, wants to protect him from his own past, wants to shield him from the pain. Wants to ride to Lettenhove to face the man who dared to hurt this beautiful soul, wants to make him suffer tenfold in turn.

"And now, when I'm feeling sad or alone or scared, music is the only way I can show those emotions, really."

Geralt nods in understanding.

"Thank you for telling me that."

Jaskier has an odd look in his eyes, and his emotions are too tumultuous for Geralt to make sense of.

"You are the first person who's ever noticed."

Geralt shrugs.

"The spell makes it kind of hard not to."

They spend a long time in silence, after that. It's not the bad kind of silence, though.

Geralt can't help but admire that even though Jaskier went through all that, his view of the world is always so warm, so loving. That he's a genuine optimist, that he loves people, that he has the ability to look at flowers on the wayside and treasure their beauty, all of which is alien to Geralt.

More than anything, this proves what Geralt already knew: that Jaskier is a lot stronger than he appears.

**

When they leave the bathhouse together, there's a storm brewing outside. It's not that bad yet, but Geralt has the feeling that it will be, and he can sense that Jaskier is eager to get back to the warmth of the inn, as well. The trees are rustling around them, branches and leaves swaying ominously. The wind is harsh on their faces, and Jaskier has folded his arms tightly over his chest, as though he's worried that his jacket is going to be blown away even while he's wearing it.

Once again, Geralt feels weirdly protective of the bard, wants to keep him safe from the elements, would take on nature itself if it tried to harm his Jaskier.

Geralt wishes he could slap himself in the face. Jaskier doesn't belong to him. He has no right, no right whatsoever, to call him that, even in his own mind. For a brief moment, he considers telling Jaskier the truth: that he admires and cherishes him, that he wants to be with him, that he fantasizes about him, that he's in l—

A strong gust of wind hits Geralt, and he has to struggle against it to keep walking upright. He breathes out, slowly. The inn isn't far away, and once they're there they'll go to sleep (yes, in the same bed, he will manage, it's not the first time, get a fucking grip), and maybe Geralt can sleep off these inconvenient emotions. The chances aren't great, but it could happen.

Geralt suddenly realises that Jaskier is really struggling. When he does, he wonders how he missed that in the first place, because Jaskier's emotions are going haywire right now, and they're impossible to ignore once Geralt notices them. It's not that the wind itself is that bad, it's nothing physical.

The room is dark, and cold, and the window panes are rattling sinisterly. There's a storm howling outside, they're always bad this time of year, and this one seems to be shaking the whole house. His feet feel unsteady, and he falls onto his knees, doesn't have the courage to keep standing. He wants to scream but he knows that it won't do any good: last time Marlitta tried to help him, she was punished so badly that he still has nightmares about it. He hopes she won't come this time. She promised she wouldn't come again. I'm fine, he whispers, hoping she can somehow hear him, I'm alright, don't come looking for me, please. The sound of the wind is terrifying, forbidding, and even when he presses his palms over his ears he can still hear it.

Jaskier is shaking on the spot, that same fear he felt when he was seven years old pulsing through him, paralysing him, and Geralt knows he needs to do something. He has no idea what the right thing to do is, though, still shaken up himself by the vivid memory. None of the others have ever been so detailed.

"Jaskier, can you hear me?"

Jaskier tilts his head up in response, but doesn't quite meet Geralt's eyes. Even though he doesn't say anything, Geralt can tell he heard him because he can hear his own name being repeated in Jaskier's mind, like a prayer.

Geralt. Geralt. Geralt.

"I'm going to take you back to the inn."

Unable to think of any good alternative, Geralt scoops Jaskier up without further ado, and carries him the rest of the way, one arm hooked under Jaskier's knees, the other on Jaskier's back, pressing his chest close to Geralt's. Jaskier's hands cling to Geralt's shoulders, he's still terrified, but trusting that Geralt will keep him safe, that Geralt will protect him. Sensing that makes Geralt miss a step, and he almost stumbles, this is what he wants most, to make Jaskier feel safe, and he wishes he could kiss Jaskier, wishes he could just tell him...

It doesn't take Geralt long to reach the inn, and he ignores the looks that the handful of people who are still in the common room give him, takes Jaskier straight up to their shared room.

He sets him down on the bed, gently, searches Jaskier's face for a clue as to what to do next. Jaskier meets his eyes this time, and Geralt is suddenly drowning in Jaskier's pure, desperate need to be held, to feel that he is not alone.

"Geralt," he says, so softly that it breaks Geralt's heart. "Stay with me? Please?"

"I will," Geralt promises. "I'm going to get you out of your boots, alright?"

Jaskier nods.

When he's finished with that, Geralt can sense quite clearly what Jaskier wants, it is something that Geralt can give him, and even though Geralt is sure this will hurt him later he doesn't care. His own feelings are completely irrelevant here.

And so, he quickly pulls off his own boots and lies down next to Jaskier, pulls him close, and the next thing he knows, Jaskier is in his arms, shivering. Geralt knows this can't last, doesn't even want this to last because it can only last as long as Jaskier is hurting and he doesn't want that, never wants that. And yet it feels so right, holding Jaskier in his arms, running his fingers through that hair, feeling Jaskier's breathing and his heartbeat and the tremors of his body, Geralt selfishly wants to keep this, wants to keep Jaskier there forever. He is painfully aware that he can't, but he tells himself not to dwell on it. This is helping Jaskier right now, he can feel his thoughts and emotions slowly calming down, and that is all that matters.

He can't touch me now. Geralt will cut off his hand if he tries.

Geralt listens to Jaskier's breathing eventually evening out, feels a sense of calm wash over him as Jaskier's emotions quiet down. Well, quiet down might be a bit of an overstatement, but they are returning to normal emotional levels for Jaskier, at least. It feels familiar, by now, and Geralt wonders when he got so used to Jaskier's emotional presence in his mind. He hasn't been exposed to those feelings for long, after all: it's been barely a week since they were hit by the botched spell.

Even when Geralt can feel that Jaskier is relatively calm, Jaskier doesn't pull away. He wants to stay in Geralt's arms, and there's that familiar longing again, and Geralt wonders whether he should say something, finally, but he doesn't feel like this is the appropriate time. Jaskier just had a horrible experience. Derailing that by bringing up Geralt's own feelings would be disrespectful.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks instead.

"No," Jaskier mumbles. "Yes. I don't—I don't know."

"You don't have to."

Jaskier nods.

"Another time, maybe. Thank you for... For this."

He doesn't elaborate, but Geralt can sense what he means: thank you for taking care of me. He can feel his own heart swell in his chest. If Jaskier only knew...

Jaskier sighs, very quietly, but Geralt can hear it.

"I can't sleep in this," Jaskier says a little while later. "I'm going to get changed."

Geralt decides to follow Jaskier's example, even if it's more so that he has a reason to keep himself from watching Jaskier undress. Geralt himself has no problem sleeping in his everyday clothes, he does so often enough, but with the fabrics Jaskier likes to wear it's not surprising that his clothing isn't exactly comfortable to sleep in. Jaskier changes into a simple white shirt and light linen pants, and Geralt is wearing black, as usual.

Geralt waits until Jaskier is safely under the covers, then blows out the candle and goes to join him.

The storm is raging outside, whistling through the cracks of the house, and Geralt can feel Jaskier's growing distress.

"Come here," he says, and moments later, he's holding Jaskier again.

This time, though, with almost all the layers of clothing out of the way, Geralt can feel everything much more acutely: Jaskier's fast beating heart, thumping against Geralt's chest, Jaskier's breath on his collar bone, the little shudder running down his back, the trembling of his hands.

He breathes in Jaskier's scent, dominated by the soap from the bath they just took, but underneath is something that is pure Jaskier, which Geralt can't get enough of. If he could just go to sleep like this every day: his arms around this man, holding him close, making sure no harm comes to him ever again...

From what Geralt can see of Jaskier's thoughts, that might be something that Jaskier also wants, but for about the hundredth time, Geralt reminds himself that passing thoughts aren't proof that something is real, that he might be misinterpreting what he sees, projecting his own desires.

"Is it always like this?" He asks quietly, trusting that Jaskier will know what he means.

Jaskier sighs, gives a little shrug.

"More or less."

His mind feels so open, so terribly vulnerable, he wants to share this with Geralt, but he's still afraid that Geralt will reject him somehow, and Geralt doesn't know how to tell Jaskier that he could never do that, no matter what happened, he could never do anything but love him, even if it took him such a long time to understand that that was what he was feeling.

"I'm sorry I never realised."

Geralt can feel the fondness that swells in Jaskier at those words.

"'S not your fault," Jaskier mumbles. "We haven't been caught in many storms. Two bad ones I can remember. And during those, I did my best to keep this from you."

"Why?"

And even before Jaskier answers, Geralt can see the reason inside his mind: that he was ashamed of it. And more than that, he was afraid of losing Geralt.

"I didn't want you to think I was unfit to travel with you."

Geralt's grip on Jaskier's back tightens automatically.

"I was thinking that anyway."

Jaskier's laugh is sudden and bright and warm. Geralt never wants to go another day without hearing that laugh.

"Shut up, you arse."

Geralt wants to kiss him, wants to kiss him so desperately that he thinks his heart might burst if he doesn't, but he mustn't, he can't ruin this, whatever this is, this newfound intimacy, he can't do anything that might drive Jaskier away.

"No, I meant... I don't think so any more."

"Even knowing about all this?"

"Yes," Geralt says simply.

The most incredible warmth spreads through Jaskier, hearing those words was important to him, and Geralt bites his tongue so he doesn't say anything that could ruin this moment, that could drive Jaskier away. If this is what he can get then he will take it, gladly, without complaint, if this is all that Jaskier can give him then that is enough. He won't push him for anything more.

Jaskier falls asleep soon afterwards, and Geralt stays awake for hours, listening to his heartbeat, his gentle breathing, the subtle warmth of his dreams.

**

When Geralt wakes up, it's still quite early in the morning, the sun isn't even up yet, even though dawn must be close, and the storm seems to have settled down. The reason Geralt wakes up turns out to be Jaskier, or rather, Jaskier's thoughts. It takes a moment for Geralt to realise that Jaskier is distressed, even though he's still close to Geralt (Geralt's face is pressed into his back in between Jaskier's shoulders, one of Geralt's arms around his middle), or maybe because he is? It's all very confusing, especially since Geralt's mind is still a little sluggish with sleep, and he feels so very comfortable waking up next to Jaskier. Geralt wonders whether he should be removing himself from Jaskier to give him space, but a moment later, he understands what the true source of Jaskier's distress is.

Jaskier wants Geralt to fuck him, and is desperately trying to make himself think of something else, doesn't want Geralt to know. Tries humming a song inside his head, but it's not distracting enough.

Sweet Melitele, if he held me down like this—don't think about it, he can hear your thoughts—want him to fuck me until it hurts, until I can't see straight—shut up, shut up—what I wouldn't give for that cock inside me, Gods have mercy—

Geralt suddenly realises that the reason for all this is that it's early morning, and his own cock is hard and pressing against Jaskier's thigh...

Oh.

He wonders whether there is any way to get out of this situation that does not end in complete and utter embarrassment for both of them, but can't come up with any ideas. Because he does want to fuck Jaskier, so very much, and every time Jaskier fails to think of something else the arousal is burning brighter inside Geralt.

Ruin me, make me yours, mark me—stop it, for Gods' sakes—want to choke on that cock, let me choke on it—the lute, think of the lute, harmonies—if he only knew how much I love him, how much I want him—

Geralt can sense that Jaskier is going to flee, is going to leave him if he doesn't do anything to stop him. He grabs Jaskier's arm just in time before he can throw off the covers and disappear from the bed.

"Jaskier, wait."

Geralt's voice is gruff, but Jaskier has never minded that.

Jaskier turns around to face Geralt, and he's not ashamed, but afraid: certain that Geralt won't reciprocate his feelings, that this will end in tragedy.

He swallows heavily, averts his eyes.

"Did you see that, just now?"

Jaskier sounds resigned, and he is, Geralt can feel it, he's resigned himself to being rejected, and it hurts him so much that Geralt can hardly take it.

"Yes," Geralt answers.

Jaskier takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable. I really tried not to think about it but it's been over a week and you were so close and I'm... I'm only human, Geralt. I promise I don't expect anything in that regard. Once the spell wears off we can just pretend it never happened."

There it is again, that overwhelming sadness, but Jaskier means every word. Geralt can feel how much Jaskier wants him, and Geralt can still hardly believe that he does, even though the proof is right there in Jaskier's mind. But Jaskier is earnestly offering to hide those feelings, to keep suppressing them, because he doesn't care about his own happiness. All he cares about is Geralt's.

Maybe what he's seen over the past week wasn't all projection after all, the witcher muses, maybe Jaskier actually does love him, and if he does—

Geralt makes a choice, then, and with that choice, he knows with absolute certainty that he's changing the direction of his entire life. It feels right.

He pulls Jaskier close and kisses him. Deeply, desperately, messily. Jaskier melts into his touch, sighs into Geralt's mouth in stunned disbelief, but then his budding joy is curbed by fear.

He pulls away, eyes wide and vulnerable.

"Geralt... You know I don't just—I... Geralt, if this is nothing more than..."

Geralt can see in Jaskier's mind what Jaskier can't put into words. He couldn't bear having Geralt for this one morning and then never again. He would rather never find out what being with Geralt feels like, if he then has to bury his emotions once more, because that would break him. Jaskier is sure of it.

"I promised I would stay with you," Geralt tells him. "And I will. Whatever happens."

Jaskier's heart skips a beat as hope wells up inside him, fluttering like the wings of a flock of doves, then—

"Forever?"

"Yes. Forever."

This time, Jaskier is the one to initiate the kiss, bright joy spreading through every part of his body, from his fingertips in Geralt's hair to his fast beating heart. Geralt is swept up in it, and for a moment, he can't tell what he feels himself and which emotions originate with Jaskier, it's all tangled up together, but Geralt doesn't mind.

When they break the kiss, Jaskier looks at Geralt, and all he can think about it sucking Geralt's dick.

"May I?"

He doesn't elaborate, sure that Geralt can see what's on his mind, and Geralt nods.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time, frees Geralt's cock from his pants, touches it almost reverently, then leans down to close his mouth around the tip.

The sensation is strange because not only can Geralt feel his own wonder at what's happening, he can also feel Jaskier's bubbly happiness, finally, finally, wanted to do this for so long...

Geralt has already witnessed Jaskier's thoughts during sex once, and he somehow didn't expect them to be any different with him, but nothing could be further from the truth. There are similarities, for sure: most of all the fact that Jaskier loves doing this because he wants to make Geralt feel good, because he wants to give pleasure, but he takes his time with Geralt, like he wants to make sure he gets to know every inch intimately, wants to taste every part of Geralt's cock on his tongue. He doesn't treat this like a challenge at all, quite the contrary: he almost doesn't care what Geralt thinks, this is for himself.

"Gods, you really are good at that," Geralt can't help but say, almost unable to string together a complete sentence already.

Jaskier is emanating bright joy in response, and a sensation that is both foreign and strangely familiar to Geralt: the feeling of finally having found home. It is foreign because Geralt has never really felt at home anywhere. It is familiar because being with Jaskier is the closest he has come.

Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier's hair, still unable to fully believe that this is real, this is happening, Jaskier wants him, asked to stay with him forever.

"You are amazing," he groans, and he's not just talking about what he's sure is the best blow job he's ever gotten in his life. "Jaskier, Jaskier..."

He comes with Jaskier's name on his lips, and Jaskier swallows it all down. The sight is lewd and absolutely fantastic. He grins up at Geralt, a glossy sheen still on his lips, and Geralt pulls him close to kiss him again, tastes himself on Jaskier's tongue. He palms Jaskier's own cock through the linen pants, he's rock hard and leaking, and it doesn't take long until he comes as well, staining the fabric in the process, but for once, Jaskier doesn't mind. He doesn't particularly like these pants, and they can be washed.

It's not quite how Geralt pictured their ideal first time together, but this might be better, because this isn't some stupid late-night fantasy, this is real. Real and messy and glorious and beautiful.

Jaskier ends up in Geralt's arms again, and this time it is without any anxiety, without any fear of having to live without each other—for either of them. Geralt kisses Jaskier's face, the way he has been wanting to, his cheeks and his temples and his nose and his jaw, his eyelids and his forehead and his lips, his beautiful Jaskier.

Jaskier is exploring with his hands, unhurriedly, happy and curious, Geralt's shoulders and arms and chest and stomach.

"Just to be clear," Jaskier begins, and there is a hint of nervousness again, but much more subdued now. "I want us to be together. If you want that, too."

"Yes," Geralt says in between kisses, and, drunk on Jaskier's giddy happiness he can feel in response to this, he adds, "More than anything."

Jaskier grins against Geralt's lips.

"Good." His voice is so soft. "I've never actually been in a relationship. Not like this, I mean, I've never had feelings like these for anyone else. I guess you already knew that, you've been in my head for a week after all... How do you feel about sleeping with other people?"

Geralt shrugs.

"I don't mind it, if that's something you want to do. As long as you come back to me afterwards."

Jaskier laughs, kisses Geralt again.

"Always, I promise. And I don't mind if you do either, on the same condition."

"Why d'you want to know, do you already have plans with anybody for today?"

Jaskier grins mischievously.

"Oh, I do, actually. I'm planning on getting fucked really hard by a gorgeous, grumpy witcher. I just hope I can find one."

This actually makes Geralt smile.

"Smartass."

Jaskier clicks his tongue.

"Please, don't insult me. My ass is so much more than just smart."

Geralt is amazed that Jaskier can make dirty talk sound so light and fun. This is something he definitely wants to explore further in the future.

"Is your refractory period like a human male's, or is it different for witchers?"

Geralt shrugs.

"Haven't had many opportunities to make comparisons with men, actually."

Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Alright, but can you fuck me right now? Or am I going to have to wait?"

This is one of those moments where Jaskier pretends to be all cool and level-headed, when in reality he is neither of those things. He is actually so desperate for Geralt's cock inside him that he's ready to get down on his knees and beg. Geralt files this very interesting idea away for later.

"No, I can fuck you right now. Do you have any oil?"

Jaskier gives him a withering look.

"Course I do. Who do you take me for? Valdo Marx?"

This makes Geralt smile.

"Fair point."

Jaskier presses a final kiss to Geralt's lips, then slips out of bed to rummage in his pack. It takes him a surprisingly short amount of time to find what he's looking for—then again, this isn't the first time he's doing this, not by a long shot. Geralt feels unexpectedly fond of this notion: that's his Jaskier as he lives and breathes. Even if he could, he wouldn't change a single thing about him. Geralt uses the time to remove his own clothes, throws them to the foot of the bed.

Jaskier turns around.

"Hey, don't start without me."

Moments later, Geralt ends up with the flask thrust into his hand, watching Jaskier undress quickly with a wanton smile on his face as he throws his clothes on top of Geralt's. It doesn't take long, it's just a shirt and linen pants after all. Jaskier thinks that next time, he's going to wear as many layers as he possibly can, make Geralt take them off very slowly. An excellent idea, in Geralt's opinion.

Jaskier settles in Geralt's lap, kissing him again, and Geralt cups his ass with his free hand, making Jaskier shudder in breathless anticipation.

"Wanna lie down?"

"Yeah," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt pushes the covers out of the way so Jaskier can lie comfortably on his back.

The first rays of the rising sun are shining through the leaves of the tree in front of the small window, and the resulting bright, dancing spots of light on Jaskier's skin remind Geralt of Jaskier's thoughts, always flitting from one thing to another but constant in their warmth. He bends down to kiss Jaskier's chest where the light is brightest, and Jaskier runs his fingers through Geralt's hair.

Geralt unstoppers the flask, coats his fingers in the oil. It smells really nice, but not too strong, and the texture is silky smooth. This must be that really expensive stuff, Geralt assumes, the one he's never bought because he always thought it was a waste of money. He might have been wrong about that, though.

Jaskier's skin is deliciously hot against his fingertips, and Geralt adores the noises he makes. When he pushes the first finger inside Jaskier, he is rewarded with a little groan, almost helpless, and Geralt can feel how much Jaskier enjoys this.

After witnessing Jaskier's tryst a few days ago, Geralt had been a little worried about this part, but he needn't have. Jaskier likes what he's doing, very much so, actually, and even if Geralt weren't able to see that truth in Jaskier's thoughts, those little shivers and wanton moans would probably have been enough to assuage his worries.

"Mhh," Jaskier bites his lower lip when Geralt adds a second finger, wriggles underneath him in such a way that Geralt wishes he were fucking him right now—all in good time, he tells himself. They're not in any hurry.

It's not entirely useless to be connected to Jaskier's mind, either: it means that Geralt gets instantaneous feedback for every single movement, and quickly works out the best way to drive Jaskier wild. He begins grazing Jaskier's prostate with his fingertips rhythmically, until Jaskier practically whines.

"Fuck, Geralt!"

He meets Jaskier's eyes.

"Don't worry, I intend to."

Jaskier laughs at that, that wonderful laugh, and Geralt revels in the sight: Jaskier, open, hard, wanton, needy, and utterly happy. Exactly as he should be.

"Well, get on with it then, for fuck's sake!"

Geralt grins, adds a third finger. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy torturing Jaskier a little, dragging this out just a little longer, and Geralt can feel Jaskier enjoys this, too.

"Geralt, please," Jaskier moans soon enough, however, "please fuck me, alright? Need your cock inside me..."

This does make a wonderful shiver run down Geralt's back, and he decides there will be plenty of opportunity to torture Jaskier later.

He gently removes his fingers, and he can feel Jaskier experience the loss acutely, even though he knows this emptiness is only temporary.

"Like this?"

Geralt indicates the way their bodies are positioned.

"Yes. I want to see you."

Geralt coats his cock in the expensive oil, then lines himself up and pushes carefully. He knows Jaskier likes to play a bit more rough, but he's not going to risk hurting him, not ever, that's something Jaskier will have to live with. It doesn't seem to matter too much, though: judging by the emotions Geralt can feel from Jaskier, he is perfectly happy with this for now.

And Gods, Jaskier feels so damn good, so wonderful, so right. When Geralt is fully sheathed inside him, he takes a moment, not just to let Jaskier adjust, but also himself. Once again, it seems hard to distinguish between his own emotions and Jaskier's, even though Geralt is sure that that bubbly happiness is emanating from Jaskier, not himself. It's fitting, though, just like all the other emotions, and Geralt cherishes feeling it: as alien as the feeling is to him because he himself has never felt it, it's also so fundamentally Jaskier. It's home.

Geralt's thrusts are gentle at first, but it soon becomes clear to him that Jaskier wants more, needs more.

He does his best to give Jaskier what he craves, fast and hard—and even though he was worried about hurting Jaskier before, Jaskier's own feelings convince Geralt that he will be alright, even when Geralt grips his hips hard, sets a punishing pace. Actually, Jaskier seems to thrive on it, toeing that line between pleasure and pain, and his pure joy is contagious as he relaxes into the sensations more and more.

Want to be yours, make me yours...

Jaskier's eyelids are half closed, but he does meet Geralt's eyes from time to time, and every time he does, there's a smile on his face, just for a moment, before his mouth forms another pretty moan. It really is the most remarkable thing, and Geralt could stare at his face for days on end without ever getting bored. He's always known Jaskier to smile easily, but seeing him smile like that while he's being fucked is really something else: a more intimate kind of happiness, one that is just for Geralt and no one else.

Jaskier's emotions are very tender, as well, and there is a yearning inside Jaskier, Geralt feels it like it's his own desire: Jaskier wants to hear Geralt's voice, no, more than that, wants to hear Geralt say—

"You are so good for me," Geralt whispers, "I like you just the way you are."

There is a flare of such love emanating from Jaskier that Geralt almost loses control, it's blinding and intense and wonderful and Geralt just manages not to let their intimacy come to a premature end, but it is a close thing. For a moment, he wonders whether it will be at all possible to prolong the effects of this spell, because Jaskier's emotions are the most beautiful thing he has ever experienced.

"I love you," Jaskier moans his answer, "I love you so much."

He doesn't expect Geralt to say it back, knows that Geralt isn't a man of words, he's a man of actions. And he wouldn't fault Geralt for never saying it, if Geralt just stays with him like he promised.

But Geralt doesn't want to take the easy way out this time. It's not what Jaskier deserves.

"I..." He swallows thickly, feeling like his emotions are suddenly all inside his throat. "I love you, too."

Jaskier's smile is so bright, so beautiful, that Geralt is sure his heart is going to melt.

"Geralt..." He breathes in wonder.

"Jaskier," Geralt whispers. "My Jaskier."

And in that moment, everything, absolutely everything, is right with the world.

**

Yen laughs when Geralt has finished talking. Both Geralt and Jaskier stare at her.

"Hey, Triss? Pay up!"

Triss rolls her eyes, passes a few coins to her girlfriend. Jaskier watches this unfold with a mixture of hilarity and horror on his face.

"You made a bet? About us?"

Yennefer looks at them with pity in her eyes.

"Look, the first few months were kind of fun, watching the two of you being in love without realising it. But after that it was just sad."

"So, we decided to help you out," Triss says with a smile.

Geralt takes a deep breath. And another one. He doesn't want to shout at the women; after all, they did help him and Jaskier in the end, even if the way they did it wasn't very respectable. Or in any way consensual.

Jaskier meets his eyes, and Geralt can see all sorts of emotions there. Unfortunately, he can't feel them at the moment, but hopefully soon... Jaskier turns to Triss.

"Wait, what was the bet about? Whether we'd get together?"

Triss and Yennefer look at each other, both laughing.

"No, that was too obvious. We made a bet about whether you'd come back to have the spell renewed."

Geralt sighs. Yennefer really has a knack for humiliating him, but what's done is done. And he refuses to be ashamed for liking Jaskier's thoughts. His mind is what he loves most about his boyfriend, after all.

"So, are you going to or not?"

"Sure, hold on."

For a moment, Geralt can see Yennefer's rather wicked grin, and he is certain that this was a mistake. But she is already speaking the incantation, already moving her hands.

Nothing is changing. Geralt looks at Yen in confusion, still unable to sense Jaskier's mind even after she's finished speaking. He looks around at Jaskier, who seems to be struck in absolute awe.

Fuck.

"This wasn't the deal!"

Now he is, in fact, shouting at the two sorceresses. Yen just smiles in response.

"Come on, where is your sense of fairness? You got two weeks, he gets two weeks. And after that, let's see."

Geralt wants nothing more than to bury his face in his hands, sink into the ground and vanish. He can't even argue with Yennefer, because she's technically correct: this is fair. It isn't what he wanted, though. Because he desperately wants Jaskier's thoughts back, they are—

"You really think my mind is beautiful? Aww, Geralt!"

Jaskier smiles and kisses him, and Geralt isn't sure if these are going to be the best or the worst two weeks of his life.