Actions

Work Header

Warm Hearts, Warm Arms

Work Text:

Jaskier hated the cold, but he loved Geralt. So when the usually stoic Witcher turned soft eyes towards him and asked, “Will you winter with me this year?” how could Jaskier refuse?

He hated every moment of the climb. The cold started at the bottom of the mountain, because of course it did. They were farther north than Jaskier usually went. Ban Ard was nice, but not in the winter, nothing that far north was nice in the winter.

Geralt held him close at night, blowing warm breaths across his neck and rubbing their hands together to bring some of the circulation back. Even under several layers, Jaskier still shivered. “I promise, it's warm at the keep. Fires are always going in the hall, my room...” Jaskier tried to show his appreciation, but his teeth were chattering too hard. “And the hot springs,” Geralt added. “Always warm in there.”

Yes, the hot springs, he'd heard stories and the promise of thermal heat coming from deep within the mountain was the only thing holding Jaskier together as they made the climb the next day. So close, just a bit longer...

Jaskier almost cried when he saw the castle, but tears would freeze on his skin and make him colder. Though the wind died away as soon as they were behind the walls, Jaskier continued to shiver. Geralt rubbed a hand down his back. “Go inside, I have to put Roach away, I'll be there in a minute.”

How he managed to get the doors open with frozen fingers was anyone's guess, but when the wave of blessed heat washed over him, Jaskier moaned. “Oh, fuck it's beautiful.” He saw the fire burning high and ran, the exhaustion in his muscles not even registering.

Jaskier ran, and almost tripped over the mound of blankets already in front of the fire, but a hand caught him before he went in the flames. “Who are you?” a sleepy voice grumbled.

“Cold,” Jaskier answered. Two gold eyes gazed up at him from under a blanket, probably one of Geralt's brothers (he hoped). “Please, I just need one blanket, anything's better than outside.”

The eyes narrowed before the fur pulled back to reveal a handsome face with fetching scars, black hair ruffled by the cocoon he made for himself. “Acceptable, come on in.” He did not need to ask twice. Jaskier burrowed into the nest of blankets, wrapping himself up and drawing heat from the fire, and now the Witcher cocooned with him. “I'm Lambert,” he grunted. “Cold sucks.”

“Jaskier. Indeed it does.”

Across the hall, Geralt shook his head. They had things to do, their bags were still at his feet, he was excited to show Jaskier his room, filled with all the trinkets and books he'd collected over the years... but he supposed it could wait. As long as Jaskier was warm. There was a presence next to him and Geralt leaned to the side; he didn't need to look to know Eskel was there, his brother in arms, the man he'd known almost all his life, they could feel each other, communicate without words.

But sometimes, words were necessary. Eskel took a breath and heaved a sigh. “Well, at least Lambert has a friend this year.”

Geralt snorted. “Yes, I can see the two of them having so much fun, huddling for warmth in the morning, shivering together, making music with their chattering teeth...”

“I can hear you, pricks,” Lambert called. Jaskier did not answer back, he was too busy soaking up the heat from the fire. Geralt left him to it.

He went up to his room and put their things away, stripping his armor for the season. Yes, he'd wear some of it for morning training, but the full kit, he wouldn't need that until spring. There was a lightness to it, finally taking off his protective outer shell in the place he knew he was safe. Breathing in the familiar scents of his room, Geralt took a moment to settle in, let his mind calm into the slowness of winter.

When he returned to the great hall, he found Jaskier exactly where he left him: cuddled under a mound of furs, pressed into Lambert's side. Lambert, the prickliest, sourest of them all, didn't seem to mind either. He had an arm around Jaskier's shoulders, rubbing the bard's arm for warmth the same way Geralt had on their way up the mountain. Hmm...

“Jaskier, c'mon,” he called.

A pitiful whine met his ears and the Jaskier-shaped lump in front of the fire shivered. “No, Geralt, it's fine here, this is good. Can't I just spend all winter here? Ah!”

Jaskier shrieked as Geralt pulled him from the nest. “Hot springs, you'll like them more than the fire, promise.” Teeth chattering once again (a bit dramatic, that) Geralt held Jaskier close to his side.

As they left the hall, he heard Lambert grumbling about “Stole my body heat.”

Jaskier continued to shiver and shake as they walked through the twisting halls. Geralt kept a firm hand on him, steering him around any unstable stones. Nothing was destroyed this far into the keep, but after a few years, a stone came loose here, some cracked mortar there... not dangerous, just hazardous for human bards who walked like they had two left feet but danced like an angel.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “Why did you pull me away from the fire?”

Geralt didn't answer, he simply opened the door in front of them. A blast of heat filled the corridor and Jaskier practically melted in his arms, thawing before his very eyes. “I promised hot springs. Don't say I never deliver.”

“Oh, you beautiful man.” Pulling away from Geralt's side, Jaskier raced inside the heated cavern. The brazers were already lit (Vesemir, getting everything ready for them) and the weak torchlight sparkling off the water made Jaskier's pale skin almost luminous.

They stripped off and hopped in the water, both of them groaning as the heat permeated their chilly bones. Geralt snagged Jaskier in his arms and pulled him close, rubbing their noses together. “Better?”

“Much better. Can I spend all winter in here? Just move my bedroll, I won't be any trouble.”

“You're always trouble.” But a deep, contented rumble built in Geralt's chest, quickly turning into a growl as he pressed them together, feeling every inch of Jaskier's warm, wet skin against his. He slid one arm around Jaskier's hips and the other pressed between his shoulder blades, bringing their chests flush together, their hips as well. As soon as their cocks brushed, Jaskier gasped and Geralt growled again. “My bed is better, but it is nice to make love down here, the steam, a nice soap...”

“Mmm, yes, now I understand why you like a bath so much. I would too if I grew up with this sort of thing for a tub.” Jaskier nuzzled their noses together before parting his lips, licking into Geralt's mouth. They hadn't kissed properly in days, the mountain was too cold, but now it seemed as if Jaskier was trying to devour him, his tongue swiping across every part of Geralt's mouth: under his lips, over his teeth, and finally letting their tongues tangle together.

“You taste amazing.” Geralt sighed and snagged his bottom lip between his teeth. Usually plush and rosy, the cold of the mountain stole their warmth, but now Geralt looked forward to a season of deep kisses, lips traveling down... down... down...

Reaching between them, Geralt wrapped his hand around both their cocks, stroking lightly. Water wasn't the best lube, and they had soap near by, but he just had to feel Jaskier hot and hard in the palm of his hand. “Geralt!” Jaskier gasped and arched back, grinding them together. “I've been to hot springs before, this sort of thing, it's, it's not good for the water...”

“Spring's blessed,” Geralt said, his hand snapping faster, grip still light, touching just enough to work Jaskier up. “Nothing can befoul the waters. Castle full of boys and you think this place wasn't covered in come?”

“Fair point, uh fuck... mmm.” Jaskier's breath came faster as he got closer and closer to the edge, too long of a journey, waiting to touch each other, fantasizing about holding each other in Geralt's bed, they were both on a hair trigger.

A few more strokes and Jaskier came, his shouts of pleasure reverberating off the cavern walls, bringing Geralt over as well. He dipped down, sucking a love bite into Jaskier's neck as they both crested, moving together until they were too sensitive to keep thrusting. Jaskier stayed in his arms though, head pillowed on his shoulder.

Jaskier didn't hear Vesemir's distant call of “Dinner!” but Geralt did, and even though his stomach ached for real food that wasn't stale trail rations, all he wanted to do was hold Jaskier and never let him go.

But he pulled away, taking the bard with him towards the end of the pool. His sinfully plump lower lip, now kiss swollen and red, jutted out. “But, it's warm here, can't we stay?”

“The hall will be warm now too, dinner's been roasting all day probably.” The first night they were all home, Vesemir liked to give them a good meal. The true feast would be in a few days when they were all recovered from the long trip north, but that didn't mean they couldn't have good food tonight. Warmed by the fire, Jaskier didn't complain about the cold all through dinner, but he did sit very close to Geralt, fingers grabbing, touching any exposed skin, not that Geralt was complaining...

Though he wanted to catch up with Lambert and Eskel, share their stories of The Path and see who bested the biggest beast (Geralt usually won that contest, but he knew it was because Eskel was too modest to boast of his own accomplishments) he was eager to get Jaskier up to his room. All year, he thought of nothing but the soft human in his bed, the furs from animals he himself killed and tanned, cooing and moaning as Geralt kissed down his body, licking and nibbling. They were never free on The Path, there was always the next contract to think about, or camping in the woods with no proper bed. Geralt wanted to fuck Jaskier in a proper bed—no—he wanted to make love with Jaskier in a proper bed. His bed.

Sliding an arm around Jaskier, Geralt pulled him into his lap, ignoring Lambert as he rolled his eyes and Eskel's chuckle. He buried his nose in Jaskier's neck, sniffing the clean skin just below the collar of the warm coat he insisted on wearing even in front of the fire, it gave him a lovely musk Geralt had been trying to ignore all dinner. “Want to see my room?” he whispered.

“Fuck, knew I should've got some ear plugs on the way here,” Lambert laughed.

Geralt ignored him, continuing to sniff at Jaskier. The Eskel chimed in, punching Lambert's shoulder playfully. “Don't worry, I can make you some.”

They both laughed and Geralt pulled Jaskier tighter into his chest. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, their lips a breath away. “Yes,” Jaskier whispered. “I'd love to see it.”

Eskel and Lambert's teasing faded into the background as Geralt stood up, Jaskier still in his arms. He paused for a moment, wrapping long legs around his hips, before settling one hand on Jaskier's back, the other under his plump ass for support. Chuckling softly, Jaskier pressed kisses all over his face, trying to distract him as he made their way up stairs, but Geralt knew this castle like the back of his hand, every step, every loose stone and creaky board. He made it safely upstairs and through the door of his room, setting Jaskier down on his bed.

The natural colored wool of Jaskier's traveling clothes blended in well with the brown, tan and gray furs covering his bed. Geralt wasted no time stripping him, so the bard could feel the fine fur on his skin. He shivered a bit at first, then sighed as Geralt's warm body covered him, their lips meeting in a slow kiss tasting of wine and fresh meat.

Full from dinner, Jaskier groaned even as he wrapped his legs around Geralt's hips. “Ugh, I want you, you know I do, but I don't think I can, my stomach does protest.”

“Hmm, mind if I try something?” Jaskier nodded and that was all the permission Geralt needed to slide down, kissing soft skin as he went. Trailing the tip of his nose over a too full belly, he didn't press, simply worshiped Jaskier's creamy skin, thinking of all the things he wanted them to do this winter.

Finally, Geralt finished his journey downwards and sat back on his ankles, taking his cock in hand. Stroking slowly, his eyes locked with Jaskier's. “I can't wait to wake up with you and know we don't have to leave the stupid town that barely tolerates me. We can sleep, knowing we are safe. I've wanted to wake up next to you in perfect comfort for so long, Jaskier, you can't imagine. I want to bathe with you in the hot springs every day, and then wake up the next morning to do it all again. If we don't fuck in every room in this damn keep this winter, you're coming back next year to finish the list with me.”

As he spoke, his strokes got faster and faster. Jaskier's eyes flicked between looking at Geralt and looking at his cock, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Mmm, yes, show off for me, my love, show me what that big, beautiful cock can do.”

It wasn't Jaskier's finest dirty talk (for the poet was very, very good at that) but it did the trick. Geralt came, spilling across Jaskier's too full stomach and his half hard cock, interested, but not enough to actually do something about it. He opened his eyes just in time to watch the last few spurts settle into Jaskier's belly button. “Mmm, thank you. I'll repay you in the morning when you're not so full.”

“Yes. Or, you could fill me with something else.” Jaskier arched back, showing off the seed painting his skin, still soft from their bath.

Suddenly, a shiver rippled through him and Jaskier tensed up into a ball, smearing the mess everywhere. “Fuck! Why does come cool so quickly? F-fuck, cold...”

Jaskier reached for one of the furs and Geralt had to wrestle it away from him. Did he know how much effort it took to keep furs pristine for decades? They cleaned up and Jaskier buried himself into the bed, covering up with every last blanket he could find and glaring daggers at Geralt to just fucking get in here already and keep me warm.

He settled in with a sigh, wrapping around his bard and closing his eyes. It was going to be a good winter, but it was going to be a fucking long one too.


Getting Jaskier out of bed the next morning was... difficult. All the blankets ended up swirled around him, and he refused to leave his cocoon to suffer, what he called, “The howling cold of the northern winds.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, his hand locked around one slender ankle, “you have to get up. There's breakfast downstairs. And a fire.”

“Ugh, fine. But we are going to the hot springs as soon as possible.” Flinging the blankets off, Jaskier shivered and complained as he pulled on what looked like all of his clothes, plus some of Geralt's.

They got downstairs to find Eskel sitting at the table with Vesemir. Lambert was probably curled in a similar blanket cocoon in his own room, but Geralt didn't want to give Jaskier any ideas. Eskel greeted them with a nod before his eyes slid to Jaskier. “Cold?”

“How could you tell?” Jaskier walked to the very end of the table, the spot closest to the fire.

Eskel smirked. “Lambert hates the cold too, come here. I'll keep you warm just like I do him.” Extending one large arm, he pulled Jaskier close to his chest and motioned for Geralt to sit on his other side.

A contented hum sang through the human. “Oh yes, Eskel, I do believe you've just gone up in the rankings of my favorite Witchers.”

Eskel laughed at the joke, even Vesemir chuckled, but Geralt scowled, moving in closer to share his warmth with his companion. Lambert trooped down the stairs a few minutes later, grabbed a bowl of porridge and sacked out in front of the fire. Jaskier eyed the warm spot jealously, then nestled tighter into Eskel's side. Geralt tried not to let it bother him. He got to keep Jaskier warm all night, and Eskel was larger than him, more body heat...

He didn't let it bother him, really, they had a lot to do today to get the keep ready for true winter and they better get going. Couldn't waste time thinking about the way Jaskier smiled when pressed into Eskel...


Over the next few days, they all fell into a rhythm, as winter usually did. The Witchers handled the tougher chores of chopping fire wood, repairing walls, hauling resources from the quarry; Vesemir put Jaskier on lighter duty with the animals, sweeping old corridors, or in working the library. The bard didn't complain, “I know how to earn my keep,” he said with a wink at lunch as he and Lambert huddled close to the fire. He did his work without a single whinge or whine, though he did sneak off to find Geralt and steal a kiss or two... but Geralt wasn't going to complain about that.

Jaskier stopped grumbling about the cold too, but he still dressed in far too many layers, had a blanket in the library when he needed to do more sedentary work. More than once, Geralt would stop by to offer to warm him up and find he was already occupied... with Lambert, or even Eskel. Lambert's nest in front of the fire now had an extra seat for Jaskier as the two huddled close together, sometimes whispering under their blankets.

Since Eskel liked the library almost as much as Jaskier, Geralt walked in on them... well, they weren't doing anything. Jaskier was usually huddled up close to Eskel's side as they poured over some forgotten book, laughing and joking about what the poet was really like. Eskel was good for stories like that, old masters who were better drinkers than writers, all Geralt's stories were about monsters, nothing romantic and soft. Jaskier had to go out of his way to make Geralt's contracts fit to sing about. Eskel probably had loads of stories that were perfect for ballads.

Geralt blinked away the thoughts and retreated whenever he found Jaskier with one of the others, he didn't want to... intrude. Jaskier was just being friendly, he wanted to get to know Geralt's brothers, they were going to spend the whole winter together, might as well bond...

But the thing was, he never caught (not caught, they weren't doing anything, only talking, sitting together, perfectly innocent) Jaskier with Vesemir. Though the old wolf liked to sit in the kitchen next to the warm fire as he worked, Jaskier was always with Lambert, both of them getting very cozy under the blankets.

He tried not to let his thoughts linger. After all, it was his bed Jaskier came to every night, his lips he kissed, his cock he licked and worshiped and sighed over, “I love you, Geralt, love your body, your mind, fuck, everything about you is perfect,” he whispered into Geralt's scars, tongue laving at them all, as if he could heal them with kisses and licks. Jaskier loved him, and they were having a lovely winter together. He didn't know why, why he was having these thoughts.

As soon as the first snows started, Geralt noticed it more and more. Jaskier rushed through his chores every day so he could slump in front of the fire with Lambert, or curl up next to Eskel, leaning his head on one broad shoulder as they read from the same book. Whenever he saw Geralt, he would smile, call him over to join them, but Geralt never did. He had chores to do, more wood to bring in, he kept the wood pile in his room stacked high so he'd always be able to keep Jaskier warm, so he wouldn't need to go elsewhere.

The carefully built wall of denial that Geralt had inside his head finally cracked the day he walked into the great hall and did not find Jaskier and Lambert slumped in front of the fire, or Eskel reading quietly, watching them with a smirk. “Where is everyone?” he asked the room at large.

“Hot spring,” Vesemir answered. He shifted, moving in his chair next to the fire, shifting to get comfortable, then returning to his book. “Boys did good work today, cleaned out the last store room, the one next to the armory. That one's been filthy for years.”

Geralt tuned out the rest of Vesemir's words, turning towards the hot spring. He and Jaskier always went down together, they met up after their chores were done and went for a soak, the heated water warming them through and through, bringing their cocks to full attention. They'd probably fucked more in the hot springs so far this year than they had in Geralt's bed, and now he was down there with Eskel and Lambert?

He tried to control his heart beat as he made his way through the halls, but knew it was useless. Jaskier slept in his bed, kissed him, fucked him... but he went to Lambert and Eskel for warmth, not Geralt. Went to the hot springs with them for—no, he couldn't jump to conclusions. Stopping in front of the door, Geralt took a deep breath.

The door creaked open and he half ran inside... only to find Jaskier, Lambert and Eskel lounging in different corners of the pool, all three of them happy to soak on their own. As soon as he heard the door open, Jaskier lifted his head, eyes lighting up when he saw Geralt. “Hello you, finally done? Come join us.” His arm came up from the water and he waggled his fingers in invitation. Lambert was asleep, but Eskel opened one eye and grunted in greeting before going back to lounging.

Geralt must've stood there like an idiot for too long, because Lambert growled softly, opening his eyes to grumble, “Close the door. You're letting the warm out.”

Well, he didn't have a reason to say no. Geralt closed the door and stripped, climbing into the water near Jaskier. Right away, Jaskier moved towards him, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck and kissing over his cheeks. He settled into his lap and sighed softly. “Perfect, I knew we were missing something in our relaxation, and now here we are.”

Soft lips pressed against his and Geralt let himself get lost. The scent of the spring, his home, and Jaskier's floral, chamomile scent swirled together and he sighed.

“Oh fuck, I'm right here!” Lambert grumbled.

Geralt ignored him and continued kissing Jaskier, holding him close as they soaked. He didn't know why he was so... so agitated. Jaskier was here in his arms, where he'd always be.


“Is there something on your mind?” Jaskier whispered. They left the hot springs earlier, leaving Lambert and Eskel to finish their soak, Geralt carried Jaskier up the stairs, unable to keep his hands off him. Damp skin was soft under his fingers and he pulled and squeezed, kissing Jaskier so hard he almost whimpered. But Geralt needed to feel him, needed to know Jaskier was still—

“No,” Geralt lied. “I'm fine.”

Blue eyes flicked up to him, turned down a little at the corners in a frown. “That's not what I mean. You seem... twitchy. But I don't know, maybe this is how you are in winter. I, however, was looking forward to a relaxing season together. You don't seem to be enjoying it.” Calloused fingers petted across his chest. Not calloused from holding a sword, but an instrument, a thing of beauty.

Eskel knew how to create beauty as well, he was good with words and wrote a poem from time to time. Lambert liked to say he only made moonshine, but his taste in wine was unparalleled; once in Toussaint, he got paid in wine for a contract and got the man to agree to deliver the crates as close to Kaer Morhen as possible. The other night, he pulled out one of those bottles, a rare vintage judging by the way Jaskier's eyes lit up and he sighed in pleasure at every sip. His brothers had more to offer than he did, of course Jaskier would fall in love, he was fucking stupid not to notice it.

“Geralt.” Jaskier's warm voice brought him out of his spiral, but he felt tears prickling at his eyes. “Please, tell me what I've done. I wish to make it right.”

“You haven't done anything. It's—Eskel and Lambert. I see you—you... fuck.” Geralt pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to block out the world. “You're getting along with them. And if you... if you want them, the same way you want me, I won't stand in your way.” Fuck, saying it out loud was somehow worse.

All these weeks, he kept that insecurity in the back of his head. He'd been the White Wolf for far longer than Jaskier even knew, the golden child of Kaer Morhen, the strongest, the best fighter. But that's all he ever was: a fighter. Not educated like Eskel, who understood pretty words and probably spent his time with Jaskier quoting poems back and forth. He wasn't a genius like Lambert, who figured out how to improve their bombs and potions, and made some new ones of his own, innovating in a way no Witcher had in a fucking long time. Geralt was just handy with a sword, and hard to kill, but all Witchers were hard to kill. He brought Jaskier home for the winter to show him the special pieces of his life, only to have the two most special pieces—his brothers—show him up at every turn. He couldn't even keep Jaskier warm the way they did.

Hand over his eyes, Geralt didn't see the way Jaskier's eyes welled up a little. “Oh, you great idiot, look at me.” He grabbed at Geralt's wrist, pulling his hand away so their eyes could lock. Jaskier leaned in closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you. I'd say it a thousand times a day if you'd let me. I've been getting closer with your brothers because they're important to you. Every story you tell, it's about Eskel, or Lambert and their amazing adventures. I wanted to get to know the men you hold in such high regard.”

Brushing their noses together, Jaskier began to kiss across Geralt's brow, whispering as he went. “I'm spending time with Lambert because he knows the best warm spots. I'm spending time with Eskel because he is a warm spot. But do you know what we talk about? You. Eskel tells me all the things you two got up to as children, and Lambert tells me stories of your bungled contracts that you don't want to talk about. Like the time you got dragged into the sewers by a trash monster and the alderman wouldn't let you back into town.”

“Zeugl,” Geralt said. “Lambert promised not to tell anyone that story.”

“That's what brothers are for, to tell your lovers the embarrassing stories.” Jaskier continued kissing, moving down over Geralt's jaw and neck, stopping to rub his face across too perfect tits. “They're important to you, so they're important to me, but I love you, Geralt, I have for a very long time.” He lapped at Geralt's nipples, first the left, then the right, before moving down, dragging his lips through the gentle coating of hair across Geralt's chest. Jaskier was a very hairy man, it caught his scent very well and Geralt liked burying his face in his chest, well now it was Jaskier's turn to do the same.

Still naked from their time in the hot spring, Jaskier's hand trailed over Geralt's cock, stirring it to life like an expert. He didn't stay there long, reaching over for their pot of slick. Their eyes met, checking for any sighs of no, before continuing. Jaskier threw one leg across Geralt's hips and straddled him, rolling his hips a little to brush their cocks together before opening the tin and getting a generous amount of salve on his fingers.

“I love you,” he said again, reaching behind himself. Geralt watched, absolutely entranced as Jaskier slowly opened himself up, his face showing exactly how it felt to touch himself while Geralt watched. “You think you aren't special enough to hold my attention? I'm loud and flashy, but I know how boring I am. One trick and then I'm done, but you, Geralt, I could live a thousand years and never learn all your secrets. I fucking love that, always a new mystery for me to unwrap, a new adventure. You think you're a boring Witcher? I say you're too hard on yourself. And I'll say it again, and again, until you believe me.”

That slick hand wrapped around his cock and Geralt fought the urge to close his eyes and surrender to the pleasure in Jaskier's touch, he didn't want to look away from that face, the soft pink lips, sparkling blue eyes, creamy skin, the face he got to kiss and touch whenever he wanted. Jaskier thought he was getting the better half of this deal? Well, maybe Jaskier was a bit of an idiot, Geralt wasn't about to tell him.

Jaskier shifted again, hips wiggling enticingly as he lined up the head of Geralt's cock with his hole. Geralt held his breath, and held tight to slim hips as Jaskier slowly sank down, enveloping him in that tight heat that never got old. Once Jaskier was seated, he took a moment to coo and sigh, enjoying the full feeling inside of him. Geralt was always more than enough, and Jaskier knew he was a greedy bastard sometimes. Lacing their fingers together, he started to rock, eyes never leaving Geralt's.

They moved together for what felt like hours, the simple undulation of their hips like the beat of a metronome, steady, but growing faster and faster until Geralt was thrusting up into Jaskier, panting and growling. “Fuck, you're beautiful.” They had sex almost every night; slow and luxurious, or fast and heated, but nothing compared to this moment, the perfect joining as they fell into sync, Jaskier pushing down when Geralt thrust up, both of them gasping.

Though he never wanted to let go, he wanted to hold Jaskier's hand forever, Geralt untangled their fingers and wrapped a hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking in time with now bruising thrusts. Jaskier's back arched and his cock twitched, spilling, seed pumping across Geralt's fingers. “Geralt, fuck...” he sighed, muscles clenching as he came.

“You're gorgeous,” Geralt managed to growl out as his orgasm overtook him. He had just enough coordination to hold Jaskier tight to him and not let him fall as he pumped him full.

A moment later, they both collapsed into the bed, utterly spent. Geralt gently pulled out and rolled over, spooning up behind Jaskier, smiling at the smell and feel of his own seed dripping out. “Yeah, smile now, clean up is going to be terrible,” Jaskier grumbled.

“Mmm, let me enjoy the afterglow.”

“Fine, fine.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt's arms, wrapping them tighter around him. “Maybe next time I'm sitting by the fire with Lambert, you'll actually join when we ask?”

Burying his face in the back of Jaskier's neck, Geralt was glad he couldn't see him blush. They always invited him to sit with them, taste some of Lambert's new batch of moonshine, play cards with Eskel, but he was so locked in his own head, so worried at seeing Jaskier with his brothers, he didn't think he was wanted... How foolish of him. Geralt saw it now. If he stopped looking for signs that Jaskier couldn't possible love him, he would've seen the love that was plainly there.

“When I invited you to winter with me, I was afraid you wouldn't like it. I wanted you to see my home, where I came from. It took me a long time to... be okay with this place, and now I wanted you to see it. Then, when you liked it a bit too much...”

Jaskier shook his head, leaning back into Geralt until their lips could brush together. “Silly Witcher.”

“Yes, I am a... that.”

“A silly Witcher,” Jaskier repeated.

No, he wasn't going to say it. Instead, Geralt closed his eyes and held Jaskier tight, listening to the sound of his breath slow and even out as he fell asleep. A nap sounded great right now.


The next afternoon, Geralt finished bringing the fire wood in and was about ready to collapse. He stumbled into the great hall to find Lambert, Eskel, and Jaskier heaped in front of the fire, Vesemir shelling peas into a bowl nearby. Jaskier's head popped up from the mound of furs. “Finished? Come join us.”

His feet stalled. A week ago, seeing Jaskier happy and warm with his brothers would've sent him away to wring his hands, but now, now Geralt knew he was being silly about it all. Of course Jaskier wanted to be friends with Lambert and Eskel, he wanted to be a part of Geralt's life. That's the way it should be, he reminded himself, stop looking for problems that aren't there.

Stripping his coat and boots, Geralt joined them in front of the fire. Jaskier poked and prodded until Geralt was laying back against him, the bard's arms around his shoulders. “See?” he whispered, lips brushing Geralt's ear. “Isn't this better than sulking by yourself?”

Geralt said nothing, he merely turned his eyes to watch the game of Gwent Lambert managed to bully Eskel into. He and Jaskier took bets on who was going to win and Eskel scowled when neither of them picked him. “One of these days, it might happen...”

“Yeah right,” Lambert snorted. “This is my scorch deck by the way.” Eskel rolled his eyes and resigned himself to losing the game.

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative silence, nothing but the sounds of the fire and Eskel's colorful cursing when he eventually lost breaking the comfortable quiet of the day. Geralt held Jaskier close, smelling his hair, kissing his cheeks, letting the smells and sounds of his bard, his life on The Path, mingle with the smells of his home. This was all he wanted, the two halves of his world finally melding in a way that didn't mean pain, but love and happiness. Happiness was so rare for a Witcher and Geralt seemed to have it. After following him up a mountain and shivering with cold for days on end, Geralt would be stupid to think Jaskier wasn't in this for more than just the tales of the White Wolf. He was finally inclined to believe him.