[ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: December
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Some catching up now that he's home
Warnings: Discussion of trauma; nsfw marked



(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

Comments

[cointosser]

[Jaskier all but guffaws, switching immediately onto his side so he can shove Geralt over (though, unsurprisingly, he hardly fucking moves.)] That's the best you can do? Shit jokes, as per usual. It is an absolute wonder that your ass somehow makes up for them.

[But perhaps it's done what a joke is meant to do; Jaskier is looking at him with a smile, with humor lining his eyes. It's maybe the first time in almost a season that he has not felt wound tighter than a bowstring. His hand crosses the space between them, trailing down Geralt's chest for nothing more than the lovely touch of it, still warm, still moist with sweat. He traces scars that he could rattle off the stories of without a second thought.

It is not strange for Jaskier to know someone's body. It is only that he has long memorized Geralt's before he has ever bedded it. Years of bathing the bastard when he's broken a bone, cleaning wounds he can't reach. Stitching him up when he could do it without passing out. Watching firelight glow upon his face as he cleans his swords, with Jaskier alongside him oiling his lute or restringing catgut.

I missed you, he thinks. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come back. That his oldest, boldest, and strongest friend could be so easily taken away... and that he should go through so much without barely a complaint after it.] Will you manage any sleep at all, you think?

[gynvael]

[ His smile widens a touch. There it is. Genuine mirth from Jaskier. Rarer, as of late. Jaskier brushes his chest, trails fingers over his skin, and Geralt releases an exhale. ]

Doubtful. [ Blunt, casual. Like he's answering whether or not he thinks the rain will let up in the morning. ] Sunrise is worthwhile, though.

[ He can sit out on the roof later. He isn't fond of the desert and its dusty, filthy city, but he can admit the distant mountains and hills make for a pretty view at dawn. Jaskier is likely hoping for a better answer; Geralt hasn't got one to give and he thinks Jaskier will not expect much to have changed out of a single pleasant evening. Not that it didn't do what it was meant to. He's noticeably more relaxed, hasn't felt the need to move out of bed and keep busy. His head feels clearer.

He can see something on Jaskier's face, though. That weight to him when his thoughts are occupied. Geralt's expression softens. And Jaskier accuses him of brooding. ]

I'll find us breakfast. [ I'm not going anywhere. ]

[cointosser]

And here I thought you were going to say seeing me first thing in the morning. Ugh, Geralt. You have absolutely no tact.

[It was the answer he expects, and yet it's no less disappointing to hear it. Having sleep taken from man is the surest thing to make him go mad. Geralt has never exactly been a deep sleeper, or a long one, yet.

His whole life he's mostly gone through without worrying for Geralt. Now it feels like it spills over at every turn. He's sure, in time, the feeling will lessen. When they... well, fuck, when will it? Are they ever likely to find more surer footing in this world? Shall they let go of the idea they should ever return?

He finds, to his surprise, accepting that does not hurt his heart as much as he'd thought it would.

Jaskier gives him a grandiose smile, moving in to kiss him simply because he feels like it.] Very admirable of you. At least this time you needn't muck about in the bushes for a rabbit. [Raiding Sam's cabinets, he suspects. Oh. His biscuits might still be tucked into a corner where he hid them weeks ago. He'll have to check.] Hopefully Sam will not mind a bit of extra company.

[gynvael]

I see you all times of the day, Jaskier. And you never change.

[ It is not, to Geralt, a bad thing. They have parted, they have come together; the seasons have changed again and again around them. But Jaskier has always been who he is. If things have shifted between them, it's largely on Geralt's part: a quiet cracking open of the doors in his life, until Jaskier found a place in it he'd not meant to grant but which he does not regret. Despite what he once said.

The kiss draws a faint hum out of him. He lets his eyes close again. Jaskier smells like wine and the dirty streets, and he can't say he cares. ] The day that man minds a bit of company will be the day you cease your singing.

[ Geralt thinks he doesn't mind a bit of extra company right now, either. And while he does not exactly roll into Jaskier, nor does he move away if Jaskier winds up closer to him eventually—lets Jaskier push him over or wrap around him or generally make himself as much of a damn nuisance as he wants. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is already making himself at home, which is to say he's pushed Geralt over for enough room, then curved into him. Never shall a bard feel safer than having a Witcher at his back, but never is he more satisfied knowing he's left his mark.]

You're such a bastard.

[Perhaps the most affectionate he's ever spoken to him. Jaskier does eventually throw an arm around him, because he is a nuisance, and he gets cold fingertips and feet, and Geralt's hair is quite warm when he tangles his fingers up in it. There is not a body in the world the bard will not snuggle up to, given the chance, as long as it's warm and willing.

Geralt may not sleep, but at least he'll have company. And a pretty sight to watch.]