When everything is over, when the last monsters have been killed, Voleth Meir has been transported to her own realm and Ciri has wrenched Geralt and Yennefer back to Kaer Morhen with her, Geralt slowly lowers himself to sit down on the partially crumbled wall and lets out a breath he feels he’s been holding in for months. He’s beyond exhausted, his whole body one aching bruise and his vision tinted with grey, but he pushes it down. He still has work to do and—
”I’m tired,” Ciri says softly.
”Yeah,” Geralt grunts. Behind Ciri, Yennefer lets out an agreeing noise.
”What happens next?”
He sighs and raises a hand to rub it over his face before he remembers his hand is covered with entrails or…something and wipes his hand on his thigh instead. It doesn’t really make much of a difference.
”We can’t stay here,” he says. ”The continent—”
”The continent can go fuck itself!” Ciri spits out through her teeth. ”They drove me out of one home already. They won’t drive me out of this one.”
”Ciri—”
She whips her head around to give him a glare. ”No.”
He opens his mouth to retort when he sees Yennefer shake her head slightly. ”We’ll figure it out later,” he ends up saying, stifling the urge to roll his eyes at Ciri’s mutinous pouting.
On her other side, Yennefer doesn’t bother holding back but her smile makes the eye roll gentler.
It makes something warm curl up in Geralt’s chest. He’s not sure what it is but he likes it, closes his eyes to savor the feeling. Love? No, not love, not like he thought it would be. The all-consuming need he felt before is gone but it left behind burning embers that warm him still. Friendship? Companionship? Perhaps a combination of all three? Whatever it is, he recognizes it’s necessary. For Ciri. And perhaps for him, too? Perhaps he’s allowed to enjoy the companionship, to just have people. A family.
”Well, that was certainly something!” Jaskier chirps brightly. It probably says something about Geralt’s state of mind that he didn’t notice Jaskier walking up to them. ”A drink, anyone?”
Geralt opens his eyes and gives the bard a long look. His hair is longer than it was when—when Geralt fucked up and drove him away. But otherwise, he looks the same, although his clothes seem to be slightly more sensible now.
…and that’s all. No crow’s feet around his eyes, no grey hairs, no scent of aches or pains. He looks exactly the same.
Hm.
”Bard,” Yennefer says coolly.
”Witch,” Jaskier returns just as coolly.
There’s a small smile playing on the corner of Yennefer’s lips and Jaskier’s brow twitches up a notch as he hands his bottle to her. That, too, makes something warm flare inside Geralt.
”Might as well,” Yennefer says and takes a long pull, swallows, and makes a face. ”This is terrible.”
”I’d expect nothing less, considering it comes from the local kitchen,” Jaskier says with a wolfish grin, inclining his head toward the great hall.
Before Geralt can protest, Yennefer gives the bottle to Ciri who hurries to take a mouthful—and nearly falls from the wall as she coughs. ”This—how can anyone drink this?” She sputters through heaving gulps of air. ”Why would anyone drink this?”
”Mostly to get hideously drunk,” Jaskier says with a shrug and saves the bottle before Ciri has the chance to fling it off the wall.
”Eugh,” she gags and rubs the back of her hand across her mouth.
”No one forced you to drink,” Geralt points out, amused.
Ciri sticks her tongue out at him and then crosses her arms on her chest when Geralt snorts.
”Come on, Ciri,” Yennefer says and stands up, holding out a hand to her. ”Let’s go find a bath. I stink like a drowner’s ass and you’re not any better.” Her eyes flicker from Geralt to Jaskier and back with an unreadable look. ”Goodnight, Geralt.” She quirks a brow. ”Jaskier.”
Jaskier raises the bottle in silent salute and watches as she and Ciri walk back inside, hand in hand. ”So, you’re a family now?” He asks without turning.
Geralt cocks his head and narrows his eyes. ”Why?”
”No reason,” Jaskier says airily and takes another swig. ”Yennefer finally has the child she so wanted. And you’re such a dad.” He tilts his head back a bit and gazes up into the sky. ”What does that make me? An unstable old uncle?”
”That would be Lambert,” Geralt deadpans, enjoying Jaskier’s bark of laughter. ”And you’re not old.”
Jaskier lowers his head and gives Geralt a look from the corner of his eye. ”Ah. You finally realized.”
”I never bothered to look before.”
Jaskier turns fully around. ”No, I guess you didn’t.” He falls uncharacteristically silent and just looks at Geralt, something old and dark in his eyes.
”Geralt—”
”Jaskier—”
He huffs and shakes his head with a small smile.
”You’ve changed,” Jaskier muses softly.
He hums and pushes himself up. ”Care to share the drink?” He asks and takes the bottle when Jaskier holds it out for him, holding the eye contact as he drinks. The liquid is thick and syrupy and tastes a bit like the experiments Coën did almost three decades ago—the ones that worked better as pesticide than an actual drink. It burns on its way down.
”I’m sorry,” he says and takes a step forward.
Jaskier frowns. ”About what?”
”The mountain—”
Jaskier rolls his eyes and sways back a bit.
”—and everything else. What I said to you was unfair. I took my own anger, disappointment, and frustration out on you and it wasn’t fair.”
”You already apologized.”
Geralt shakes his head. ”It was the bare minimum and you deserve more. And we both know that.”
Jaskier averts his eyes and it feels…wrong. Geralt doesn’t want him to avert his eyes, he wants Jaskier’s eyes bold and shining, challenging, daring. On him.
”I’m sorry I never said how much your company means to me,” he says quietly. Jaskier’s head shoots up and he blinks, bewildered. ”I’m sorry I made you feel like a nuisance. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to make you feel important. Valued.” He takes the last, half-step forward, bringing him chest to chest with Jaskier. ”Wanted.”
From up close, Jaskier’s eyes are blue as the cloudless sky with small flecks of gold here and there. Geralt hadn’t known that.
Jaskier lets out a small, strangled sound. ”Geralt, what—what are you doing?”
”Apologizing,” he replies, not moving an inch. ”Properly, this time.”
”Mm, hmm, okay, yeah, that’s nice,” Jaskier says. He swallows and blinks rapidly, motioning vaguely behind him. ”But your family—”
”My family,” Geralt interrupts, ”Is the people I choose to have in it.” He cocks his head and lets a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. ”Yen and I…we’ll always have each other, one way or the other. Especially now that we have Ciri. But she isn’t the only one I want in my life.”
”She…isn’t?”
He shakes his head and keeps looking at Jaskier. A short moment later, he says, ”To make it absolutely clear, I would like to kiss you now.”
”What?” Jaskier yelps. ”I mean, yes! Yes, please, thank youmphh—”
For a moment, Jaskier’s lips are tense under his, and then he melts into the kiss, goes pliant under his hands. It feels right and Geralt dives deeper into it, bows down slightly to tuck Jaskier closer, closer—
—And lets out a growl when Jaskier pulls back.
”Well, apologies, dear witcher, but some of us have to actually breathe every once in a while!” Jaskier pants out, all affronted, but his eyes are bright and his smile reminds Geralt of the one time when he’d freed a village of a nest of…Kikimores? Zeugls? No matter, it was the evening after, when Jaskier had been playing and dancing around the room with a wide smile that got even wider when their eyes met.
That.
Geralt wants that.
And he wants to make Jaskier pant from more than just kisses. He wants to make the bard—his bard—sing.
Loudly.
”—Geralt?” Jaskier says, sounding like he repeated his name a couple of times already.
”I was thinking…”
”Uh-oh,” Jaskier huffs and then lets out a small squeak when Geralt pinches his side. ”I’m sorry, do tell what’s going on in that strange, beautiful brain of yours.”
Geralt opens his mouth and then closes it to give Jaskier a flat look, receiving an unabashed grin back. ”I was thinking if I could tempt you with a hot bath.”
”Oh, that is quite an offer,” Jaskier says, pursing his lips. ”I might need a bit more encouragement, though. Does the bath come with any added perks?”
You little shit, Geralt thinks fondly, taking in Jaskier’s innocent eyes. ”Hm,” he says and then leans forward. ”I can think several things that fit the description of ’perk’ and ’coming,’ ” he purrs into Jaskier’s ear, enjoying the sharp inhale and unmistakable spike of arousal. Without further ado, he throws his bard over his shoulder and starts marching toward the baths, smiling at the theatrical shriek and the helpless laughter that follows.
Come to think of it, he doesn’t feel that tired anymore.