Work Text:
But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions
~D H Lawrence
When Jaskier awoke it was to two large, familiar arms wrapped round him tightly. Which was… new. Different. Dare one say, unusual.
“Geralt?” he yawned, still half asleep. The arms seemed to tighten reflexively. “Everything all right?”
Geralt was not a cuddler by any stretch of the imagination. He guarded his space jealously, and was not opposed to shoving Jaskier out of it, especially first thing in the morning.
Behind him, Geralt hummed, and Jaskier felt the witcher breathe in deeply against his hair.
“We’re in a time loop,” Geralt’s low voice rumbled quietly. “The last round didn’t… end well.”
Oh. A time loop. Obviously.
Jaskier wracked his brains trying to think if there had been anything unusual about yesterday. They were at an inn not far out from Caingorn. There was a contract lined up for today up in the hills for a beast of some sort, no specific details from the locals as per usual. Geralt hadn’t seemed especially worried, and Jaskier had a new song he was working on. So, all pretty much business as usual.
Also as usual, the one room they could afford had just the one bed, with Jaskier making solemn promises he probably couldn’t keep about not taking up the whole thing. None of that explained how this morning Geralt was holding on to him like Jaskier might vanish into thin air.
“Are you sure it wasn’t just a bad dream?” he asked lightly. Geralt huffed in reply.
“You ask that every morning.”
“And just how many mornings have there been?”
“A lot.”
Typical Geralt. Even in a crisis, the man was as monosyllabic as ever.
Delicately, trying not to spook his witcher, Jaskier turned to face him. Geralt looked the same as he always did. Except the eyes. They seemed, well… haunted, if Jaskier was going to be poetic about it.
Jaskier had fully expected Geralt to pull back - to retreat - once he moved, but Geralt continued to hold him, his arms a pleasant weight. They were so close, like this. Jaskier could see the different specks of amber in the eyes so many people shied away from.
“Tell me?” Jaskier wasn’t sure if he would. Talking wasn’t exactly Geralt’s favourite pastime, and neither was admitting to any weakness. Whatever was going on had clearly rattled him. He felt Geralt’s rumbled hum as he considered.
“It happens over four days. Today I will slay the beast, but our employers will try to steal Roach.” Jaskier gasped, but Geralt continued. “We will meet a dragon named Borsch, and he will ask us to help him with something. Up in the mountains.”
Jaskier’s mind stopped on ‘dragon’. Dragons weren’t real, or so he thought; but Geralt just casually mentioned that they were going to meet one, like it was an everyday event. Geralt sighed, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes. He looked so tired.
“Every time we go up that mountain… something bad happens,” Geralt was almost choking on his words. “I don’t know how to break the loop.”
Jaskier’s heart just about broke. Geralt looked absolutely miserable. What must it be like living the same four days over and over again? How long would it take to lose hope?
“That sounds like a lot,” Jaskier said eventually. His mind was whirring, wanting to do something, anything to lift his friend’s spirits. “Look, why don’t we just… not bother with any of that. Leave the beast, leave town. We could go to the coast or…”
Jaskier trailed off. Geralt was looking at him with wide eyes, like he had seen a ghost. “Geralt?”
It happened in slow motion. Jaskier could only watch as Geralt slowly – ever so slowly – leant forward, amber eyes flicking up and down, between Jaskier’s eyes and lips. With his heart in his mouth, Jaskier closed his eyes just as Geralt kissed him.
At first it was gentle, just a brush of lips. But then Jaskier slid his hands into Geralt’s hair, pulled him close, pressed them together, showing him just how much he wanted. He deepened the kiss, letting Geralt consume him.
When the kiss broke, Jaskier inhaled deeply, eyes still closed. He was clutching at Geralt’s shoulders.
“Have we done that before?” he whispered. “Wait no don’t answer that, it was my first and I’m keeping it.”
Jaskier licked his lips, chasing a last taste of Geralt.
Geralt’s hands were on his face, cupping his jaw, rough hands ever so gentle against Jaskier’s skin.
“I’m sorry I never appreciated you. I’m sorry I kept you at arm’s length.”
Jaskier would dearly love to know where all this was coming from. His whole world had just turned upside down. Yesterday, Geralt was taciturn, grouchy, but they had shared their food and coin as usual. It had been many years since their first meeting, but they were still travelling together, which surely counted for something. Jaskier knew the witcher’s habits, could read his moods fairly well. He might not use the word ‘friend’ but that is what they were, what they had been since Posada, whether Geralt liked it or not.
After all, there were words Jaskier didn’t use for their relationship, but were just as true. He had been in love with Geralt for years now, and was more or less resigned to his private but not-so-subtle pining, while he and the witcher went on adventures together. It was not a bad life by any means. Either Geralt was as dense as a brick wall, or else politely ignored it.
Whatever had happened in this time loop had led to Geralt holding him like he was precious.
Geralt sighed again, before pulling back, swinging his legs out of the bed, standing up and walking over to his pack, exactly where he had set it down the night before. Jaskier just watched him, gave him space.
“I have to go up the mountain.” Geralt looked equal parts resolute and resigned. Jaskier didn’t even hesitate.
“All right,” Jaskier nodded. “Well, I’ll be there with you.”
+
“I know who you are,” Jaskier had half an ear on Geralt’s conversation with Borsch, who was smiling at him with a merry twinkle in his eye. The rest of his awed attention was on Téa and Véa.
“Yes, I thought you might. A time loop, how interesting. You really are more than I bargained for, Geralt of Rivia.”
Dragons were real, although rare, and this one even rarer than most. One of the joys of travelling with Geralt was experiencing things no other human would ever dream of. Jaskier hadn’t actually doubted Geralt, but there was a world of difference between hearing about it, and then meeting one face-to-face.
“No, don’t tell me anything,” Borsch held up a hand, cutting Geralt off. “This is your loop, not mine. If Destiny requires us to go up the mountain, so we shall. To whatever end.”
So far everything Geralt had said, had come to pass. The beast was slain and, thanks to Borsch, Roach was safe from the two nefarious characters that had offered them the contract.
Geralt seemed to be separated from all of it, closed in on himself. Even though he knew what the men would try while he was in the cave, he never said a word to them. When he emerged, he showed no surprise at the dead man at Jaskier’s feet, neck broken. Jaskier hadn’t known just how that situation would be resolved, and to see a man’s neck snapped so viscerally had been shocking. Geralt remained impassive.
Clearly Geralt hadn’t told him everything, though.
They sat in a pub by the fire, ale and conversation flowing easily amongst them. So, of course that was the perfect moment for Yennefer of Vengerberg to walk in.
“Ugh,” he grumbled in disgust. “When you said we were going to meet a dragon - ow!” Jaskier rubbed dramatically at his arm where Geralt had swatted at him, while Borsch wheezed into his own beer.
Her violet gaze travelled over to their table, frowning at them. It was possible she had heard what he had said, but then he wasn’t yet a slug so perhaps not.
He couldn’t understand what she was doing here. Nothing good ever happened when she was involved, and he hated the ugly thing that ate at him just at the sight of her, because why would Geralt not mention her? It could only have been a deliberate omission.
Jaskier risked a glance at Geralt who had just taken a large swig of ale, and it seemed to him that the witcher was purposefully avoiding his eye. He wasn’t looking at Yennefer either, but doubtless he knew she was there. This wasn’t his first time in this pub, with these people.
It was there, in that pub, that Jaskier first felt the prickle of trepidation. Geralt had told him they were in a time loop, and objectively he understood the ramifications of that. But they only had three days left to try to break the loop, and it felt as though they had barely begun.
+
It was certainly a mixed party that gathered in preparation to ascend the mountain at sunrise the next day. How strange, Jaskier considered, that they were all there to hunt a dragon that was already dead, in the company of another dragon that only he and Geralt knew about.
The dwarves seemed nice enough, a little rough perhaps, and surprisingly angry with everything and everyone. The reavers set the hairs up on the back of his neck. He disliked walking with them at his back, and was unsurprised when Geralt immediately changed position towards the rear of the column.
Then there was the witch and her ridiculous knight. Jaskier knew a thing about pretention and posturing, but this guy was in a whole league of his own. All the kneeling and praying and exhortations; he wondered how the witch could stand it. Obviously, there was something she wanted from him, for there was no way she was genuinely enamoured of all the fawning and bullshit.
Meanwhile Geralt was just being odd. He stuck to Jaskier’s side like glue, it was almost oppressive. At various points he would hold Jaskier back, take his shoulder or his arm to guide him, and Jaskier wondered what he might have done previously to deserve such attentions. Was Geralt by his side because he wanted to or because he didn’t trust Jaskier to walk up unaided by himself? Perhaps there was another reason.
+
It wasn’t exactly warm on the mountainside, and Jaskier huddled under his thin blanket, dreaming of the heat of the south, whilst ignoring the shouting coming from Yennefer’s tent.
Geralt may have appointed himself as Jaskier’s keeper during the walk, but now that camp had been struck, the witcher had barely spoken two words to him. As dusk fell, they had sat with the dwarves, before being joined by the knight and the witch. Talk had turned to politics, and the advance of Nilfgaard in the south. The dwarves were adamant they would soon make a play for the north, though in Jaskier’s opinion they would be fools to try; Calanthe was more than experienced at seeing off those who entertained such delusions.
And through it all, Geralt had watched Yennefer keenly.
But it was always the same when it came to the witch. Ever since Rinde she had popped out of the ground like an unwelcome weed. Or else Geralt would disappear suddenly, and he knew it was to her, because it was always to her. She needed something, she wanted help with something. A raven would tap on the window, and Geralt would be gone. Then, after a week or maybe a month, their paths would cross again, and Geralt would be quieter, more surly than usual. And they never spoke of the reason why.
The witcher hadn’t kissed him since that first morning at the inn. Jaskier mused that, having recovered from the shock of the previous loop, Geralt had to have changed his mind.
Sometimes the whole thing felt like a dream. Everything around them was so far removed from their usual journeys across the Continent; the landscape, the people, the situation. This was no ordinary monster hunt, even without the added complication of a time loop.
Maybe Jaskier was a passing ghost, another of a potentially infinite line of bards, all waiting their turn for the fourth day to come. Then he would disappear, and Geralt would go back to the start of it all to try again.
Right now, Yennefer was doing all the shouting, though he couldn’t quite make out the words. She sounded furious, though. There was no sound from Geralt, not even a pause in the witch’s tirade where an inaudible - and no doubt rumbled - reply might be.
Groaning, he rolled over, pulling the thin blanket over his head.
Sometime later, the shouting grew quiet, until there was only the chirrup of crickets in the night air. There was a swish of fabric, and then footsteps, deliberately loud because Geralt was more than capable of moving silently if he wished.
Jaskier concentrated on pretending to be asleep, eyes closed under the blanket, keeping his breaths deep and even. The footsteps crunched closer, pausing briefly, and Jaskier could imagine Geralt standing beside him, looking down, knowing full well he was awake.
Then Geralt dropped down beside him, shuffling a little as he laid out his own bedroll. For a wild moment, Jaskier wondered if Geralt might put his arms round him again, pull him close. Part of him wanted to turn round, reach out, maybe offer some comfort, but to what end? It probably wouldn’t have been welcomed, anyway.
They lay like that for a moment, next to each other but painfully apart.
“Good night, Jaskier.”
“Good night, Geralt.”
+
By dawn the next day, the reavers were long gone and Yennefer was angrily silent, like a dark cloud waiting to release its first thunderbolt. Her poor temper only spiralled when the knight was found dead.
“It doesn’t matter what I do,” Geralt murmured, for Jaskier’s ears only. “He always ends up dead anyway. Must be his fate to die on this mountain.”
Jaskier turned away from the sorry sight. He hadn’t liked the pretentious buffoon, but no one deserved such an undignified end. He wondered just how many times Geralt had seen him die, or why he hadn’t warned Yennefer. Maybe he had, and that was what the argument had been about.
There wasn’t much time to speculate, the march was on. Just because Geralt already knew the ending, didn’t mean they could rest on their laurels. They would still need to reach the summit before the reavers, and apparently that meant a short cut as suggested by the dwarves.
Geralt’s expression remained shuttered, and that only made Jaskier feel even more nervous. There was a stoic resignation to his agreement to the plan; a brief pause as though he might say something, argue for a different path. But then a nod, an acquiescence, and off they all went. Jaskier had a very bad feeling about all of this.
“Geralt?”
“It’s fine, Jaskier,” Geralt shut down the conversation before it even began. Jaskier half thought he might stride ahead, maybe try to talk to Yennefer again. But he stayed by his side, watching Jaskier’s steps the same as yesterday.
They meandered through a narrow pathway in the rock, mined by the dwarves. It was an impressive piece of work, Jaskier could barely see the daylight above, and the wind whipped through mercilessly, stinging against his cheeks. Abruptly, the path ended, and they stood on the side of the mountain with nothing but clouds beneath them. Jaskier’s stomach swooped with vertigo, and then he spotted the wooden boards set into the side of the cliff face.
“This is madness,” Jaskier lurched back away from the edge, straight into Geralt behind him.
“It’s fine!” Yarpen insisted, “you want to beat the reavers, don’t you?”
And without any further discussion, the dwarves set off along the wooden boards.
Jaskier swallowed.
“Geralt,” he whispered. There was a firm hand at his back, comforting.
“You’ll be fine. You should go first.”
First. He just knew Geralt was going to say that. But he trusted Geralt, knew that there must be a reason for him to want Jaskier to go first. He must have already done this before, perhaps more than once. And it must have been fine if he had gone first, following Yarpen and his crew.
So, he took some steadying breaths, pushed down his nausea, stared straight ahead and stepped out.
It was easily the most terrifying thing he had ever done in his life. He clung to the rock on his right, feeling as though the open sky on his other side was trying to suck him down into oblivion. The lute on his back upset his natural centre of gravity, and at one point he slipped, hands clenching painfully round the old metal chain set into the rock as a sort of handrail. He was sure his heart was beating loud enough to be heard back in Caingorn.
Geralt told him it would be fine, so he forced his legs to move, inching forward slowly, step by step, the wind roaring in his ears.
The wood creaked ominously, and he could smell Yennefer’s perfume behind him. Another creak signalled Geralt was following her.
Ahead, Jaskier could see the dwarves had reached the end of the path and were waiting for them, peering out from the gap in the rocks. He was almost there. Then, with a haunting crunch, the path behind him gave way.
Jaskier spun round, fear for himself completely forgotten as the chain in his hand jerked violently, wrenching his arms. He half expected there to be nothing behind him but painful absence. Instead he saw Geralt on his knees, clinging onto the chain and staring down into the abyss. He could barely see Borsch, Téa and Véa, but he knew from Geralt’s pained expression that they must be there, hanging from the chain held so tightly in Geralt’s hand.
“You know who I am,” Borch’s voice came to him on the wind, he sounded perfectly calm. “You already know what happens.”
“It’s still so hard to let go,” Geralt gritted out.
Jaskier held his breath, unable to look away.
Geralt let go.
+
There was no easy chat round the campfire that night. The shock of what had happened had affected them all. The dwarves kept to themselves, and Yennefer disappeared into her tent as soon as it was pitched, without so much as a backward glance.
There was a flat of rock jutting out over to one side, perfect for sitting on, and so Jaskier and Geralt perched there, staring out at the horizon.
Jaskier was exhausted. He didn’t understand what had happened, or what had passed between Borsch and Geralt. Borsch may have been a dragon, but his warrior companions were not. All he could think about was what Borsch had said on that first day; to whatever end.
As they sat together in silence, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Geralt was feeling. Clearly he had done that scene on the cliff face before. It was harrowing enough to witness it once, it must be torture to do it over and over again.
The sun sank deeper, turning the sky a burning orange. Once it set, there would only be one more day of the loop.
Jaskier had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to start, and Geralt seemed locked in his own thoughts, so he kept his peace. He was startled when it was Geralt who spoke first.
“Why did you ask me to go with you to the coast?”
Jaskier thought back to that first morning, and it felt such a long time ago, like another lifetime. Geralt had looked so tired and strained. Jaskier had just wanted to help.
“The coast is home to me. When I was young, I used to go sit by the sea when I was upset, or angry. I would watch the waves and imagine sailing to the end of the world. Sorry, that must seem stupid…”
“No,” Geralt interrupted, still not looking at him. “Not stupid at all.”
Silence again.
“Why did you kiss me, that morning?” Jaskier asked, feeling brave.
“Because it pleased me.” Geralt turned, then, looking Jaskier in the eye, and Jaskier felt like he should know what it meant for Geralt to say that to him, that the choice of words was particular. Geralt was looking at him as though he was reading Jaskier’s heart like an open book, while Geralt’s face was in a language he couldn’t parse.
“Tomorrow,” Geralt said at last. “Tomorrow, after the dragon, whatever happens. Ask me again.”
+
On the fourth day, Jaskier woke alone. The sun was already high in the sky, and everyone else was gone.
Feeling shaken, he took only his lute, leaving everything else behind at the camp site, seeing as nobody else had bothered to pack up any of their own things.
In the pit of his stomach, he wondered what would have driven Geralt to have left him behind, and had a sneaking suspicion it was to do with the witch. Geralt had told him the dragon was already dead, and he hadn’t thought to question why they were still going up the mountain if that was the case, especially since Borsch had fallen with his companions. There had been talk of treasure, but if the last twenty years had taught Jaskier anything, Geralt was only interested in hard-earned coin, not jewels and bullion.
Up ahead he found the dwarves, seemingly frozen in the act of running, growling and cursing through the spell that held them in place. He looked at them helplessly, without the first idea of how to help them. Definitely Yennefer then.
Talk of the devil, sure to appear; the witch in question suddenly stormed into view, marching past him as though he wasn’t even there. Without a word, she opened a portal, disappearing through it like a hurricane. With that, she was gone.
Behind him, the dwarves collapsed to the ground, the spell holding them back suddenly released. They picked themselves up, running past him, shouting a battle cry, and he just watched them go, disappearing from view round the corner. He felt empty, as though he was floating in the sky, merely observing events rather than a participant. Where was Geralt?
Slowly, he started walking again, following the path the dwarves had taken. He took his time, his lute feeling heavy on his back, not in any particular hurry to find out how the morning had gone. But as he rounded the corner, Téa and Véa loomed in front of him, swords drawn.
He gave a cry, even though he had known, hadn’t he, that Borsch was a dragon. Obviously, they hadn’t all plummeted to their deaths. It was still a shock though, and no one liked to be at the pointy end of a sword.
He held his hands up, showing he was unarmed, and the image of the man with the snapped neck flashed before his eyes.
“There, now,” Borch suddenly appeared, looking the same as the last time Jaskier had seen him. “The bard is harmless.”
At his words, they stood easy, but their gazes never left him, and their swords remained unsheathed. Behind them, dead reavers littered the outcrop.
The dwarves were standing around looking cagey, eyeing him with suspicion which he felt was a touch unwarranted given the circumstances. They muttered amongst themselves before retreating back towards the camp, nodding at Borsch, but not sparing him a second glance.
Feeling somewhat lost and overwhelmed, Jaskier looked to Borsch for some sort of clarification. Borsch beckoned him forwards towards the mouth of the cave.
It was as Geralt had said – a dead dragon; but more than that, she was curled round an egg.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He felt incredibly sad, deep in his bones. He had known that Geralt wasn’t in the market for riches and treasure. His ridiculous witcher was doing what he always did; he was trying to help save lives.
“There is no loop that exists,” Borsch said sadly, “that would have ended any other way.” Jaskier felt the loss in his voice. “But her legacy is safe. Thanks to your witcher friend.”
At his words, Jaskier looked up, spotting Geralt standing away from the cave, looking out over the valley. Borsch patted his shoulder.
“Go to him.”
+
“I don’t think I did it right.”
Geralt didn’t turn around at Jaskier’s approach. He was dusty from battle, and streaked with blood, but his sword was sheathed at his back.
Jaskier began to feel nauseaous, as though he was back on yesterday’s cliff side short cut, with only sky and clouds beneath his feet. He felt as if he had stood on this very spot before, and that all his paths, every decision, every thought had led to this place, this moment, and this time; staring at the witcher, who had held him so tightly, kissed him so tenderly only four days before.
What a terrible curse this time loop was.
Well, this was the only time he would experience this. There would be no going back for Jaskier. If, tomorrow, Geralt woke back in Caingorn four days ago, it would be to a different Jaskier, one that hadn’t yet gone up the mountain and all that entailed. This version of him here and now got just the one shot at this, and he was going to do his best with the only chance he had.
“Geralt,” he said, amazed how strong his voice sounded. “Come to the coast with me. Please.”
Geralt turned to look at him. He looked so tired, his silver hair whipping in the wind.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’ll come.”
+
Geralt chose a different path for their descent, and Jaskier was content to follow. There was no rush now; the quest for the dragon had been completed, Borsh had been united with his unborn kin, and the dwarves had been sent on their way with what Jaskier assumed was something more than satisfactory given the visible lack of treasure horde.
The mountain was oppressively quiet, with not even bird song to break up the crunch of footsteps and the whistle of the wind. Jaskier tripped a few times, Geralt catching him or holding him steady before he could suffer too much damage. Each touch felt like a bolt of electricity.
Jaskier tried not to think about the passing of time, the sun arcing across the sky, creeping ever on towards sunset.
After a while, the path flattened out, and there was the occasional tree to break up the monotony of the grey rocks surrounding them. It was then that a particularly grim train of thought took root; did it really make that much of a difference if he died up here, or if he just ran out of time? Either way Geralt seemed pretty convinced he had failed to break the loop, and that meant Jaskier would not see another dawn. Not this version of himself anyway.
Geralt turned off the path, breaking through some bushes and down a steep incline, and Jaskier carefully followed.
“There’s a cave nearby,” Geralt offered in explanation. “Will provide us some shelter.”
It made sense, in an odd sort of way. Dusk was still some hours off, but clouds were starting to gather overhead. Even if they were running out of time, he didn’t especially want to spend his final evening soaked to the bone.
“I’ve only been down this way twice before,” Geralt added conversationally, before humming triumphantly as the mouth of the cave came into view. “Both times alone.”
Jaskier could think of a couple of reasons why that would be the case, and none of them were good so he stayed quiet.
The cave was small but dry and out of the wind. Resting his pack against the wall, he could lean against it quite comfortably. Meanwhile Geralt set some snares out on the mountainside in an effort to catch some dinner.
“Keep the rations for as long as we can,” Geralt muttered, though if Jaskier had to guess it was less about saving food for a tomorrow that might never come, and more eating well now while “now” was still a thing.
The first raindrops fell as Geralt started to skin the second rabbit. By the time the fire was lit and supper was roasting, water was cascading down the mountainside like a river. As Geralt set out their waterskins to catch some of the rainwater, Jaskier thought of Yarpen and his compatriots, hoping they had also found some suitable shelter on their path.
The rabbit was good, it was just a shame there was no beer to accompany it. He leant back against his pack, feeling full, watching the rain come down in sheets.
“Tell me about the other times,” he broke the easy silence, turning to look at Geralt who was also staring out at the weather. He didn’t say “you can tell me, I won’t remember tomorrow,” but it hung in the air nonetheless. Geralt sighed.
“The first time I came to this cave was the very first time.” He looked at his fingers, laced together on his lap as though they held the answers. Jaskier waited. “I lost everything that day. Yen left, and then I…” he stopped, eyes closing in memory. Then he took a deep breath and looked Jaskier in the eye. “I said some unforgivable things to you.”
“I don’t remember,” Jaskier said automatically, because to him it had never happened, but Geralt only grimaced.
“I do,” his tone was firm. “They were said, and can’t be unsaid, as much as I would take them back in a heartbeat.”
“So, you came down the mountain alone.” Jaskier prompted gently, after the silence in the cave grew oppressive.
“I built a fire in this very cave. I tried to meditate; I didn’t intend to sleep. When I woke, I was in the inn with you, waiting to go after that beast again.”
“And the second time?”
Geralt looked at his hands. “You fell.” Nothing else needed to be said.
“I didn’t tell you about the loop for a long time. I didn’t want to burden you. When I finally told you, you believed me straight away. Every time. You wanted to help me.”
Jaskier thought his heart might burst because of course he wanted to help. He still did, even if their case seemed hopeless. There just wasn’t enough time.
“So I thought I’d tell Yennefer as well. She wasn’t quite so open as you,” his mouth turned down in a frown, and Jaskier could well imagine what that conversation had gone like.
“Is that what you were fighting about?”
“A little.” Geralt frowned, hands clasped tightly as though to keep them still. “I was trying to apologise. I wronged her with the djinn wish, but she didn’t want to hear it. She never does.”
“Geralt, it’s not your responsibility to solve the continent’s problems in four days,” Jaskier sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “You can only do your best with what you’ve got, and it sounds like you tried to set things right, but it’s up to her if she wants to accept it or not.”
Jaskier considered for a moment. “I’ve watched you and Yennefer hurt each other time and again over the years. Maybe you should just… stop.”
Geralt seemed to consider this, lower lip protruding slightly, so Jaskier took it as a win.
“When I fell,” he took a deep breath, because he had to ask, he had to know, no matter how fresh the wound. “Was that the time before…”
“No,” Geralt shook his head. “That was bad enough, but it was an accident. The time before…” he trailed off, looking more and more unhappy.
“One morning you said we should just go away together, to hell with the mountain. We rode out of town. That night we were ambushed. A bandit slit your throat before I could stop him. I failed you.”
“No,” Jaskier knelt up, shuffling closer to his witcher because he would not let that stand.
“You didn’t. I’m right here. You said it yourself, your path was to go up the mountain.”
“But at your cost!”
“I’m right here!” Jaskier shot back, taking Geralt’s face in his hands, letting him feel the warmth and life of him. “I told you, I am with you on this mountain. And I love you.” He gulped, but if he only had a few hours left then why not throw his whole hat into the ring. “I love you, and whoever I wake up as tomorrow morning, he loves you too, Geralt.”
Geralt’s eyes were wide, as though Jaskier’s declaration had come as something of a shock.
“You love me?”
“For many years, Geralt,” Jaskier swept a lock of grey hair back, soft between his fingers.
The kiss, when it came, was nothing like their first. Geralt moved with purpose, kissing with hunger and need, and Jaskier just melted into it, both ecstatic and strangely relieved. He hadn’t been sure he would ever get this again.
“I didn’t know,” Geralt murmured against his lips, kissing across his jaw and down his throat
“You – ah – you’re the only one on the damn Continent, I swear,” Jaskier gasped as Geralt nipped at the tender skin of his collarbone. After that it was pure sensation and want.
Geralt paused briefly to inhale deeply against Jaskier’s skin, as though trying to memorise his scent, which made Jaskier smile as he contented himself with kisses to Geralt’s forehead. His witcher moved slowly, holding Jaskier gently as they both laid back against the uncomfortable cave floor, using Jaskier’s pack as a pillow.
For a time, it was enough to learn through shared kisses, each mapping the sounds the other made. There was a buckle digging into Jaskier’s side, and a stone pressing into his thigh, but he genuinely didn’t care.
When they broke apart Jaskier was panting. In the dim light of the cave, Geralt looked wrecked, lips kiss-red, and Jaskier felt a flicker of pleasure knowing that he was responsible for that. Resting back on his elbows, he tried for a seductive raised eyebrow. “Gonna come make a mess of me, Geralt?”
Geralt seemed to consider a moment, before taking him up on his invitation. Pressed up close beside him, Geralt bent forward to kiss him again, with hands skimming over Jaskier’s doublet. It took only a moment to deal with the ties, but there was something tender in the way Geralt stripped him.
Having Geralt above him felt so good. With some shuffling, Geralt’s armour joined the discarded doublet, and then shirts were being removed. Two gloriously large hands held Jaskier’s hips firmly in place as Geralt kissed his way down Jaskier’s chest, humming in pleasure at every gasp and plea. Tentatively, the witcher flicked his tongue over Jaskier’s belly button, and that really should not have been hot, but Jaskier felt as though his skin was on fire with every touch. It seemed as though Geralt was worshipping him.
The laces of Jaskier’s breeches were but the work of a moment, by which point Jaskier was begging unashamedly for anything Geralt might give him.
There was still enough light to see Geralt as he pressed kisses to Jaskier’s thighs and belly, before taking Jaskier in hand. Then, with a smirk, the bastard took him in his mouth right to the root.
Jaskier cursed him up and down as Geralt sucked his brains out through his cock. Damn, but where on the Continent had he learned to do that?
“You – fuck! You’ve been holding out on me,” Jaskier gasped, swearing even more when Geralt merely hummed around his cock in response.
It felt so good; Geralt seemed to be pulling out every trick in the book. Jaskier tried to remember how to breathe, lost in the sheer pleasure of the act. He lost track, given over the heat of Geralt’s mouth. It was only when he began to feel the familiar tightening in his abdomen that he fought to regain the power of his words.
“Geralt,” he begged, shoving at the witcher’s shoulders. “Hang on…”
Geralt obligingly pulled off, panting slightly. His large amber eyes looking up at him questioningly. Jaskier cupped his cheek, feeling a sudden rush of emotion.
“I don’t want to come yet, not from that,” he whispered, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.
Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking Jaskier’s hand in his own and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the palm and then sucking on his fingers one at a time, not breaking eye contact because he was a horse’s arse.
“Ungh,” Jaskier tried to remember his train of thought, but mostly he was captivated by Geralt’s mouth, so damn pretty.
“We could,” Jakier started, desperately trying to pull a thought or two together. “I want you.”
Geralt paused his ministrations with Jaskier’s hand, eyebrow raised in a silent question.
“I want…” Jaskier tried to explain, but Geralt was frowning at him now, a sort of puzzled doubt creeping across his features. And that was fair; they were in a cave up a mountain and hadn’t seen the inside of a bathtub in nearly a week. “Ah, damn,” he huffed, and then “hang on,” as the lightning bolt of inspiration hit him. He wriggled onto his front, reaching for the bag behind his head. He found the little pot of balm with relative ease, holding it out to Geralt impatiently, who merely eyeballed him somewhat unimpressed.
“Here, like this,” Jaskier unscrewed the top to show him, swiping his fingers through the soft balm easily. He reached between his legs, rubbing the balm on the inside of his right thigh. He saw the moment Geralt caught on, taking up a generous amount of balm on his own fingers and addressing Jaskier’s other thigh.
With some more shuffling and cursing, Geralt shed the last of his clothes, and they positioned themselves on their knees, Geralt pulling Jaskier where he wanted him, which was strangely arousing. They used Geralt’s breeches for cushioning against the worst of the stone floor, but in truth they could have been kneeling in hot coals and Jaskier might not have noticed. His attention was entirely fixed on the witcher at his back, breath hot on his neck. With Geralt holding him up, Jaskier pressed his thighs together, gasping at the sensation of Geralt’s prick bumping up against them.
As he pushed his way between Jaskier’s legs, Geralt groaned, a beautiful sound rumbling from deep down inside him, and Jaskier could feel it. Jaskier could only lie back against Geralt’s shoulder, exposing his throat and hoping Geralt would take the hint. The gods be thanked, Geralt did not disappoint.
He began to thrust in the tight space Jaskier had created for him, the slick helping ease the way. The sensation was incredible, Jaskier could barely breathe. The air was hot and heady, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the cave, and Geralt grunting behind him with exertion.
Occasionally, Geralt brushed over Jaskier’s hole, ever so tantalising, the promise of what they couldn’t possibly have, not right now. But damn, did Jaskier want it.
“We must…” he gasped, reaching behind to grip Geralt’s hair, but he never finished the sentence. We must do this in a bed, we must get better oil for next time so you can take me, we must do this again and again until I can only say your name.
“Yeah,” Geralt grunted as though he could read Jaskier’s mind.
Then there was the sharp sting of teeth biting down on his neck, painful and delicious, and Jaskier could only cry out and take it. Geralt reached round to take Jaskier in hand, rough hands working him gently but steadily towards the inevitable.
When he came, splashing over Geralt’s fingers, he couldn’t even collapse, Geralt holding him firmly in place one handed, continuing to fuck between his thighs. Jaskier felt absolutely filthy and used, and he was loving every second of it.
With a few more thrusts, Geralt came between Jaskier’s thighs, biting down hard to muffle a shout as he did so. They stayed in position for a few moments more, panting hard and hearts thumping loud in the sudden quiet of the cave. Rough lips brushed gently against the bite mark at his throat, and then Jaskier was being lowered gently to the ground, as though something precious and fragile.
Jaskier half expected Geralt to disappear, perhaps to find something to clean them up with, but instead the warmth at his back remained, the comfort of Geralt’s arms around him, and gentle kisses pressed to his neck and shoulders.
“Are you…?” Geralt murmured in his ear, and Jaskier could only huff, sure that he must have the most ridiculous blissed-out expression on his face.
“That was wonderful,” he replied. “And you?”
His answer was a press of lips to his own, almost shy given what they had just done.
They stayed like that, cuddled together in the afterglow, trading lazy kisses, until Jaskier shivered. He whined petulantly as Geralt’s warmth vanished, replaced only with fond chuckle.
Geralt used some of the water collected in the skins, splashing it liberally onto something that looked suspiciously like Jaskier’s shirt, before using it to clean them up. Jaskier could have put up a token protest, but it seemed churlish given the circumstances, and he was sure there was one final clean shirt in his pack somewhere.
Oh. Not that he would necessarily need a clean shirt for tomorrow.
Before he could ruin his mood any further with that train of thought, Geralt was picking him up. Jaskier didn’t have any time to protest when he was being lowered back down onto the softness of a bedroll that Geralt had kindly unfurled for their use. Much more welcome than the cave floor.
Outside, the rain had turned to drizzle, and the air was a bizarre mix of orange and grey as the dying sun tried to share the last of its rays through the clouds. Soon it would be down completely. With a flourish, Geralt covered Jaskier in his cloak like a blanket, before lying down behind him, pressing close.
Geralt was holding him again, fingers drumming a pattern against Jaskier’s hips. Beside them the fire was almost out, but he wasn’t inclined to let Geralt move to rebuild it back up.
“I almost don’t want to close my eyes, in case I disappear,” he croaked, the words almost stuck in his throat. It felt like he had gotten everything he had ever wanted, and was about to lose it all. Geralt kissed his temple soothingly.
“Tell me about the coast.” Geralt whispered into his hair. Jaskier sighed, conjuring in his mind’s eye.
“Tomorrow morning, we will wake up, and walk down to where Roach is waiting for us like the excellent and patient horse that she is.” Geralt snorted but said nothing. “We’ll head west. It will take a while because you’ll want to pick up contracts on the way but that’s all right. That means when we reach the coast we’ll have enough money for you to have a proper break.”
He folded his own arms over Geralt’s and tried to snuggle even closer against him, trying to pretend he wasn’t holding on to him for dear life.
“We’ll walk along the beach in our bare feet, enjoying the sand between our toes, and wash the road dust off us in the shallows. The fishermen drag their boats up before dusk with their daily catch, and if you help them, they might share some oysters or scallops with us in thanks. When its fresh off the boat like that, even I can taste the difference so you should definitely enjoy it.”
He felt more than heard Geralt’s amused hum at that. But it was true, even the air tasted better out there, which must be noticeable to a witcher’s senses. And even more than that, they would be away from the noise and stench of towns and cities. Nothing but peace, quiet, and the waves.
“When the sun goes down,” Jaskier swallowed, emotion almost getting the better of him. “It’s like the sea is on fire. It’s so beautiful. And at night it will be warm enough for us to sleep under the stars, and the waves will sing us to sleep.”
He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t, if only for Geralt’s sake. One day Geralt would have that, when he managed to break the loop. And he supposed in a way he would be there with him, even if that version of him wouldn’t remember this conversation.
“I want that,” Geralt murmured. “I want all of that with you.”
Jaskier’s heart hurt. He swore that was the first time he had heard the witcher profess to wanting something for himself. Fuck it, if he cried Geralt wasn’t going to hold that against him. He felt the first cold tears trickling down his cheeks.
“Jaskier,” Geralt was so calm, so gentle. Jaskier endeavoured to pull himself together.
“Yes?” he sniffed.
“After we do all that, do you think we could go to Cintra?”
In spite of himself, Jaskier couldn’t help but smile in the darkness. He raised one of Geralt’s hands and pressed a tender kiss to it. Geralt had been fighting against Destiny for over a decade with regards to his Child Surprise. Jaskier wasn’t sure what caused this sudden change of heart, but he embraced it.
“I think we can do that.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Jaskier fell asleep, warm and safe in the arms of his witcher.
+
When Jaskier awoke it was to two large, familiar arms wrapped round him tightly. Which was… nice. Grey light filtered into the mouth of the cave, and Jaskier could see dawn approaching. A brand new day.
Geralt was still sleeping, which was rare for him. Jaskier pressed a kiss to his temple and let him sleep on. His witcher had deserved it; it had been a very long four days, after all.