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galaxyofmyown · 1 year

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crystal clear, facing the light (geraskier)

a little geraskier college au for your friday night! (they smoke weed, make some confessions, and kiss a lot :0)

Geralt is always asleep by 11:30 pm. Always. Even when he’s drowning in essays and readings and presentations, he opts to get up before the sun rather than stay up late. On the weekends, he even shuts off his phone before falling asleep so as to dodge any drunken late-night from his brothers. Geralt won’t disrupt this circadian rhythm for anyone or anything.

Inexplicably, it is 12:03 am, and Geralt is sitting cross-legged on his thin, squeaky, college-issued mattress, staring at his bedroom door.

Beyond this, his bed is still impeccably made, with his olive green comforter neatly spread out and tucked in at the edges and his white pillows arranged just so. The room is well heated by the radiator under his large window overlooking the other university apartments as well as the community garden Geralt volunteers at when he has a free Saturday, and yet Geralt is bundled up in thick sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and two pairs of socks. Hanging on a hook by his door is a black winter coat and directly underneath lay a pair of equally black boots, already unlaced and awaiting new wear. You could hear the metaphorical clock tick, Geralt’s stillness making it all the easier.

He’s off the bed and crossing over to the door before Jaskier can knock twice.

“Yeah?” He asks as he swung open the door, revealing his roommate, donning a navy blue baseball cap and wearing his cased acoustic guitar like a backpack. Jaskier’s pajama shorts were so short they were completely concealed by his oversized white Budweiser t-shirt. Geralt tries not to focus too hard on his toned thighs and thick leg hair and instead pulls his gaze up to Jaskier’s blue-gray eyes, which was perhaps more dangerous. Jaskier is smiling, and the skin around his eyes crinkled kindly.

“Come smoke?” He asks, waving an old box around that had once held his fancy peppermint tea and now clattered with the sound of Jaskier’s joints and lighter.

Geralt just looks at him for a moment, pretending to consider, before nodding with a grunt and pulling on his boots. He pulls his coat off the hook and hesitates before shoving it a little too roughly in Jaskier’s chest.

“You’ll freeze,” he mumbles before maneuvering past him and into the living area of their shared apartment.

“So chivalrous,” Jaskier says from behind him, and Geralt can hear the cheeky smile in his words.

Geralt allows Jaskier to exit the apartment first so he can lock the door behind them, and Jaskier nearly skips over to the ladder at the end of the corridor.

“Is it still unlocked?” Geralt questions as he takes his time walking over.

“Yes, thank the merciful gods.”

Geralt allows himself to admire the deft way Jaskier scales the ladder and swings open the hatch leading to the roof despite the clunky guitar strapped to his back. Despite how often he seems to trip over air and spill coffee down his shirt, Jaskier has a grace about him that Geralt, all bumbling and large, envies.

He follows behind him, feeling the late November air paint his cheeks red. Jaskier has already settled into the old beach chairs they had dragged up there last month, looking unfairly gorgeous wrapped up in Geralt’s coat.

“Won’t you join me?” Jaskier asks, breaking Geralt out of the trance he hadn’t realized he was in. He flushes from more than just the cold and sits in the chair opposite Jaskier.

“Ladies first,” He says, handing Geralt a joint. Geralt takes it and reaches for the lighter, but Jaskier pushes his hand away.

“Allow me, darling.”

Geralt grumbles but places the joint in his mouth and leans forward a bit to give Jaskier access. Jaskier smiles and lights the joint. Geralt breathes in slowly and holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment, careful not to do something embarrassing like cough. He takes another puff before passing it over. Jaskier wraps his lips around the joint like a kiss, and his jawline sharpens just so as he pulls the smoke in.

“So,” Jaskier says as he breathes out, “tell me about your day.”

Nights like this have become routine. It’s nice to be able to have these conversations with Jaskier, conversations that somehow feel more private than if they were talking in their kitchen. Geralt has never been good with words, but the weed loosens him up enough to allow him to speak freely.

“Had class.”

Well, more freely than usual.

“Your Viking course, right?” Jaskier says, and it warms Geralt's chest. He nods and takes the joint back, taking a longer hit this time. His tolerance is low, lower than Jaskier, and his head starts to feel a bit fuzzy.

“We had an exam.”

“I suspect you did well.” Another hit.

“Maybe. There were a few questions I wasn’t sure about.”

“Well, I haven’t known you to ever do poorly on an exam. Me, on the other hand–”

“You’re smart, Jas.” Another hit.

“Maybe I’m not. I’m not book-smart like you. I love my music courses, but if I fail chem again it goes on my transcript. I’m not like everyone else here.”

“I’ll help you study.” Another hit.

Jaskier gives him a funny look that Geralt can’t quite decipher when his mind is clouded like this. Jaskier shakes his head and the look is gone.

“You don’t have to. I’ll probably just frustrate you when I don’t understand it.”

Geralt makes a pained sound deep in his chest.

“You don’t-” Geralt takes a big puff of the joint, “you don’t frustrate me, Jaskier. It’s not your fault you don’t understand it yet. I see how hard you try. I, I want to help. If you want me to.”

Jaskier smiles that smile that makes Geralt's knees weak.

“Well then I may just have to take you up on that. Enough of my whining. What else did you do today?”

Geralt wants to tell Jaskier he wasn’t whining. That he can share anything with Geralt. That Geralt just wants him to be happy.

Instead, he says, “I got lunch with Yen. She got that internship she wanted. At that newspaper.”

“Good. She deserves it, much as I loathe to admit that.” Geralt stifles a smile.

“You must be high if you’re praising Yennefer.”

“I must be.”

Jaskier begins to prattle on about how annoying Valdo Marx is in his voice class. Geralt listens contentedly, watching Jaskier’s hands fly about wildly as he speaks. Geralt’s eyelids feel heavy. He thinks about how it would feel to hold Jaskier’s hand, to feel his palm pressed against his, to entwine his calloused fingers with Jaskier’s nimble ones.

“Geralt, are you even listening to me?” Jaskier asks.

“Hm? Yes.”

“What was the last thing I said?”

“Probably something about Valdo being a talentless asshole with whatever the opposite of perfect pitch is.”

Jaskier looks at him for a second, then bursts into giggles. Geralt isn’t sure what’s so funny, but he hears himself laughing as well, his shoulders shaking. They carry on for a moment, laughing at nothing. Geralt is still calming himself down when he realizes Jaskier isn’t laughing anymore. He’s looking at Geralt with an expression of wonder, eyes red and full of mirth.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” Jaskier blurts out before snapping his mouth shut.

“Sorry,” he continues, “I just never hear you laugh except for when we smoke. Which I try not to take too personally because people tell me I’m quite funny. But, yeah. You should laugh more often.”

“Hm.” Is all Geralt says, not sure how else to respond. He can’t remember anyone ever thinking something about him was beautiful.

“And he’s back,” Jaskier says, sounding disappointed. Geralt didn’t want to disappoint Jaskier, ever.

“Have you written any new songs?”

Now it was Jaskier’s turn to be surprised. He raises his eyebrows before grinning.

“Well, I never! Is Geralt expressing an interest in my music?” Jaskier asks an invisible audience, gesturing to the air.

“I take it back, I don’t want to know.”

“Far too late for that, I’m afraid. I have been working on a little something. Not for class, just for me. It’s not even close to finished, though.”

“Play it for me,” Geralt hears himself saying without remembering when he gave his brain permission to even formulate the sentence. Jaskier cocks his head to the side, passing the joint over to Geralt to finish it off. Geralt does and stomps it out with his boot.

“Really?”

Geralt swallows and nods.

“If you’d like.”

Jaskier doesn’t need to be asked twice. He reaches down to fish his guitar out of the case, taking a second to tune it.

“Um, so, this one is a little personal, I guess. And I only have the first bit written.” Jaskier seems nervous, which he never has been about playing his songs in the past.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. If you’re uncomfortable, I mean.” Geralt stammers out, ever so graceful with his words. Jaskier just sends him a soft smile.

“I want to.”

Geralt closes his eyes as Jaskier strums the first few cords, a sweet and gentle melody. His voice is soft as he begins to sing.

It’s hard not to call this place home,

when you’re the only family I’ve known.

And an evening with you is like a sycamore tree,

solid and firm like a guarantee.

Can a person be good for your health?

The luckiest card I’ve been dealt.

I’ve never thought fate to be true,

till you showed up for me, right on cue.

Overshadowed, overwrought, I’ve been angry, I’ve been caught,

You’ve been patient, you’ve been pure, all my failings you’ve endured.

And I can’t ask for more but I will,

I will stick to you until you tire from the thrill

of being the muse at the end of my quill.

Geralt quickly wipes his hand across his eyes. He doesn’t know when or why his eyes prickled with tears, but he got rid of the evidence before Jaskier could look up from his guitar. He doesn’t cry, goddammit. He could blame his red eyes on the high.

Jaskier looked up shyly, a nervous smile on his lips.

“So, um, that’s all I have right now.”

Geralt nods jerkily and sits up a bit in his chair. The song had been so full of longing and tenderness that he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to mess this up.

“It was. It was good.”

Jaskier deflates a bit and goes to put his guitar back in its case. Fuck. Geralt was messing this up.

“Jaskier,” he rasps, clearing his throat and awkwardly placing a hand on Jaskier’s knee, “that was beautiful.”

Jaskier perks back up a bit, that shy smile returning.

“Yeah?”

Geralt takes a deep breath.

“Yes. But, you have to know. You have to know. You don’t have failings, Jaskier,” he grunts out, desperately searching for the right words, “you are worthy of the family you choose, and you’re worthy of love, and I’m sorry if this– this person makes you doubt that. But I don’t think it’s the person, really. I think you doubt yourself. You don’t see the good in yourself, sometimes. But everyone else does. People stick around because they see the good. I stick around because I see the good. I think that anyone would be lucky to, to be your muse. I hope the person you’re singing about knows that.”

Geralt doesn’t know where his confidence comes from, but he knows every word he’s saying is the truth. He removes his hand from Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier shrugs a bit, sinking into his chair. He pulls out another joint and lights it, taking a draw before passing it.

“Thank you,” is all he says, looking at Geralt with that same funny look from earlier.

They just sit there for a moment, passing the joint back and forth in silence. Geralt finds himself wondering who Jaskier’s muse is. There was a moment while he was singing that he might have meant Geralt, might have considered Geralt his family. But Geralt is no muse.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks, eyelids heavy and unfocused. Geralt hums.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

Where did that come from?

“Yes.”

Where did that come from?

“Oh, okay.”

A beat, then Jaskier continues,

“I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

Geralt looks at him, distrustful and shocked. Jaskier is looking right at him, his gaze inviting no arguments.

“Why?”

Jaskier has the nerve to giggle.

“Why do I think you’re beautiful?” He asks. Geralt nods. Jaskier’s expression softens.

“Darling,” he says, “I just call it like I see it.”

Jaskier stands, quite abruptly, clumsily. It’s charming. He paces back and forth in front of the chairs and moves to stand a foot away from Geralt. He looks down on him. Geralt feels small.

“Can I show you how beautiful you are?” He asks. Geralt's throat is dry. He doesn’t know what’s happening. But he’s never been able to refuse Jaskier.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. Jaskier smiles softly before lowering himself into Geralt’s lap. The warmth is welcome, and Geralt’s hands automatically wrap around to rest on Jaskier’s lower back. Jaskiers bare thighs hug his perfectly.

Jaskier presses his forehead against Geralt. Geralt’s eyes flutter shut as Jaskier brings his hands up to caress his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over Geralt’s stubble.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier whispers.

And then he’s kissing him.

The kiss is soft, barely a graze of the lips. He’s asking a question, Geralt realizes.

Geralt answers.

As Geralt nips at Jaskier’s bottom lip and starts kissing him for real, he thinks of destiny. He never much believed in it, never really gave it a second thought.

But this? This feels like it was meant to be.

Jaskier gives a quick flick of the tongue, and Geralt grunts and opens up to him. He slips his hands around to hold Jaskier’s waist, under the jacket, stroking Jaskier’s sides softly through the fabric of the t-shirt. Jaskier whimpers into Geralt’s mouth, then pulls away– not far, just enough that Geralt feels Jaskier’s breath on his face as he laughs lightly.

“You touch me like you actually like me, Geralt.”

Jaskier leans in to kiss Geralt again, but Geralt has gone stiff, hands dropping from Jaskier’s waist as if Jaskier had actually said “I have to be honest, there is a bomb strapped to my chest.”

Jaskier cocks his head.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says. He won’t meet Jaskier’s eyes, head hung and voice weak.

“What for?”

Geralt opens his mouth, then closes it again. Opens. Closes.

“Talk to me, Geralt. Do you want me to get off?”

“No. I’m sorry for touching you. I didn’t mean to, I just–”

Jaskier interrupts Geralt, shaking his head profusely.

“What? No, Geralt, I’m sorry. I was only teasing.”

“What does that mean, then?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to pause, speechless for once.

“I just meant… that I know this doesn’t mean as much to you. As it does to me.” He says, finally, looking horribly resigned. Geralt’s heart aches.

“What does it mean? To you?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Geralt. Geralt, the song was about you. Obviously.”

Geralt freezes, thinking of the song again. Home. Family. Patient. Pure. Muse.

He was all of that to Jaskier?

“Geralt, you must have known.” Jaskier breathes, highly aware that he’s confessing his love to Geralt in his lap.

“I didn’t. I still don’t– I don’t understand. Me?”

Jaskier shakes his head fondly, taking a strand of Geralt’s hair and twirling it in his fingers.

“Of course it’s you. You mean everything to me, Geralt, are you kidding?”

Geralt surges forward to kiss him again, and Jaskier makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat. Jaskier guides Geralt’s hands back to his waist before threading his hands in Geralt’s hair and tugging gently. The noise Geralt made was obscene.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought of doing that?” Jaskier confesses between kissing, giggling as Geralt starts kissing down his throat.

“Me too,” Geralt mumbles as he nipped at a sensitive spot on Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier moans breathily. Geralt is overcome with so many emotions at that moment: affection, lust, love. He can hardly stand it. He kisses Jaskier again, firmly, a promise of more to come, and then pulls away. Jaskier looks beautiful, with red lips and cheeks and moonlight dancing across his face.

“Hey.” Geralt says, and the strain on his muscles alerts him to the fact that he’s grinning.

“Hi,” Jaskier responds, running his hands through Geralt’s hair.

“Before this goes any further, I want you to know something.” Geralt doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. There’s a part of him expecting Jaskier to admit this whole thing was a cruel trick, that he doesn’t care about Geralt at all.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I do. Jaskier, I. Hm. I just– I just want you to know that you mean everything to me, too. This isn’t just a one-time thing for me, okay? I like you. A lot.”

Jaskier smiles like the sun.

“Oh, Geralt,” He says, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I would’ve taken whatever I could get.” Geralt kisses the words out of his mouth.

“Stop. You deserve more. You deserve all of me. You have all of me.”

Jaskier’s kissing him again, teeth knocking against each other through smiles. Geralt hears all the unspoken words.

“You have all of me. I am yours. I love you.”

also on ao3:

#fanfic #geraskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic

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