For the Flash Fic Fest, could I request a Witchers-are-supersoldiers Modern/Sci-fi Secret-Mission AU?
Prompt would be: “Geralt has seen many, many things in his very, very long lifetime. He has never, as his partner Jaskier points out, seen Agent Eskel dance a waltz.”
Please have as much freedom with it as you’d like
EDIT: Available on AO3 and now with beautiful, spectacular art by @whyzowl
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Geralt has seen many, many things in his very, very long lifetime. He has never, as his partner Jaskier points out, champagne glass tipped just so, seen Agent Eskel dance a waltz.
Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. Geralt has seen Eskel dance in a dozen other ways: bouncing along to the hum of an army radio, two-stepping on the beat of a vinyl record, bopping his head to the tunes of a digital age. Even when they’re on duty, Eskel has never danced like this, at least not where Geralt could see it. Most of their relevant assignments involve dark clubs with overwhelmingly loud bass speakers, and the kind of dancing he does in those…… Geralt already knows damn well how Eskel can thrust his hips. So does most of the club, by the time he’s through. So he shouldn’t be surprised. He wouldn’t be, if only Eskel weren’t so obviously good at it.
Across the ballroom, the man dances like a high-society socialite instead of a once-redneck soldier. His long legs follow through every step, turn, and reversal. Every turn emphasizes the broad expanse of his shoulders as he spins his partner away and back again. Each flourish raises the back of his red waistcoat, exposing the thick, round curve of his ass. But even if he didn’t have all the features Geralt has spent so long admiring, Eskel’s grace nearly topples him from the little alcove he and Jaskier had escaped to, ostensibly, have sex and definitely not spy on their fellow agent. The big Wolf moves with a fluid elegance he’d never had when fully human, in complete control of every step. He supports every pace of waltz, turns his partners’ mistakes into embellishments, and manages to make even a simple box step look like ballet.
He switches partners every other minute, always with a new pair of arms draped around him. Every single one is dressed for the theme: something vaguely renaissance, with all the accompanying ostentation, but all Geralt can focus on is how they touch Eskel. A dark-skinned hand nestles against his gloved one, pale fingers rest on his muscled arms, a diamond bracelet shines against his billowy white sleeves. None of them are the target, but Geralt catalogues them anyway. There’s Marizia Izle Álvo, an heiress with three paramours and a fortune built on cryptocurrency. Julienne Moulak, a biomedical mogul whose empire of steel and blood extended back before even Geralt’s lifetime. Neseyo Zeftir, a stunning beauty who had won several global pageants with her generous curves and penchant for environmental philanthropy.
They all touch Eskel with casual, flirtatious hands. They look at him, and even the shyest ones still have a hunger that Geralt can nearly smell, practically peeling Eskel out of his tight leather pants. The band keeps playing —cellos and drums and flutes and trumpets— but Geralt can barely hear them, not when another social-climber stumbles into Eskel, tucking his fingers into that deep collar, running through the brush of coarse chest hair. Not when a handsome woman steals him away for another waltz without so much as a by-your-leave.
Geralt takes a deep breath.
And another.
And one more.
None of them seem to work, and he welcomes the press of Jaskier’s cool hand in the center of his back. It doesn’t make his already uncomfortable pants feel any less tight, but it does make him turn away from the spectacle for a moment to see Jaskier’s own expression. He looks like he wants to eat Eskel alive. Geralt must look the same. In the space of another breath, Jaskier downs the rest of his champagne, setting the glass down just a bit too deliberately.
“My darling man…” Jaskier turns to him, eyes enormous, “How would you feel about retrieving Don Juan down there and cutting this night short? Lambert already has the information we need.”
“Agent Jaskier, that would be highly unprofessional.”
“Who’s gonna notice? Come on. For our part, we kept the target distracted, and I want to go home. Not that my night hasn’t been lovely, but I think I drank too much champagne. And my feet might hurt. And I might spill wine on these beautiful silk tights.”
“Point taken.”
“No, really. All manner of ailments and accidents could occur where we all have to go home. Immediately.”
Geralt laughs under his breath and turns away to the exit, but Jaskier plasters himself to his back, whispering in his ear.
“Don’t trip.”
Don’t trip. Instinctively, Geralt wanted to bristle and protest: who was he, that socialite with his stupid ploy to fall into Eskel’s strong arms? But he could barely register his legs underneath him as they walked him back down the staircase and into the ballroom, could barely control the movements of his eyes as they searched the floor for a head of dark hair and broad shoulders. He scans the floor and comes up short. By the east wall, he sees Julienne throwing back a heaping glass of red wine. Closer to the entrance forum, he sees the handsome lady dancing just as gracefully as before, but not with Eskel. Looking back at the stairs, the countess is sneaking away with a gorgeous blonde at her heels. He climbs back onto the first step, hoping for a better view when a familiar hand taps his shoulder.
Geralt turns, and there is Eskel. Eskel with his hair slicked back to show his flushed face, his smile made coy by the gap where his fangs shine through. Eskel in expensive, tailored clothes, golden lapels framing a deep gash, showing the obscene planes of his collarbones and plush chest. Eskel in waltzing shoes. Eskel, who has his hand outstretched and his torso bowed like a gentleman. Eskel with his low, soft voice —Dance with me, Wolf.
Geralt trips.
But Eskel catches him, pulling him close for an especially slow number. And while Geralt doesn’t know a damn thing about waltzing, Eskel apparently does, and every step feels effortless with those gloved hands around his waist and wrist. Jaskier, and all the promises waiting at home, can wait. At least for one waltz.
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I really hope this meets your expectations @whyzowl it was super fun to work on, even if it took me a while. I know I didn’t focus too much on their supposed mission, but seeing your drawing Eskel’s outfit here, I couldn’t not make Geralt’s feelings about it a focal point.
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