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kueble · 11 months

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Sweet on the Vine (Like Strawberry Wine)

Here is something that is only (slightly!) late for last year’s @witchersummercamp. Oops. My original artist backed out, and I managed to convince the amazing @mysticcoyoteart to work with me. They created Jaskier’s look, which I fell in love with. Please make sure to check out the art here.

Teen. Warnings: None. 2,000 words

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Retirement has turned out to be a little too relaxing, so Geralt hardly puts up a fight when Jaskier suggests they head into Beauclair for the Strawberry Festival. Normally he’d do anything in his power to avoid a town full of drunken partygoers, but it turns out looking after a winery is a bit boring, especially since Barnabas-Basil does all the heavy lifting anyway.

Now, though? Now he wonders what the fuck he was thinking. The streets are packed with bodies, and the hot summer sun isn’t doing anyone any favors. Geralt lets Jaskier lead him through the crowd, their fingers threaded together in an easy way that still makes his heart flutter, and leans in to inhale the sweet citrus scent of his lover’s perfume. It calms something deep inside of him, and suddenly the crowd doesn’t seem so boisterous.

Jaskier - as always - is dressed to impress, not to blend in with the crowd. Geralt remembers watching him flit about the tailor’s shop months ago, already looking for an outfit that would help him stand out. He walked up to Geralt with a bolt of pink and strawberry printed fabric, his eyes bright and a pout already firmly in place, and Geralt knew they’d pay whatever the man asked for it.

Now he looks stunning, the petal pink fabric hanging off his curves in a dress that somehow manages to be both fitted and loose all at the same time. It’s hard not to get lost in the sharpness of Jaskier’s chest compared to the flowy fabric as it swishes around his heels. Though they have nowhere pressing to be, so Geralt indulges himself and lets his eyes linger on his lover as he leads him through the growing crowds.

The city is one big colorful bustle, festival goers crammed into every nook and cranny. They spend the morning darting between the vendor booths, Geralt tagging along after Jaskier like a lost puppy. It’s hard to rein in the bard, and even more so when so many crafters have their best wares on display. Jaskier flits between the stalls, his elegant fingers picking up one piece of jewelry after the other before bemoaning the fact that he can’t buy them all.

Geralt manages to distract him with a booth full of writing journals and doubles back to one of the jewelers. The woman seems to expect his return and smiles before holding out the ring Jaskier had been fawning over. Geralt manages to talk her down in price a bit, but his coin purse is still left much lighter. But as he pictures the delicate silver band and its large opal resting on one of Jaskier’s fingers, he knows the purchase was worth it.

He sidles up next to Jaskier without missing a beat, and Jaskier appears to have been lost in the journals the entire time. He holds up a couple of options - both eerily similar - so Geralt just points at the one on the right. It seems to placate him, and Jaskier grants him a warm smile before turning to pay the vendor.

Once the noonday sun rises, the sound of Jaskier’s belly growling calls them both to lunch. His cheeks are flushed pink - sheepish looks good on him - and Geralt just rolls his eyes before herding him towards the food tents. They split a couple of chicken and venison meat pies, and even Geralt has to admit that the savory crust is the best he’s had in years.

—

“Oh, you have just got to try this, love,” Jaskier mumbles around a mouthful of berries. The red juice trails down his chin, and there is a dab of clotted cream in the corner of his mouth, and Geralt can’t help leaning in to teasingly lick it away. Jaskier jumps, squealing against Geralt, but he’s grinning when they pull apart,

“Tastes delightful,” Geralt says with a smirk. Jaskier just snorts before dipping another strawberry into the cream and holding it up in front of him. Geralt leans in and closes his mouth around the treat, eyes closing on their own as the sweetness bursts across his tongue. He chews slowly, savoring the decadent taste of berry mixed with the sugary cream.

Never say Toussaint doesn’t know how to throw a festival.

“Want another?” Jaskier asks, but they don't have a lot of extra funds and Geralt would rather watch him enjoy the strawberries than eat them himself.

“Not really one for sweets,” he mumbles, and Jaskier shoots him a knowing look before popping the last berry in his mouth.

“Thank you, dear,” he says with his mouth full of fruit, and Geralt snorts before leading him towards the mead tent. Certainly they have enough coin left to slay his thirst.

—

As soon as Geralt hears the band, he knows he’s about to be dragged into a dance. Decades ago, he might have refused, probably would have stomped his foot and held his ground and missed out on seeing the joy on Jaskier’s face. Thankfully, spending years with Jaskier has taught him how to give in and let go. Retirement is good for them both, and Geralt plans to spend the rest of his days keeping a smile on his lover’s face.

“Dance with me?” Jaskier asks, almost shyly as he holds out a hand. Geralt covers it with his own and leans in close to whisper into his ear.

“They’re not as good as you,” he says, and Jaskier laughs bright and openly as they move into the crowd of dancers.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” Jaskier tells him with a wink, and then they’re moving together with the grace built by years of practice.

Geralt feels every year of his age right now, but Jaskier’s youthful energy makes them fit right in with the villagers around them. The song is bouncy and light, and they hold each other up as they spin to the beat. Jaskier feels perfect in his arms, like they were built for each other, and Geralt can’t help squeezing him tighter as they dance.

Leaning in, Jaskier presses a quick kiss to Geralt’s cheek, his lute-calloused fingers laced with Geralt’s and their warm palms touching as they spin with the rest of the crowd. Geralt nearly trips over his own feet, and Jaskier just leans back, giggling at him but still smiling brighter than the hot afternoon sun. He looks absolutely gorgeous like this, his eyes alight and his cheeks flushed with exertion.

“Where is that famed witcher grace and agility?” Jaskier asks with a smirk. “Gone soft in your retirement?”

“Wasn’t aware this was a competition,” Geralt says slowly before grinning at him and adding, “you want to see some skills? How’s this work for you?”

Without any further warning, Geralt lowers his hands to Jaskier’s waist and tosses him up in the air. Jaskier lets out a squeal, his lithe arms flailing before Geralt catches him quickly. His dress swirls around them, the printed fabric swishing as they move. He supports Jaskier by holding his slim waist and encouraging Jaskier to tuck his legs against his hip. He does so, throwing his head back and laughing as Geralt keeps dancing.

Someone near them whistles appreciatively, but Geralt keeps his focus on Jaskier. The corners of his eyes are crinkled, his whole face lit up as he looks down at Geralt. They move in slow circles as the band winds down, and Jaskier leans in to kiss him as the last few notes of the song trail off. His mouth is soft against Geralt’s, his hands even softer as he threads his fingers through Geralt’s hair. He lets his feet drop, the petal pink heels clicking on the cobblestones beneath them, and grabs a fist of Geralt’s shirt, pulling him even closer. They stand there kissing long after the next song starts, the dances moving around them without missing a beat.

—

By the time the sun sets, Geralt is more than ready to head back home. But of course Jaskier won’t leave before the fireworks go off. One well-timed pout had been enough to get Geralt to start searching for the perfect viewing spot. They end up on a stone bench in the middle of one of the public gardens. The Duchess’ palace stands tall above them, but neither of them felt the need to push past the festival crowds to fight for a seat inside. No, this little alcove they found is much better.

They had a late dinner in one of the town squares, splitting a platter of meats and cheese and more of the sweet sun-ripened strawberries it seems every dish at the festival features. His belly is pleasantly full, and the taste of sugary strawberry wine lingers on his tongue. Geralt sighs and leans into Jaskier, humming happily before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jaskier sighs softly and nuzzles their cheeks together, his tanned skin still warm even as the night cools down around them.

Suddenly Geralt remembers his earlier purchase and slides a hand inside his pocket, his fingers easily finding the cool metal of the ring. Jaskier is lost in his own head, his fingers tapping a lively beat against Geralt’s thigh, and Geralt realizes he’s most likely composing something. He waits for the tapping to stop before clearing his throat and getting the bard’s attention.

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as he turns to look at Geralt. There’s something about the softness in his eyes that makes Geralt’s chest pull tight, and he ends up fumbling over his words.

“I, er, for you,” he mutters before shoving the ring at Jaskier. He almost drops it, but Jaskier’s nimble fingers manage to hang on, and he lets out a gasp before holding the ring up in front of him.

“You went back for it!” he exclaims, eyes watering as he looks between the silver ring and Geralt’s face.

“You deserve pretty things,” Geralt mumbles, which just makes Jaskier move even closer to him.

He slides the ring onto his hand before holding it up to examine it properly. The fiery opal looks elegant on his long finger, like it’s always belonged there. Geralt tries to pretend he’s not pleased by the way Jaskier is preening over the jewelry, but he loves being able to provide little extravagances for him. He didn’t lie when he said Jaskier deserves this and so much more. Thankfully they have years ahead of them, and Geralt vows to keep spoiling him until his last day on this earth.

“The prettiest thing I ever got was you,” Jaskier tells him sweetly, and Geralt can feel his face flushing. He tries to look away, but Jaskier cups his cheek in one hand and smiles dopily at him. Geralt knows without a doubt that there’s a matching look on his own face, and he just doesn't care anymore. Let the festival goers judge however they want.

His love ought to be celebrated, ought to be seen.

“Charmer,” Geralt manages to blurt out, and Jaskier just offers a shrug and another smile.

“Says the man who keeps charming me, over and over, each and every single day. You’re a romantic, witcher mine, and there’s no use denying it,” Jaskier points out, much to Geralt’s dismay. He takes a breath, like he’s about to argue more, but then a flash of light explodes above them, the boom echoing off the stone walls of the buildings surrounding them. Jaskier gasps and turns his face towards the sky to watch the fireworks.

The Duchess puts on a stunning display, and they spend the next half hour watching the fireworks bloom in the night sky. Well, Jaskier watches the fireworks. Geralt watches Jaskier, as he is wont to do. The bright colors flash around them, highlighting Jaskier’s cheekbones and the curve of his mouth, and Geralt thinks it’s one of the most gorgeous sights he’s ever seen. His favorite views aren't fit for polite company, so he focuses on this moment instead of reminiscing. Besides, he’ll have plenty of time to take his bard apart on their bedsheets once they return home for the night. For now he is more than content to hold Jaskier in his arms while the fireworks flash and rain down around them.

#my fic #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #everyone should retire in corvo bianco #jaskier wears a dress like a pro #they both deserve pretty things

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