cointosser: (Default)
Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz ([personal profile] cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
gynvael: (047)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-09 05:21 am (UTC)(link)
[ Jaskier, he considers, has some time yet left in his performance. There's a pattern to what the bard chooses to sing; Geralt has learned when he's nearing the end of a set or if he's arrived at the start, and he estimates right now Jaskier is somewhere just over halfway done. It's surprising, then, that as he's contemplating if he wants to drop a few extra coppers for a bite to eat, he finds that Jaskier is already moving off stage.

Geralt looks up. A furrow knits his brows together. Jaskier has not ended his performance early to come speak to him. Jaskier does not ever interrupt his performances unless Lady Death herself is knocking. Possibly not even then.

His gaze roams over Jaskier. The bard speaks, and Geralt gives no reply while he puzzles out what he's missing. Jaskier may be good at distracting others with chatter, but Geralt's mastered the art of ignoring chatter when he's onto something. Whether he's aware of it or not, there's an instinctive compulsion within him that, when it rears its head, means Geralt will not let a matter go until he's found the answer. Which he does. It clicks, a minute or so later, as Jaskier rubs his arm.

It shouldn't catch him off guard. He knows better than anyone wounds do not always heal in full. That scars are not only marks which sit upon the surface. But he'd been hoping that it was different with Jaskier. That the potion had healed him quickly, effectively. For a few weeks, that'd seemed to be true. Jaskier hadn't shown signs of recovery. At least not where his arm was concerned. Just the typical irritation that a scar leaves behind. So this—it must be a new development. Also not unusual. It happens. It's just...he doesn't want to say he feels guilty. He's aware no one's to blame for what happened. An accident, in the truest sense of the word.

No, it isn't a sense of fault. One of responsibility, perhaps. Because Jaskier is here, alongside him, mired in this horseshit they've been dragged into. From the start, he's meant to keep Jaskier safe. Jaskier and Ciri both. And in that, it feels as though he's beginning to slip. Or already has, more than he should've allowed.

When he finally reacts, it's to take his ale back. He doesn't ask after Jaskier's arm. He knows the reason now, why Jaskier has stopped playing early, why he looks faintly strained, and that's all that matters. Raising it is pointless. Jaskier will not want to talk about it because if Jaskier did, he'd not be trying to hide it in the first place.

Instead, Geralt says, ]
Have you got places to be tonight?
gynvael: (mg: 001)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-09 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ Geralt waits, with his typical immovable patience, for Jaskier to finish speaking before he answers with precisely zero amount of detail. ] Come with me.

[ He gets up, leaving Jaskier to finish the ale if he wants or to simply follow. Either way, he pauses at the door to make sure Jaskier is keeping up before he steps back out into the night.

He'd not specifically planned to take Jaskier anywhere. He'd come to gauge the mood and maybe, if he has to admit, for company. He likes his solitude. He does. He will hold to that to his last breath. But the truth is, he occasionally wants...more. The strangeness of this world leaves him feeling out of sorts in a way he normally doesn't. On the Continent, he has familiar towns, familiar villages. Even familiar faces. He's lived a long time. It's impossible not to know a handful of folk, no matter how reluctant he is to make those connections. Out here, he hasn't got anyone. Not really. (He never made it home, for the winter. Sometimes he wonders if he ever will again.)

Since Jaskier is obviously having trouble with his newly healed injury, though, Geralt knows where to go. If the bard has at all grown familiar with the city, he might catch on. There's only one bathhouse in this area, within easy walking distance. He says little while they walk, answering with vague assent now and again. Only when they reach the doors of the bathhouse does he tip his head, indicating for Jaskier to go inside first.

It'll help. With the wound, that is, though he doesn't explain that that's the reason they're here. Either Jaskier will realize or he won't. Geralt has no desire to elaborate. It's not meant to be a gesture of any kind. He just thinks Jaskier needs a good soak. Fuck, he could use one, too. ]
Edited 2021-11-09 07:00 (UTC)
gynvael: (012)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-09 08:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ The remark garners a faint huff. Jaskier has come with him to dozens of dark corners, even when Geralt has made it clear he's liable to be eaten. If there's unwanted attention from people while they walk, Geralt ignores it as he often does.

He follows inside, the door swinging shut behind them. His eyes settle on Jaskier as he slides over the money for their entry. He can see the bard's thoughts forming—or thinks he can. That is not actually the reason they are here, but only because Geralt needn't first invite his friend someplace where they're required to strip in order to ask him if he wants to fuck. He'd have just asked him at the tavern. Which he was, actually, vaguely considering until it became obvious Jaskier's arm was bothering him.

Having said that, Geralt is not opposed to raising the topic here while they're at it. Bathhouse is as good a place as any. He slips past the curtains, glancing briefly over his shoulder. ]
Only a bit?

[ They've kissed twice (thrice); they were steps away from fucking at that party. True, Geralt saw no need to discuss and he still doesn't. This isn't a discussion. It's a simple matter of a yes or no. Because Geralt does want, and he hasn't got reason to hide it or pretend otherwise. It feels rather pointless, even if he were to care to be coy. Which he doesn't. Coy is the last thing Geralt is capable of being.

And if Jaskier tells him no, that'll be that. He suspects he won't get a no, though. They're both wanting for company, aren't they? Not that they can't find it elsewhere. But there's something to be said for company that knows him. Really knows him. Someone he never has to explain himself to, rarely has to even say much at all to be understood. ]
Edited 2021-11-09 08:20 (UTC)
gynvael: (075)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-09 08:58 am (UTC)(link)
[ The pause in answer bothers him not at all, and Geralt simply steps out of his clothes in the meantime. He is watching Jaskier, for more reasons than one. His gaze traces the long scar up his arm.

He doesn't give much thought towards why he's seeking what he is. Maybe it's to do with everything that's happened, maybe it's a primal loneliness that even he is capable of feeling, one that as of late has unfurled more and more. He doesn't think about it because it feels too much as though he might crack open what he will not be able to put back together. He wants what he wants. Does the rest matter? He has Jaskier here, who leans easily towards him. Who knows every jagged piece that makes him what he is, in a way no one else does, and remains by him even so. That's enough.

His lips quirk. There's a hum in reply, but he says nothing else of it. The water steams, his back is in desperate need of relief, and he slips into one of the quieter corners of the bath. ]


Wouldn't dream of it. [ He waits for Jaskier to join him before he reaches out to catch his arm. It's the first time he's acknowledged he's noticed what's going on with that scar. He traces his thumb up alongside it, then presses gently down on the muscle where he knows the tension lies. ] The heat will loosen it.
gynvael: (005)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-09 04:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[ His eyes roll upwards: practiced exasperation. An annoyance, as always, even when Geralt has certain inclinations in mind. Even when he's letting his attention wander along the familiar angles and shapes of Jaskier's body as it sinks under the water.

He decides not to mention his dreams as of late have been especially restless. Dark hair and blood across the sand. Sometimes Cirilla is crying, but he cannot understand why. They're only dreams. Fuck knows that's nothing new. They linger, that's all. Ever since he walked out of that dungeon with Ciri and Jaskier in tow, a mounting pressure has grown in the air. And every small thing, every mishap, every indication that things aren't right (the disappearances, the summons, the wraiths, the attack on the hills with Sam) has added to it. Only short bursts have eased that weight. With Julie. The docks. That little moment with Ciri.

Perhaps now, in the quiet of the water.

He meets Jaskier's gaze. There's no reaction to the flinch other than a brief loosening of his grip before he presses down more firmly. He rolls his thumb in a manner that suggests he's done it many times. On himself, mostly. It'll ache more, at first, but given a minute or so, it'll start to soothe. ]
I know.

[ No need to say it. Ciri will only feel worse, and it'll change nothing. He's at least glad to know Jaskier can still play. Part of him is already considering if an additional healer might help. Hard to tell. Some pains can't be healed.

He almost asks, What did she say? About the scar, the incident. He doesn't. He knows Jaskier went to see Yennefer, for Ciri's sake, two weeks ago. Beyond that, it matters none. He's slipped that damn token back where it belongs. He doesn't want reminders that she's circling the periphery of his life. It's necessary, for Ciri. But just because Ciri needs her doesn't mean he has to let her in. He's tired of the inches given between them that amount to only a hollow gap in the earth.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Considers the absence of tension between Jaskier and Ciri that was present during the first month. It's one bright spot. ]
You're growing on the girl.
Edited 2021-11-09 17:10 (UTC)
gynvael: (ml: 002)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-10 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
[ Hm. There. He can see it on Jaskier's face, the moment the coiled tension loosens. Rare, that Jaskier hides his pain from him or from anyone. Normally, the bard will make it known from a fucking mile away that he's stubbed his toe. But Jaskier's never been wounded so seriously as this before. Incident with the djinn notwithstanding.

This damn world.

He means to let Jaskier go, but a flicker over Jaskier's face has him pausing. He searches, feeling like there's something he's not seeing as clearly as he should. After a second, he shakes it off, releasing his grip. ]


A mushroom, actually. [ At this point, it's only a matter of principle that he will not acknowledge his. Fondness. They both know the truth. As the years slip by, he's stopped bothering to deny it, even if he'll still not actually say any of it aloud. Stopped asking why Jaskier is here, why he kept following a Witcher through rough mountain slopes and sticky bogs despite having long ceased needing material for his music. Jaskier has more than made a name for himself for the past decade.

It's a thought he returns to often. The fact that Jaskier doesn't need stay. And yet he does.

Geralt sinks further into the water. Lets the heat seep into his shoulders. Company or a fuck—it doesn't matter where and how they wind up at the end of the night. He just wants to remember what it's like not to have all this bullshit pressing down around him. There are simpler times between him and Jaskier. A time before the Singularity, before Destiny and a princess and a sorceress who changed too much about him, stole pieces of himself he should've never given over. He doesn't often care to look towards the past. Prefers to forge ahead, leave the shadows and dust behind. But right now, maybe—

He looks over as a hand rests against his cheek. It's soft. A part of him instinctively wants to pull back, and it shows in the small furrow of his brows before they smooth out.

He doesn't pull away. Instead, his eyes drop from Jaskier's face to his lips. ]
I doubt even death could shut you up, Jaskier.
gynvael: (055)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-10 05:59 am (UTC)(link)
[ He can practically read it on Jaskier's expression. That look. The one that says he's doing something Jaskier believes he needn't have to. It comes when the bard catches him suturing himself off somewhere alone, in moments like now where Jaskier is too gentle and Geralt does not know how to reply or accept it. And it isn't that he doesn't want it. He does. He just doesn't know how to take it. Because when he tries, the last time he let himself do so, it's—

It doesn't stay.

(Right now, he wants Jaskier to stay. Maybe that's why it was easier at that party, heated and rough, why it was easier earlier when he had sat at that tavern and thought of pressing him hard against the wall outside until they both shuddered apart. Then Jaskier had touched that scar and Geralt had brought him here instead and now he feels something achingly tender in the space between them. Something he'd not meant to spark. Something he isn't sure how to put back or if he even wants to.)

He's almost afraid Jaskier will speak it aloud. That feeling. But of course Jaskier knows him too fucking well and instead he ends up with a bard in his lap under the water and a reply that makes him huff quietly. ]
I don't miss the damn hooves.

[ It is still too soft. But it's unrelenting enough, as well, that Geralt decides not to push it away. He turns his head, lets Jaskier trace his jawline with his lips. His hand trails up Jaskier's side, rests at the small of his back.

The base of his spine. ]
Perhaps the tail.
gynvael: (016)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-10 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Maybe quiet is what he's after in the end. Though he can't say Jaskier's legs wrapped around him while they kissed was a poor memory. Not even close.

He hums, letting Jaskier tug on his hair. There is the feather-light brush of Jaskier's mouth, a sharp nip. Bit by bit, he sinks into it, carefully letting go of the tightly wound pieces of himself. Jaskier smells like sage and the oils he uses to polish his lute; it's a scent he can pick out of a crowd with ease, and one he breathes in as he leans forward to kiss him. It grows heated quickly, his arm slipping under Jaskier to hold him steady. The water sloshes around them.

And here it is: what's been building up over the past few weeks. He walked out of that dungeon two months ago and his time there lingers more than he's been willing to admit. Or perhaps it's risen belatedly, after having been forced under the surface all this time: his inability to have any real rest, his constant concern for Jaskier, and then Ciri and Yen afterwards, the simple fact that he'd never gone so long without the strength and senses he's come to rely on. Escaping should've brought relief, but the truth is, he's not been able to feel it. Any notion of safety is far off. They're a long fucking way from home, if that door is even still open.

But here, with one of the very few people he can trust without question, he's allowing himself to feel it at last: a sense of respite, one that's different than the forgetting he has found in the beds of others, different than merely shoving his thoughts aside for a few brief moments. One that lets him lower his guard. He doesn't think about who might be watching around them or what might interrupt. He doesn't concern himself with what trouble the next day, the next hour, will hold. The only thing on his mind is that Jaskier tastes good, feels warm, and he wants more of it. If spurring is the poet's goal, then he's done it. Geralt's hand burrows in the lengthening locks of Jaskier's hair, twisting them around his fingers. ]
Edited 2021-11-10 22:20 (UTC)
gynvael: (021)

nsfw all the way down

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-12 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
[ Extremely far from the first. Gods know no one enters to a bathhouse merely to bathe. Some things don't change across spheres, apparently, which works out just fine.

Mm. Quite fine.

Sentiments of sweeter or gentler or any kind of real emotion are carefully kept out of his thoughts. He grasps the physical presence instead: calloused fingers on his skin, a warm breath against ear, a weight pressing down on him. There are plenty of scars to trace on his body and Jaskier knows almost all of them. Stories, pulled out of him a hair's width at a time, over drinks, over rare quiet nights where the bard has managed to catch him in a sharing mood. Over years and years.

His eyes close. Fuck, Jaskier's got to make his shit jokes even now, hasn't he? It draws a noise out of him—annoyed but not without the lightest note humour—that occurs when he doesn't want to grant Jaskier the satisfaction of a laugh.

Normally, he'd be willing to bat some banter back and forth. Right now, his attentions are elsewhere. ]
Shut up.

[ Idiot. Geralt wraps his fingers around Jaskier's wrist and brings that hand gripping his thigh to between his legs. He isn't subtle and he isn't asking. He wants. He wants a lot, and he plans on having it. ]
Edited 2021-11-12 01:43 (UTC)
gynvael: (mg: 004)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-12 04:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[ His eyes flicker open. They're long, expert fingers that wrap around him and it brings a hitch to his breath.

Curious. How those hands can be both familiar and yet not. They've tended to all parts of his body: at first only when he couldn't manage on his own—times when, were he alone, he'd have had to drag himself to a healer and cough up the coin—and then later, during rare moments when he would allow it. When the nights were especially warm and he decided it was not the worst thing in the world to have some help (some solace), even if he didn't truly need it. But they have never tended to him quite like this.

He tugs Jaskier closer for a kiss. His teeth catch on that lower lip, the one that's curved into a smile, the one that so often shamelessly pouts at him like it'll fucking have any effect except exasperate him. (Except.)

Sometimes he wants to give more than he takes. Tonight, he doesn't. Tonight, he just wants to have and if Jaskier will indulge him, that's what he'll do.

Blunt nails press into Jaskier's wrist, just hard enough to be felt, or maybe leave a small mark. He glides his lips under Jaskier's jaw where splashes from the bath have left the skin wet. Then up, to the shell of Jaskier's ear, where he mummers low: challenging, knowing, a promise all at once. ]
You won't.
Edited 2021-11-12 16:37 (UTC)
gynvael: (mg: 005)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-16 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
[ It isn't, no. Not quite. But he doesn't go out of his way to pretend what he isn't, either. Never has. There's an unyielding, inhuman strength to his grip even if his fingers are careful not to bruise. (Yet.) Maybe some part of him just wants to press; Jaskier is not afraid of him, has not been afraid of him from the moment they met, and it's something he knows will never change.

He draws in an unsteady breath. Fuck. Mmh. He's always known those hands were skilled. He closes his lips around Jaskier's earlobe and sucks. Pushes into those hands for more friction. ]


Must you talk? [ Any trace of annoyance is absent from his words now. They're only words, breathless. A heated desire rolls through him. He walks his fingers down Jaskier's spine while they kiss. Captures his mouth so that he'll be quiet for once.

It's not only Jaskier's hands he may miss. He won't say it, though. He doesn't need to, for one. After this long—Jaskier already knows.

When they part briefly, when he says lightly, ]
We're not friends, [ —it carries an edge of meaning that'd not been there in the past. ]
gynvael: (106)

[personal profile] gynvael 2021-11-18 05:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ One day, he's going to discover exactly what it is Jaskier saw him do and, more specifically, with whom, but that's a topic that's yet to arise. (There are, actually, a few topics yet to arise between them. Which is neither here nor there, for now.)

Of course not.

He doesn't think about it, the emphasis put upon words like friends or companions. None of it matters, none of what it's called matters because at the end of the day, he has what he has. And what he has is important to him. It's a rare thing, for him to acknowledge when something (someone) is important to him. It always feels too easily taken away. (How many times has that happened?)

His fingers dig deeper into Jaskier's hip, and if he wasn't leaving bruises before, he must be now. He releases heavy, needy breaths. A hunger burns deep inside. He wants to swallow all of this whole, all of what he's feeling—grasping it so it can't be fucking torn from him. Water glides over Jaskier's skin. He can hear Jaskier's pulse stutter every time his teeth come close to an artery, a soft bit of flesh, and Geralt doesn't hesitate to give Jaskier more of what he wants.

This time, they scrape harder against his throat—where the vein sits, thrumming. ]

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-19 14:36 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-21 04:34 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-21 07:45 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-21 22:53 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-22 02:17 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-22 15:48 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] gynvael - 2021-11-24 21:12 (UTC) - Expand