Geralt had a bad feeling about this.
His suspicions began when Mary draped a silk sash over his head with the words 'husband to be' emblazoned across it in glitter and diamantes. He had point-blank refused to wear the cheap veil that Grammy tried to pin on top of his head, but he didn't miss her sneaking it into her handbag as they departed the house for the harbour.
"Try to enjoy yourself," Jaskier had whispered to him before giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek (for the benefit of his family, of course). "At least you don't have to spend the afternoon confined to a small space in the middle of the sea with my dad."
Geralt looked over his shoulder at Grammy and Mary aboard the Rosemary and Thyme, who were already popping open a bottle of champagne and pouring it into three glasses. He wasn't sure it was wise to be drinking while operating a sea vessel, but he kept that thought to himself.
"Right now, I'm not sure which would be worse," he grumbled.
"Definitely fishing with my dad," Jaskier insisted, pushing Geralt towards the boat. "Have fun!"
His suspicions about this event deepened when they were greeted by a large crowd of partygoers on the shore of the mainland. He was introduced to several of Jaskier's aunts and great-aunts; first, second and third cousins; and a few close family friends of the Pankratzes. As his excited entourage carefully navigated the cobbled streets in their high heels, Geralt tapped Mary on the shoulder and said, "I couldn't help but notice that there aren't many men joining us for the stag do. In fact, there doesn't seem to be any men."
Mary glanced at their group and back towards Geralt. "That's not going to be a problem, is it?"
"Well no," he mumbled. "I just wasn't ever expecting to be celebrating my upcoming nuptials with a hen party."
"Oh Geralt, gender stereotypes are so last century!" cried Grammy, hooking their arms together. "Besides, traditional stag dos are boring: all men do is sit around the bar and get drunk until they pass out."
"That doesn't sound that bad…"
"Trust me, you're going to have a great time with us! I bet my life on it."
The same life which she had continuously threatened that could come to an end at any moment, Geralt mused.
He was led towards a tavern which bore the sign The Alchemy above its entrance, the hinges squealing as Mary pushed open the heavy wooden door and beckoned him inside. The sharp smell of cheap alcohol assaulted Geralt's nostrils as he stepped into the dingy bar. Thankfully, the plumes of grey tobacco smoke that hung in the air like forest mist took the edge off. The interior was nothing remarkable: there was a small, wooden bar on one side of the room, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights that bathed the premises in an ominous shade of red. There was a smattering of round tables and chairs, and a small stage decorated with moth-eaten velour curtains. A couple of the girls in their party hurried over to the jukebox while Grammy pulled Geralt towards the bar.
"Stjepan! A round of Grandma's cordial, please," she called. The barman, a tired-looking fellow with a brown beard, hadn't looked up from wiping a pint glass as the women poured into his establishment, but when Grammy slammed a fistful of Crowns onto the bartop, he paused and smiled at her.
"Coming right up, love," he croaked, tucking the tea towel into the waistband of his trousers before hurrying to fetch her order. When he slid two shot glasses of amber liquid towards Geralt and Grammy, Geralt picked it up and gave it a curious sniff.
"Do I want to know what this is?" he asked.
"Probably best if you don't," she chuckled before throwing her head back and downing the contents of her glass in one large gulp. She slammed the empty glass onto the bartop and said, "Another one, Stjepan."
"Starting early today, aren't we?" Stjepan mused, topping up her glass.
"We're celebrating," she explained, putting her arm around Geralt and giving him an affectionate hug. "My grandson is getting married!"
"This isn't Jaskier, is it?" asked Stjepan.
"Gods, no!" Grammy laughed. "This is my grandson's fiance, Geralt. He's Rivian, you know."
"Ahh," Stjepan grabbed a bottle of red liquid from behind the bar. "Then perhaps I can tempt you with a bottle of Rivian Kriek? Just got a shipment in this week."
"You wouldn't happen to have any Kaedwenian Stout, would you?" asked Geralt hopefully.
Stjepan raised his eyebrows in surprise but grabbed a dark bottle of ale from beneath the counter and slid it across the bar to Geralt. "Here you go. First one's on the house since you're a friend of old Violet, here."
"Ha! I might be old, but I can drink you under the table any day," Grammy declared before downing her next drink. She looked expectantly at Geralt, who still hadn't touched his shot glass. "Drink up, son. We've got a full day of celebrations ahead of us."
Geralt sighed and downed the drink in one gulp, struggling not to gag when the hot, spicy liquid hit the back of his throat. "Fuck! That kicks like a mule."
Grammy smiled triumphantly at him. "I knew you'd like it! Two more, Stjepan."
Jaskier had warned Geralt that his grandmother drank like a sailor, but he had to see it to believe it. Geralt's tolerance for alcohol was quite high, but he realised that getting into a drinking contest with the Pankratz matriarch was a fool's errand. As the afternoon turned into the evening, Geralt was enjoying the pleasant buzz of the alcohol coursing through his veins. He was also enjoying listening to Grammy and Mary reminisce about Jaskier in his formative years.
"Jay has always been creative," Grammy gushed. "He's been playing the guitar and singing to us for as long as he could walk."
Mary nodded with a wistful look in her eye. "He was forever writing poetry for the girls and boys at school, falling in and out of love on a whim. He's always worn his heart on his sleeve."
"Really?" asked Geralt interestedly.
Grammy nodded. "He would always retreat to the treehouse anytime he had an argument with Albert or if he'd had his heart broken again. He'd spent a couple of days up there moping about and playing his music before he'd come back down to the house."
"Well, except when him and Pris broke up. He packed his bags and left for Tretogor the day after they split," Mary said glumly before downing her drink. Evidently, a few drinks had loosened her tongue and, against his better judgement, Geralt was keen to know more.
"You've mentioned Pris a few times, but I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her," he chanced.
"Oh, she's here!" Mary informed him. She pointed across the room at the jukebox where a petite blonde stood with her arm draped around her friend's shoulder. "Would you like to meet her?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't!" said Grammy hotly. "Honestly, I don't know what you were thinking, inviting that girl to your future son-in-law's hen party!"
"Her parents are good friends of ours, I couldn't not invite her!" she argued. "Besides, I'm sure Jaskier won't mind. He said it's all water under the bridge between them now. She's really a lovely girl, you know."
"If Jaskier wanted to marry her, then I'm sure she must be," said Geralt quietly, stealing a glance at the pretty blonde.
"Not as lovely as you, of course," Mary preened, pulling Geralt into an awkward one-armed hug while trying to take a drink from her glass over his shoulder.
"Yes, our Jaskier is quite enamoured with you, if I do say so myself," said Grammy.
"You think so?" asked Geralt hopefully. Mary and Grammy laughed.
"Of course he is! Why else would he ask you to marry him?" Mary chuckled.
Geralt's stomach squirmed again but he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
"It's just the way that he looks at you," said Grammy thoughtfully. "I've never seen him look at anyone quite like that before."
Geralt suspected that they were mistaking Jaskier's dislike and annoyance for him as affection, but he kept that thought to himself. Suddenly, the music in the jukebox cut off mid-song and a bright white spotlight illuminated the small stage in front of him. Mary and Grammy squealed excitedly with the other women in the bar while Geralt looked around with confusion.
"Is there a show tonight?"
"Oh yes. A very special performance just for you." Grammy gave him a licentious wink.
"We told you that we've had a couple of surprises in store for you today," said Mary.
"I hate surprises," Geralt reminded them.
"Well, you'll love this one," Mary insisted. "Lyron is one of Redania's greatest treasures."
Geralt opened his mouth to argue but his words were drowned out by the pulsing beat of the drum and bass music that had begun to blare from the speakers above the stage. The women screamed and Geralt groaned with embarrassment as the curtains drew back to reveal a handsome gentleman in a Redanian police uniform.
"Was booking a stripper for my benefit or yours?" he shouted over the music to Grammy.
"Both!" she admitted with a laugh.
The dancer's routine started well enough: he took his time popping the buttons off of his shirt before slipping the soft material off of his muscular shoulders to reveal a tanned (and incredibly oily) torso. As he tossed his shirt off of the stage, the crowd screamed and a couple of Jaskier's aunts fought over the shirt as the performance continued. Turning his back on the crowd, the dancer bent over and began to shimmy his rear end enticingly, much to the delight of the crowd while Geralt concentrated on his pint. With one sharp tug, the dancer ripped off his trousers to reveal an equally oily pert bottom in a black thong. When he danced towards them, Grammy took the opportunity to slip a couple of notes in his thong before spanking him on the arse. The dancer blew Grammy a kiss before grabbing Geralt's hand and pulling him towards the stage, but Geralt wouldn't move.
"No thanks," he replied roughly. "Not my thing."
"Come on love, you'll enjoy it," the dancer crooned.
"Go on, Geralt, we paid for you to get a dance!" Mary cried, practically dragging Geralt to the stage where a wooden chair had miraculously appeared.
Reluctantly, Geralt sank into the chair and resigned himself to what was about to happen. The dancer, credit where it's due, put on quite the acrobatic performance, writhing all over Geralt's lap, rubbing his arse vigorously against Geralt's crotch, smearing baby oil all over his trousers and shirt with each gyration of his hips.
"Spank his arse, Geralt!" screamed Grammy and the crowd went wild.
Geralt sighed and complied with the request, to much applause from the audience. Eventually, Geralt managed to escape the dancer and the stage, sneaking out of the fire exit to catch his breath. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and sighed. He seriously doubted even a fishing trip with Albert could be worse than this. Geralt opened his eyes when the fire exit door creaked open, thinking Grammy or Mary had come looking for him. Instead, he came face to face with Pris, the petite blonde from the jukebox. She was carrying two drinks and a curious smile on her face that made Geralt regret leaving the party in such a hurry. The last thing that he needed was ex-girlfriend drama on top of everything else going on.
"How're you holding up?" she asked.
"I'll manage," he replied shortly.
Pris glanced at the oil smears all over his clothes. "That's going to be a bastard to clean."
Geralt huffed out a laugh. "Tell me about it, they're brand new clothes as well."
Pris smiled nervously at Geralt and held out one of the glasses to him. "I thought that you could use a drink. It's just water."
Geralt's eyes narrowed but he took the proffered glass from Pris's hand. "Thanks."
"We haven't been properly introduced yet," she said, taking a step forward and holding out her hand. "I'm Priscilla. Everyone just calls me Pris, though."
"I know." Geralt took her hand and shook it. "I'm Geralt."
"I know," she chuckled. "So, what do you think of Oxenfurt?"
Zero internet or phone signal and too much damn water. My idea of hell, he thought. "It's...different."
Pris laughed. "I imagine things here are quite a bit different from life in Tretogor."
"A bit," he admitted. "Have you ever been to the capital?"
Pris's smile turned sad and she shook her head. "Nah, that was always Jaskier's dream, not mine."
"I take it that you two were pretty close?" he asked curiously.
Pris shrugged and leant against the wall next to Geralt. "Well, we dated in high school and all through college. I'm sure you already knew that."
"Of course," he lied. "Although he's never told me why you guys called off the wedding."
"He never told you?" Surprise streaked across Pris's face and she bowed her head. "Well, the night before graduation, Jaskier proposed to me. He wanted us to elope and run away to Tretogor, like the old romantic that he is. But…"
"You said no," Geralt finished quietly.
"I said no," she confirmed, downing her drink and grimacing at the taste. "I've never been anywhere but here. But here...this is my home. Jaskier's ambitions have always been bigger than this place. I wasn't willing to leave all of this behind, and I wouldn't let him stay and give up his dreams. I won't deny that I loved him—I still do—but ultimately, we wanted different things from life. It would never have worked out between us." She gave Geralt a sincere smile. "He's a good man, though. The best. You're lucky to have him. He really is the best...which you obviously already know."
"Yeah, I do," said Geralt, realising the truth of those words for the first time.
Pris raised her glass to Geralt and smiled. "Well, cheers to you both."
Geralt returned the smile and clinked their glasses together. "Thank you."
Geralt and Pris turned as the door swung open again and this time Mary appeared.
"There you are!" she cried, grabbing Geralt by the hand. "Come on, love, you're missing your own hen party!"
"Come on," said Pris. "I'll tell you all of the embarrassing stories that I know about Jaskier."
Geralt grinned and followed them back inside. "Please do."
Jaskier stifled a yawn. Whatever diabolical plans his mother and Grammy had in store for Geralt, it had to be infinitely better than sitting on a two-man boat with his father. Not that he had anything against fishing, in particular. Redanian waters were rich with sea life and on a good day he could catch a few large halibut and red-bellied dace. But compared to horse riding, playing the guitar, writing, or watching paint dry, fishing was an incredibly dull endeavour. Jaskier checked his watch and stifled another yawn. He wondered how drunk his Grammy had managed to get Geralt. He'd never seen Geralt drunk before and he was curious to see what kind of drunk he was: was he a sleepy drunk? Would he snore? Was he the type to cry and spill his guts? Surely not flirty? No. Definitely not flirty...
"So," Albert began. "What are yours and Geralt's plans after the wedding?"
Jaskier rolled his eyes. The first couple of hours fishing had passed in amicable silence, but he could tell by the way his father kept glancing over his shoulder at him that he wanted to talk to him about something, and Jaskier had a good idea what about.
"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing exactly what he meant.
"Well, are you really going to keep being Geralt's assistant after you get married?" Albert pressed. "Seems like it would cause a conflict of interest in the office."
"Some work opportunities have come up, if you must know," he replied evasively.
"Hmm." A long silence followed and just when Jaskier dared to hope that would be the end of their conversation, Albert spoke up again, "Jaskier, you know that I'm not getting any younger."
Jaskier sighed and lowered his fishing rod. "And?"
"And I've been going over my retirement plans recently. It got me thinking…"
"Please don't," Jaskier warned.
"I've done a lot of things in my life," Albert continued. "Practically built an empire with your mother from the ground up. It doesn't mean anything unless we have someone to leave it to."
"We've already discussed this."
"I'd like to discuss it again," Albert snapped. "Now, I think I've been more than understanding about you having your fun in Tretogor, but you have responsibilities here. I think it's about time for you to stop messing about, come home and—"
"Messing about?" Jaskier spat, turning to face his father. "Having my fun? Being an editor is a legitimate career!"
"Editor's assistant," Albert jibed.
"Not for much longer, I hope," he replied testily. "For three years I've put my heart and soul into this job. When are you going to take what I do seriously?"
"When you start acting seriously!"
Jaskier's shoulder sagged. "Look, I'm sorry, dad. I wish that you had another son, one that wanted to take over the family business—one who wanted to marry someone that you approved of—but that's not me. It never was and it never will be. I understand that it must seem strange to you, that I would rather give up all of this to sit in my stuffy little office in Tretogor and read books for a living, but it makes me happy. Can you understand that?"
"No, I really don't," said Albert, looking disappointed. He shook his head and sighed. "Well, if it makes you happy, son...then I have nothing else to say to you."
"Well, that'll be a first," Jaskier bristled. "You know what? Screw this." Jaskier tossed his fishing rod to the floor of the boat then began stripping out of his clothes. Albert stared at him with disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing now?" he cried.
"I've had quite enough of your company for one day," said Jaskier, discarding his shoes at his feet. He struggled to take off his trousers but when he was just in his boxers, he swung his legs over the edge of the boat then shuffled his bottom to the edge, causing it to rock back and forth. "I'm just going to swim home."
"It's two miles back to shore!"
"I've done it before," said Jaskier briskly. "Enjoy the rest of your fishing trip."
"Don't be an idiot, Jaskier!"
Jaskier gasped as he slipped his body into the freezing cold water, but he began to warm up when he started swimming back towards the shore. He could hear his father shouting after him but the water lapping at his face and his heavy, panting breaths drowned out whatever criticism was being directed at him. Probably something about being impulsive. Like he hadn't heard that before.
It took him some time to make it back to the shore. When he finally did, he bypassed the treehouse and headed straight for the shower to warm himself up and to wash the sea salt from his body. His already damp feet slapped against the tiled bathroom floor and he quickly discarded his waterlogged boxers into the nearby washing basket before stepping into the shower. The metallic dial squeaked as he turned it, releasing a cascade of thousands of lukewarm raindrops onto his head and down his back. He couldn't help but shiver and groan with satisfaction as the hot water struck his skin like hot wet kisses. Closing his eyes, Jaskier allowed his mind to go blissfully blank, concentrating on nothing but the sound of the water pouring in a never-ending waterfall.
He tried not to think about his father or the argument that they'd had. It was the same argument that they'd had over and over again, about Jaskier's responsibilities to his family and their business empire. It hurt to know how little his father thought of everything that he cared for so deeply: his job, his passions, his ambitions. Even Geralt hadn't been able to avoid criticism from the Pankratz patriarch.
Geralt.
The tension in Jaskier's stomach eased when he thought about him. It was strange how much his feelings had changed for the man in such a short period of time. Sure, Geralt still drove him crazy most of the time, but he also had a sense of humour that Jaskier had never fully appreciated before. And he was surprisingly easy to talk to, once he managed to chip away the chilly exterior. And the fact that his Grammy and mum had grown so fond of him over the last few days—
Jaskier's stomach dropped again and he clenched his eyes shut. The deception of it all was really beginning to bother him. The lies were pouring out of him so thick and fast that he feared he might drown in it all. And as if lying to his family wasn't bad enough, he felt like he was lying to himself now, too. This whole situation was getting dangerously out of hand—the wedding and his own feelings—but he couldn't stop now. And he didn't really want to, either. Jaskier mentally berated himself for being this way. His growing feelings for Geralt made him feel silly and childish. Falling for your boss? Really? How cliche.
Cliche or not, they weren't going to go away any time soon.
The tension in his stomach migrated south, and Jaskier's breathing became slower and heavier as he only half-consciously slipped his hand between his legs. He felt a tad guilty doing this while thinking about Geralt, but he pushed that feeling aside for the time being and concentrated on the heavy weight of his prick in his hand. Tightening his grip, Jaskier allowed himself to imagine it was Geralt's powerful hands on him, his soft lips pressing wet kisses to his neck while whispering encouragement in his ear as he began stroking Jaskier back and forth.
Fleeting, fanciful images of Geralt flashed through Jaskier's mind as he stroked himself closer and closer to climax: Geralt's beautiful amber eyes, like honey, half-lidded with desire and fixed on Jaskier as he got onto his knees at Jaskier's feet. Geralt's big hands sliding up Jaskier's thighs before he takes his throbbing cock in hand and laps the flat of his tongue over the sensitive tip…
Putting one hand on the wall to steady himself, Jaskier's breath stuttered as he began thrusting his hips forward, sliding his swollen, slick prick back and forth through his tight fist, wishing it were Geralt's hand, his sweet mouth, his tight ass, gripping around Jaskier's shaft. That last thought sent a deep, sharp spark of pleasure through Jaskier and in a few quick strokes, he pushed himself over the edge. Jaskier threw his head back as he came, relishing the wave of ecstasy that crashed over him like the water cascading over his body. Sated and exhausted, Jaskier slumped forward and rested his head onto his forearm. He felt like he'd just swam another couple of miles in the sea.
Washing away the evidence of his transgression, Jaskier towelled himself dry, pulled on a clean pair of boxers, and collapsed onto his bed, allowing a dreamless sleep to take him into sweet oblivion for a few hours. He knew that he was well and truly fucked, but he could worry about his life falling apart and his feelings in the morning.