It took them a while to get their breath back, longer still to figure out what to say next. They lay next to each other on the bed with the infamous babymaker quilt draped over them, Jaskier staring up at the ceiling with a surprisingly content expression on his face. Geralt cast him an unimpressed sideways glance, wondering what the hell he was so pleased about. As his post-orgasmic afterglow began to wane, the same feelings of uncertainty and self-loathing were rising up in him again.

"So," Jaskier sighed, turning his head a little to smile at Geralt. "That happened." Geralt grunted in response and Jaskier's smile faltered. "And you look less than pleased at that."

"Yeah, well we've taken a fucked-up situation and just made it a hundred times worse."

Jaskier groaned and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. "For gods' sake, Geralt, can't we just enjoy what happened for a minute before you make it all doom and gloom again?"

"What else is there to say?" he grumbled. "I'm your boss. What we did was completely inappropriate and unprofessional."

Jaskier lowered his hands and drew him a withering look. "I think we crossed the line of professionalism when I agreed to marry you. What's the big deal? Everyone already thinks we're sleeping together. Now we've just made it official."

"This isn't funny, Jaskier."

"I'm not laughing," he replied without a trace of humour. Geralt let out a weary sigh and threw the blanket off himself. The bedsprings groaned as he got to his feet, but he stilled as Jaskier's hand suddenly grabbed his own. "Hold up, we need to talk about this."

"And say what, exactly?" He pulled his hand free from Jaskier's and strode towards the bathroom. "I'm going for a shower."

"You could start by telling me how you feel," Jaskier called after him. He cursed under his breath and threw himself back on the bed in a huff. "I know that you like to paint yourself as the strong silent type, but maybe instead of insulting or fucking me, you could actually try talking to me for once!"

The moment Geralt slammed the bathroom door shut, he realised that it was precisely the worst thing he could have done in that moment. He grabbed the door handle, intent on going back into the bedroom to talk things through with Jaskier, but he hesitated.

Maybe I could escape through the window? he thought desperately to himself.

Of course, he'd run into the one room that had no window. Dammit. He doubted that he could drown himself in the shower either. Buying himself some time to think, Geralt decided to actually have a shower. He hoped that it would help clear his head, perhaps cleanse him of his misdeeds, but the hot water only seemed to irritate his skin. Still, he stayed under the spray of scalding water for a long time, trying to figure out what he should say, only to draw a complete blank. When the hot water began to run cold, he finally switched off the shower. Scraping his hair back from his face with his fingertips, he squeezed the excess water from it before throwing a towel around his waist and reentering the bedroom. Jaskier hadn't moved from the bed. Instead, he sat against the headboard with his arms crossed and a disgruntled expression.

"Has anyone ever told you what an utter wanker you are?" he seethed.

"Frequently," Geralt admitted. Despite his skin still being damp, he began pulling on his clothes.

"One moment you're accusing me of screwing with your head, and the next we're falling into bed together. And then you walk away like nothing's happened! It's like living with bloody Jekyll and Hyde." Jaskier's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed. What does it look like?" he replied evasively, zipping up his trousers.

"Oh, no you don't!" Jaskier threw the quilt off of himself and hurried towards the bedroom door, blocking Geralt from leaving. "You're not going to sex it and exit with me."

Geralt pulled a face. "A what?"

"Toot it and boot it," said Jaskier. "Pull a smash 'n' dash. A wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am!"

Geralt shook his head. "I don't know what you're on about, I just need some time to clear my head."

"Make your escape, more like," Jaskier retorted. "You forget, Geralt Haute-Bellegarde, that I know everything about you. Knowing you, you plan on commandeering one of the boats and go running back to Tretogor just so that you can avoid talking to me about what just happened."

"Of course not!" Geralt lied, annoyed that his backup plan had been foiled before he'd even had the chance to put it into action. "How could you even suggest such a thing?"

"Of course you weren't," Jaskier replied sarcastically. He motioned for Geralt to take a seat on the bed. "Let's sit down and talk about this."

Geralt looked desperately between the bed and the door, eager to make his escape. He could just push Jaskier out of the way and make a run for it—he was certainly big enough. He was so big that he could easily throw Jaskier over his shoulder or toss him onto the bed…

Geralt quickly pushed that treacherously tempting thought from his mind and sighed. He realised that no matter how far he ran, there was no escaping Jaskier, or this bloody island. Somehow, they had gotten under his skin, seeped into his bones, marking him forever. "Fine. But before we talk, can you please put some clothes on?"

Jaskier glanced down at his naked body and tutted. Snatching up his discarded boxers from the floor, he pulled them on again, muttering under his breath, "I didn't hear you complaining about me being naked a minute ago."

"It's kind of difficult to have a serious conversation when you're standing there with nothing on," Geralt reasoned.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jaskier quipped, flopping down onto the bed and patting the empty space next to him. Geralt hesitated a moment before sitting down. "Okay, now that I've convinced you to stay put for a few minutes"—Geralt rolled his eyes but didn't argue—"let's figure out what the hell is going on between us."

"Fine," Geralt mumbled.

"Okay. First of all, care to explain why you were about to do a runner on me?"

Geralt winced. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

"You know that I don't like talking about myself," he argued.

"I've noticed," Jaskier noted drily before asking more softly, "Come on, Geralt. Talk to me. Please."

Geralt's stomach squirmed at the thought of opening up the can of worms that was his life. But he felt like he owed it to Jaskier to be honest, so he took a deep breath and focused on his own hands, resting on his lap.

"I told you that I've been on my own for most of my life," he began. "Been fending for myself since I was sixteen."

Jaskier nodded. "Yeah, you mentioned it."

"It was my uncle, Vesemir, who raised me. My mother, she um...I don't know why, but my mother never took much interest in me," he explained evenly, ignoring the storm of emotions raging inside of him. "She dropped me off at his house when I was still a baby. Not that Vesemir had any clue how to raise a kid—he bred working dogs for a living, not bairns—but still, he agreed to take care of me while she took off to look for work. And...well, she never came back."

"Oh, Geralt."

Geralt shook his head. "Don't pity me. I might not have had a mother but I had a good life at Khaer Morhen. Uncle Vesemir was a little rough around the edges, but he took me in when nobody else wanted me. He took care of me and raised me like I was his own son."

"He sounds like a good man," Jaskier noted quietly.

"He was. Then he died and…" Geralt trailed off and clenched his fists. "This thing between us, it was supposed to be a professional arrangement: we get married, I get to keep my job and you get your book published."

"And I get promoted to editor," Jaskier reminded him lightly, earning him a withering look from Geralt.

"Yes, Jaskier, you'll get your bloody promotion," he groused, glaring at his fists. "But then I came here and things...changed. You don't know what it's like, to have everyone that you've ever cared about leave you. Over time, it became easier just to keep people at arm's length, because you're less likely to get hurt that way. But then I started to get to know you and your family better, and it's been such a long time, I forgot what it was like."

"Forgot what?" asked Jaskier curiously.

"What it was like to have a family." He was unable to disguise the note of shame in his voice. "I forgot what it felt like to have people care about you: they bring you breakfast in bed and give you heirlooms and tell you that you're part of the family. Then your grandmother gave me that ring and told me that I was part of your family now." Geralt let out a mirthless laugh. "You want to know something really pathetic? That was the happiest I've felt in as long as I can remember. Right up until the moment I kissed you. And then I realised how stupid I was."

"How are you stupid?" asked Jaskier incredulously.

"Because for the briefest of moments, I let myself hope that this was real," he forced himself to admit. "That I would come back here for the holidays and be part of the family and—" Geralt cursed and punched his thigh in embarrassment and frustration. He clenched his eyes shut and took another calming breath before continuing. "So you see, that's why I wanted to run away. I let myself get carried away with my own lie and I made a fool of myself in the process."

Jaskier's mouth hung open but he said nothing. The depth of Geralt's confession seemed to have rendered him temporarily mute, which under any other circumstance would have been a blessing to Geralt as the man seemed incapable of silence. But as the silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, Geralt began to wonder if he shouldn't have been as honest with his feelings. When Jaskier spoke again, he spoke softly.

"For the record, I don't think you're stupid," he said sincerely. "In fact, you're probably the smartest person I've ever met."

"Smart people don't get themselves into situations like this," Geralt pointed out.

"Yeah, well, feelings can make even the cleverest of us act like idiots," Jaskier mused. "And while we might look like I have the perfect family, we're far from it. Don't give me that look, it really isn't. You've only been here a few days, you haven't had the displeasure of living with them for twenty years."

Geralt scoffed. "Growing up on a private island in a mansion, wanting for nothing? It sounds awful."

"It's not always breakfast in bed and family heirlooms, you know," Jaskier retorted. "It's having your entire life mapped out for you since the day you were born, and you're not even given a say in any of it. It's never being able to live up to your parents' expectations. It's knowing that no matter what you do in life, you'll always be a disappointment to them, so you might as well do what makes you happy. It's what gives you the final push to leave a so-called perfect home and perfect family behind, just so that you can get on with your life without judging eyes greeting you every time you come home in the evening." Jaskier let out a weary sigh and slumped against the headboard. "I know that I've lived a privileged life, but it's been far from perfect. Perfection shouldn't make you feel so miserable."

Geralt had been ready with a biting retort on his lips when Jaskier had begun complaining about the turbulent relationship with his father, but instead he found himself feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. He knew all too well what it was like to be judged by everyone, expected to fail before you've even had the chance to prove your worth, but unlike Jaskier, Vesemir had always been supportive in everything Geralt did. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have Albert as a father and found himself thankful that he didn't. Geralt never thought that someone like him, who fought tooth and nail for everything that he had, would take for granted something that Jaskier, someone who seemingly had everything, could never have.

"Your father's an arsehole," he declared, earning him a huff of laughter and an amused grin from Jaskier.

"You always have a way with words, Geralt," Jaskier said fondly. "A true poet."

"I just say it as I see it," he shrugged. "You could have easily lived off of your family's wealth, been handed a cushy job at one of your parents' businesses, been a big fish in a small pond...but you didn't. Even though you knew your father wouldn't approve, you still went out on your own and forged your own path. That takes a lot of balls. And if your old man is too stubborn or dumb to see what a great son he raised, then that's his problem, not yours."

Jaskier bowed his head and looked bashful all of a sudden. "Wow, Geralt. You really do have a way with words. Thank you."

Geralt gave him a small smile. "You're welcome. I do think that you should visit your family more often, if only for your mother and grandmother's sake. Based on the way they spoke about you tonight, they've missed you a great deal since you left."

"Boss's orders?" Jaskier teased and Geralt nodded curtly.

"Indeed. If you don't make arrangements to visit your family this Christmas, I'll fire you."

Jaskier laughed and they fell into an amicable silence for a few moments. Jaskier glanced at Geralt and bit his lip. "Would you like to know what I really think about you?"

Geralt grunted. "I thought I was—what was it you said again? Self-centred and pigheaded?"

"And infuriating," Jaskier added with a sly smile. "But you're only a wanker some of the time."

"Good to know that you think so highly of me," he muttered.

"Let me finish," Jaskier said as he held up his hand to silence Geralt. "It's like this: most of the time, you drive me crazy. You're stubborn and argumentative—which, okay, I'll admit, I'm guilty of that too—but on those rare occasions where you're not acting like my evil boss and are just Geralt, you actually make for very pleasant company."

Geralt frowned at him. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," he replied, sounding unperturbed. However, if the way he was wringing his hands on his lap was any indication, he was feeling as nervous as Geralt did when he'd exited the bathroom. "Now, I know that we argue a lot—"

"Constantly."

Jaskier nodded in agreement. "But despite all of that, after getting to know you better over the last few days...well, I suppose I've started to realise that you're not all bad. That you're not bad at all, really. You're actually very nice. And funny, which took me aback, somewhat. And my Grammy clearly loves you, and so does my mum. And my dad...well he doesn't like anyone, so he doesn't count. And I...I like you, too."

Geralt's eyes widened with surprise. "Really?"

"In a manner that is distinctly unprofessional," Jaskier teased, flashing him a wicked grin. "As you might have already guessed."

Geralt blinked. "I thought...I figured this was just some hate-sex thing that you needed to get out of your system."

"No. Well…" he shrugged. "Maybe a little bit. But I definitely like you more than I hate you."

The tension in Geralt's body eased somewhat. "Oh. Well, that's good, I suppose. Or is it? Liking each other just makes this whole situation more complicated."

Jaskier worried his lip. "Oh, I don't know. I think it simplifies matters quite a bit."

Geralt's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

Jaskier shrugged again. "Well, everyone already thinks that we're sleeping together. Why don't we just...you know, continue?"

"Continue?" asked Geralt, confused.

"Why not? I don't know about you, but I wouldn't complain if this happened again." Jaskier drew Geralt a shy smile that gave his stomach a pleasant jolt. "If we're going to pretend to be in a relationship with one another, we might as well enjoy it."

However casually Jaskier tried to float the suggestion, he couldn't hide the hopeful note in his voice. Geralt, meanwhile, stared at him in disbelief.

"You are joking, aren't you?"

"No. Look, I'm not going to pretend that our current predicament isn't unusual—"

"That's a bit of an understatement."

"Just think about it for a second," Jaskier continued hurriedly. "I'm not suggesting that we change our current plans—we'll get married in a few days' time, we'll go home, and...you know, get on with the rest of our lives. But in the meantime...well, I don't know about you, but this trip has been pretty stressful. A little sexual relief would certainly make the trip more enjoyable for both of us, wouldn't you agree?"

Geralt chewed the inside of his cheek. "I don't know about this…"

"You don't have to decide right now," Jaskier assured him. "No pressure, just…" He hesitated a moment before leaning forward and kissing Geralt, just a gentle peck on the lips, but it was enough to send the blood rushing back to Geralt's groin. Before he could lean back into the kiss, Jaskier pulled away and said, "The offer's there. So, if you change your mind, just—"

Geralt cut Jaskier off mid-sentence by returning the kiss, and Jaskier seemed to melt against his lips, pushing his fingers through Geralt's damp hair and pulling him closer. The moment Jaskier had kissed him, the choice was simple. He knew that it was the wrong one but right then, he didn't care. He'd keep kissing Jaskier for as long as he would have him, even if it was only for a few more days. He would beat himself up over it tomorrow. And the day after that.