Hey guys, I finally watched season 3 a couple weeks ago, and this scene stuck out to me as something that needed a little extra...like a kiss. It's set just as Geralt and Jaskier are leaving Codringher and Fenn's place in episode 2. If you haven't seen season 3 yet, this fic isn't really spoilery for anything, the dialogue is mostly from the scene, but it doesn't give much away.
Anyway, hope you enjoy it, let me know if you do, much love xox

XOXOXOXOX

Jaskier followed Geralt through the long hall, lit well enough to see all of the books and trinkets lying about, and taking each turn with him. It wasn't difficult to see that the Witcher was frustrated, and with good reason too.

When had life, their lives specifically, become this complicated? He longed for the days when he and Geralt travelled the path together, the Witcher slaying monsters, and Jaskier playing songs in local taverns. They were simpler times, easier. Now everything was uncertain, from where he'd lay his head that night, to when he'd see his White Wolf again, and even if any of them would live to see tomorrow.

Desperately, he put forward suggestions that he hoped would help put Geralt at ease, and keep the lot of them together. Now Jaskier wasn't stupid, but unfortunately coming up with ideas that Geralt would like, let alone go through with, was harder than it seemed.

The Witcher was too distracted, it was clear that he wasn't listening to the bard, all up in his head, and taking the entire world on his shoulders, sure that no one else could help him carry the burden.

The exit was coming up, and Jaskier knew once they were outside Geralt would spring into action and Jaskier's words would fall on deaf ears. So he stopped just around the last corner, determined to make the Witcher listen to him for even just a few moments.

"Hey."

He'd used that special tone that he saved for when they were alone, and needed Geralt to be Geralt and not a Witcher for a few moments. When he needed Geralt to hear him, and understand what Jaskier was trying to tell him.

It worked. Geralt paused not far from the door.

"I can hear you thinking," Jaskier told him, knowing Geralt better than the man knew himself at times.

The Witcher half turned as he spoke, giving Jaskier his attention finally, those amber eyes immediately finding his own. And gods it had been too long since he'd had the chance to look into those eyes properly, up close, writing poetry in his head as he studied them.

"Don't start playing the 'I travel alone' card, or 'Jaskier, it's too dangerous' card," he started to move toward Geralt as he spoke, and Geralt, in turn, met him in the middle, "I would like to remind you that I was just bait for Mr Fire-fingers," a man which he wished he'd never had the extreme displeasure of meeting, to put it mildly.

He never used to be able to say these kinds of things to Geralt, too afraid that the Witcher would actually just leave him behind, and, well, he'd been right at one point, but that was in the past now. Now, Jaskier told Geralt when he was being a prick, no longer allowing himself to be walked over, it was part of what they'd talked about when Geralt had apologised to him properly for the way he'd treated and subsequently left Jaskier on that godforsaken mountain.

The change in their relationship showed not only in Geralt's face as his expression softened, but in the way he spoke to Jaskier, and the words he said, "I appreciate it, Jask," it didn't seem like much, but for Geralt to say that, it mean more than if anyone else had uttered those three words. He didn't stop there either, "I don't want to put you in harms way again," he told the bard in one of his gentler tones.

Gods, Jaskier yearned for him. To be with him in every moment, to hold him, to go to bed with him, to brush his hair, to share wine together, to kiss him…

"It's why I have to go to Vuilpanne."

He should have seen that coming, but it wasn't abandonment this time, it truly was Geralt caring about Jaskier's wellbeing. It was just that, well, he was sick of being apart all the time.

"I'll come find you when Rience is dead," Geralt promised, and it was a promise, Jaskier heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes. While the Witcher didn't say it, Jaskier knew he was missed too.

He was worried though, Rience was no joke, he was powerful, and a bit crazy if you asked Jaskier, which made him extremely dangerous, and fucking frightening.

"Or he'll find me once you are," the bard countered, standing still, and not done with the conversation as Geralt stepped back toward the exit.

That stopped the Witcher again, with an audible huffing sigh he turned once more to face Jaskier. The bard held his ground, body language serious, eyes pleading. And then Geralt was striding toward him.

Most people would have backed up, or flinched and looked away, hunched in on themselves, but Jaskier wasn't most people, and he'd never been that way around Geralt. The Witcher meant safety to him, where to other's he meant fear.

The next moment there was a large, strong, callused hand cupping his jaw, and Jaskier was being kissed. He drank in all that Geralt would give him like a man fresh from days in the desert. Dry, full lips, a hot wet tongue, the smell of blood, sweat, and Geralt. The taste of him, like no one, and nothing else Jaskier had ever tasted, the stubble on his skin scratched an itch that was deeper than the surface, and the firm body brought with it memories of long nights spent together.

Jaskier couldn't keep his hands from those beautiful white locks, finger's tangling in the long strands, grasping tighter when Geralt's arms wrapped around him and brought their bodies flush together. A low whine vibrated in his throat, followed by a quiet growl in Geralt's, causing a shiver to run down his spine, and fuck it all, Jaskier want to rip their clothes off right there and then.

Unfortunately, it was all over agonisingly fast though. Jaskier tried to hold him, not ready to let go yet, never ready, but Geralt pulled out of the kiss, loosening the bard's grip, and it was all Jaskier could do to stop himself from crushing their mouth's together again.

"I promise to come back, Jask," Geralt whispered in a gravelly voice against the bard's lips before resting his forehead against Jaskier's. After a long moment he hummed, and then pulled away, his arms lingering as long as possible, "I have to go," he murmured, words full of regret.

Don't. Please don't.

He wanted to say it, shout it, but he knew it would do no good. This was something Geralt had decided he had to do, and the Witcher was going to do it no matter how much he pleaded.

Geralt was already at the door again when Jaskier found a voice to use that didn't have a tremble in it, "If you die, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself."

Geralt huffed, but his face was angled enough toward Jaskier that he could see the corner of his lip tipped up in a smile. And then he watched as his White Wolf opened the door and left, his heart leaving with him.

"Oh, merciful gods, please bring him back to me," Jaskier whispered to himself before exiting out the same door, but sadly going on a different path.