Chapter Text
Jaskier wakes up to the shock of cold water and gasps, eyes flaring wide. He’s in the ocean. Geralt is holding him.
What?
What . . .?
“Fucking bastard,” Geralt says, and lets him go. Jaskier sputters, and for a moment almost sinks. Even with legs instead of fins, though, he can swim just fine. Also, well, the water only comes up to his chest.
He stares at Geralt, feeling . . . alert and awake and strange, somehow. Is this another dream?
"Well, is he drowning?" the witch calls, and Jaskier looks towards the sound of her voice in bemusement and finds her standing on the shore with the elf.
He didn't realize they were so close to the ocean, he thinks.
"He's not drowning," Geralt says. Jaskier is mildly offended. He can't drown.
Wait. Is this a dream or not?
“Is this a dream?” he checks, and it doesn’t hurt to say, so that answers that question.
“It’s not a dream,” Geralt says, which is very unhelpful, actually.
“That seems unlikely,” Jaskier says.
“You were about to dissolve,” Geralt says.
“Dissolve?” Jaskier wrinkles his nose at him.
“You were going to turn into seafoam,” the witch puts in, much more helpfully.
“. . . was I?” Jaskier frowns. Well, that’s a strange price. “Then why the hell did you bring me out here?”
“Godsdammit, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and then he grabs him by the face and kisses him. Jaskier makes a startled sound, nearly falling over into the waves. Oh, yes—he’s definitely dreaming.
It’s a nice dream, especially since he assumes it’s his last one.
The seafoam thing is a little odd, though. And the audience.
Well, that's not going to stop him from kissing Geralt back, obviously. Even if it is a dream.
"You have no idea how hard you were to find," the witch says, putting her hands on her hips. "You brat."
"I told you where I was," Jaskier says.
"'With Geralt of Rivia' is not as helpful as you think it is," she says. "I've been up and down the whole damn coast."
". . . thank you?" Jaskier tries. She scowls at him.
"Why didn't you tell me how to complete the spell?" Geralt says. Jaskier blinks at him.
"Why would I?" he asks in bemusement. Geralt doesn't love him. What kind of a person would tell someone who didn't love them something like that? It'd just be cruel.
Also incredibly awkward, Jaskier feels. "Love me or I'll die" isn't much of a come-on.
"You should've told me," Geralt says.
"I don't think so," Jaskier says. "Wait, did the witch tell you? That's . . . incredibly embarrassing, actually. Don't hold it against me."
"Her name is Yennefer of Vengerberg," Geralt says.
"Is it?" Jaskier says, slightly sheepish. "I keep forgetting to ask."
"You were going to die," Geralt says.
"Wait, why aren't I dead?" Jaskier says with a frown. "This seems like an awfully long dream to die to."
"You're not dreaming, you fool," Yennefer says.
"But I'm talking," Jaskier says, pointing at his entirely unpained throat.
"The spell is complete," Yennefer says.
"No it's not," Jaskier says. Yennefer gives him a dubious look.
"And which one of us do you think would know better about that?" she says.
"Oh," Jaskier says. That's . . . "But you told me it had to be true love's kiss."
"Yes," Yennefer says.
"No one loves me, Yennefer," Jaskier says, frowning in bemusement. She snorts, folding her arms.
"You two deserve each other," she says.
"I don't understand," Jaskier starts, and then Geralt kisses him, and he . . . pauses, and thinks . . .
No, that's not right. Geralt kissed him plenty of times before and it didn't do a thing. Why would it work now?
That doesn't make sense.
"Don't do that again," Geralt says tightly.
"What, die?" Jaskier assumes. "It wasn't really intentional."
"Jaskier," Geralt says in frustration.
"Well, it wasn't," Jaskier grumbles. "What changed?"
"What?" Geralt says.
"You didn't love me," Jaskier says. "Actually I'm still not sure you do. So how did you give me true love's kiss?"
"I just kissed you," Geralt says.
". . . and?" Jaskier frowns at him.
"That's it," Geralt says.
"But you don't love me," Jaskier stresses. It shouldn't have saved him. It definitely shouldn't have completed the spell, or given him his voice back, or changed anything at all, as far as he can tell.
"You almost died," Geralt says.
"I was there for that, yes," Jaskier agrees. "Wasn't the best time I've ever had. Are you just literally incapable of answering this question, should I be asking Yennefer?"
"Don't involve me in your lovers' spat," Yennefer says.
"We're not arguing," Jaskier says. "At least, we're not arguing if Geralt answers my question. Which I am still waiting on, Geralt, while we're all young, please."
Geralt looks at him . . . oddly. Jaskier can't quite place the expression. His hands are on his arms, for some reason.
"Do you always talk this much?" Geralt asks.
"Frequently more," Jaskier replies frankly. "Did you know that you can't read the word 'love' in Elder Speech? Or 'adore'. It's a little depressing."
"That's what you wrote?" Geralt says, his expression still looking strange.
"Yes," Jaskier says. "I love you. Very much. I was going to find some way to tell you."
"You shouldn't," Geralt says. Jaskier sighs, patting his shoulders once and then squeezing them.
"Geralt," he says patiently. "That's really not how it works. At all."
"Hn," Geralt says.
"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone," Jaskier says, because he can say it and it feels good to. He can't help himself. "Even when you get yourself half-eaten by monsters or don't get paid or nearly drown yourself. And even when you won't talk to me."
"Jaskier," Geralt says tightly, and then he kisses him again. Jaskier’s getting the feeling he should be expecting kissed instead of spoken to . . . a lot, probably.
Well, there’s worse options in life. It’s apparently true love’s kiss, for one thing.
Jaskier . . . thinks about that.
Oh, he thinks to himself, and doesn’t quite know what to do. He grips Geralt’s arms, and obviously he kisses back, but . . . but he doesn’t quite know what to do.
“It was really you?” he asks, pulling back and unable to keep himself from asking. “You kissed me?”
“Yes,” Geralt says.
“So you love me,” Jaskier says. Because he was about to die? Because Geralt didn’t want to lose him?
He . . . likes that thought. That Geralt didn’t want to lose him. He still feels like he hasn’t been much of a companion, but if Geralt really wants him around that much . . .
“Yes,” Geralt says, and warmth blooms in Jaskier’s chest.
“Me too,” he says, and then he pulls him into another kiss. Geralt kisses back, sweet and perfect, and Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck and holds him tight. He wants to do this forever. He wants to never, ever stop. He wants—
“Get out of the water before you catch your deaths,” Yennefer says. “I went to too much trouble keeping you alive.”
—possibly to not be being watched right now, given the circumstances.
“I’m used to the water,” Jaskier grumbles, though Geralt’s obviously not, so she may have a point. Possibly.
He catches Geralt’s hands in his own and pulls him towards the shore, and Geralt follows after. Yennefer and the elf wait, the elf more patiently than Yennefer.
“We should take another look at your spell,” the elf says, glancing Jaskier up and down. “Make sure it’s stable.”
“Unfortunately I can see your point there,” Jaskier says with a sigh. He’d much rather be dragging Geralt to the nearest inn or conveniently secluded wherever. Geralt loves him. That feels much more important than anything else.
Not turning into seafoam is definitely important, though.
They go back to town, and the elf takes a look at the spell. Jaskier waits . . . somewhat patiently.
“It really is a masterpiece of magic,” the elf says, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“It wasn’t difficult,” Yennefer replies casually, inspecting her nails.
“It did almost kill me,” Jaskier reminds her dryly.
“Almost,” she replies dismissively.
“Is it stable or not?” Geralt asks.
“I think so, yes,” the elf says. “As far as I can tell.”
“Good enough for me!” Jaskier says brightly, jumping to his feet and grabbing Geralt’s arm. His clothes are still wet, but he doesn’t particularly care about that. He wants that conveniently secluded wherever.
“Yenn?” Geralt says as he turns to look at her.
“It’s stable,” she says, waving them off. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Jaskier says. “I suppose I should’ve said that earlier.”
“Mmm, perhaps,” she drawls.
“Thank you,” Jaskier repeats politely, and, perhaps less politely, “Geralt, come with me.”
“Why?” Geralt asks with a frown.
“Because you love me,” Jaskier says, squeezing the other’s arm slightly giddily. Well, he has reason to be, he thinks. “And I haven’t touched you properly in ages, which is a situation I need to immediately rectify.”
“Ah,” Geralt says as Yennefer snorts, and he lets Jaskier pull him towards the door. Good. Excellent, even. Perfect.
“Be . . . careful?” the elf says doubtfully.
“We will not be taking that advice whatsoever,” Jaskier promises him, and pulls Geralt out of the room. Geralt goes with him.
Jaskier is very happy about that fact, for the record.
Obviously.
"Where are we actually going like this?" Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow, which Jaskier supposes is a fair question since they're both soaking wet and he has no idea where either their things or Roach happen to be.
"To be together, obviously," he replies airily. "Where else?"
"Alright," Geralt says, and keeps following him.
It's interesting, actually, being the one leading him around this time.
Jaskier’s definitely going to enjoy it.
He's got a lot of things to enjoy now, actually. Today is very different from yesterday. There's so much more, today.
That's so wonderful.
He can't wait.
"Geralt," he says, glancing back to him and feeling all warm and lit-up.
"What is it?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier smiles at him.
"There's something I've been wanting to do," he says, and then he starts to sing for him. Geralt looks startled, and then his expression softens. It's hard not to smile too much to sing, but Jaskier manages it.
He picks one of the songs he wrote in his head, thinking of Geralt, and thinks that this is the best wish he ever could've asked for.