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Eskel doesn’t worry about his maybe-date with Jaskier and Geralt until he’s already at the front gates of the town’s local petting zoo, tickets in hand with no magicians to be seen. His heart thuds sickly in his chest. A familiar playing card— worn from hours of his thumb stroking over the names and number— sits heavily in his jean pockets. Already, he can hear Lambert’s teasing voice in his head— “You fuckin' took them to see the goats, Esk?”
But the main attractions deeper in the city have Jaskier’s face on posters. People wander the sidewalks, talking about the magician and his handsome white-haired assistant. For the past week, Eskel’s stopped by each image and conversation, blushing fiercely at the reminder of their show. Even now, his hands flex around imaginary ropes.
A small pack of six-year-olds snickers on their way past Eskel, their name tags declaring a school field trip. Eskel fights the absurd urge to giggle deliriously along with them. A petting zoo. He invited two locally famous magicians to a fucking petting zoo .
He should leave before they arrive. He should at least pretend to have a sense of self-fucking-dignity.
Of course, as he steps away, someone gleefully calls his name.
“Eskel!” Jaskier calls from the parking lot, hand tucked into the crook of Geralt’s arm as they approach. “Sorry, magic practice ran late!”
Eskel stutters out a greeting. Like last time, he struggles to connect their onstage personas with the ones standing at his level. Jaskier’s dressed similarly to his magician’s outfit, his black vest and striped violet shirt making for a different kind of magic when Eskel eyes the curls of hair peeking from over the low V of Jaskier’s undone buttons. Impossibly tight black jeans cling to his hips, the cuffs rolled above cute little boots. Geralt stands beside him, almost imposing in an all-black look— a worn t-shirt and dark jeans, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar as though begging Eskel to yank him forward with them.
Jaskier messes with his hair, checking his reflection in Geralt’s low-hanging sunglasses. Eskel has no idea why— there’s not a single thing out of place for either of them.
“You guys look—” Eskel’s breath hitches when Geralt lifts his head to look at him, gold-brown eyes piercing into his own. Eskel swallows and tries again, voice rougher than he means for it to be. “Good.”
He nods to himself. Good-- an acceptable adjective.
“Thanks! I did try to get Geralt into his stage gear but, apparently, it’s inappropriate for this setting,” Jaskier says. “Shame. Next time, perhaps.”
Eskel doesn’t choke on his saliva, he swears it. “Next time. Yeah.”
“You almost sound as if you doubt it,” Geralt says, softening the tease with a smile Eskel’s come to recognize as rare— rare and an absolute blessing. Geralt bumps his shoulder against Eskel’s as they approach the entrance. “Should we be worried?”
Should the two gloriously attractive magicians be worried? Eskel doesn’t bother with a response.
“Eskel, dear, will you help me with the wristband?” Jaskier asks when they're given the paper admittance bands. Eskel takes it from him, focusing on wrapping it around Jaskier’s wrist, blushing fiercely from the reminder of how childish this is. Childish, at least, until Jaskier winks with a dazzling grin. “Mm. Tying things around my hands. Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
Of rope and stage lights and a familiar fluttering through Eskel’s guts? Yes, it does.
He doesn’t say this, though. He simply raises his eyes towards Jaskier’s. This should be the part where he apologizes for picking such a lame date. He should offer to go somewhere else— to disappear, if he wants to make a magic joke out of it.
“Look,” he says, half-distracted by the warmth of Jaskier’s eyes. “If you want to—”
“Oh my god,” Geralt cuts in— this is it, the moment it all ends. “They make horses that small?”
What?
Geralt points, a muscled arm extended towards the ponies near the back. Two heads peek over the gates, accepting treats from a worker’s palm as she explains their backstories to the few kids gathered around.
“He’s such a horse girl,” Jaskier says, grinning at Eskel. Slipping between the two, Jaskier fits a hand through Geralt and Eskel’s arms to yank them closer.
“Don’t interrupt the field trip,” Eskel warns. Jaskier laughs; Geralt keeps silent, eyes laser-focused on the ponies.
Thankfully, at the last second, Eskel veers them to the side. The two magicians follow his lead, though there’s clear disappointment in Geralt’s eyes when he sees how far the ponies are from their position.
“They’re Shetland ponies,” Eskel explains. He turns from the two and sticks his arm over the fence. He snaps in a distinct rhythm, allowing himself a slight smile when two of the less social horses move towards the noise. “And they’re not made, you know, unless you count mating.”
“Hm.” Geralt presses along Eskel’s side as the horses draw closer. He watches Eskel scratch between a brown one’s ears before attempting the same.
“You’re good with them,” Jaskier remarks from Eskel’s other side, hands in his pockets. He smiles softly, eyes on Geralt.
“I volunteer when I can,” Eskel admits. “This place does good work, and I like animals. Seems like you two do, too.”
“You know me— always looking for a rabbit to snatch for my next show,” Jaskier jokes, bumping into Eskel with fond laughter. He nods towards Geralt. “He’s the real animal lover. Obsessed with horses. Names all our pets after a pony toy he had as a kid. Roach, of all things.”
“Geralt’s petting the one I named Scorpion.”
“Geralt’s still right here.” Geralt pulls back, resting his hand on Eskel's arm. He does it as though his hand should naturally fall there. “Don't worry, we’ll have many conversations about the merits of Roach versus Scorpion.”
“Don’t drag him into your horse talks yet,” Jaskier says, dragging Eskel back with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Jaskier’s not big enough to move Eskel, but Eskel gives in with no small amount of glee. “Next, you’ll be discussing your herb collection and have him hunting buckthorn for you. Come on, Eskel, I’ll save you. Let’s allow him some alone time with the horses while we get a drink.”
Eskel’s head spins from all of Jaskier’s words. He stumbles as he tugs him from the gate, searching for a snack stand somewhere.
“There’s a vending machine by the worker’s entrance,” Eskel offers.
“Perfect,” Jaskier says. “Lead the way.”
When Jaskier steps aside, his hand swings between them— empty, loose.
Before he can talk himself out of it, Eskel takes it into his own grip, matching Jaskier’s slight gasp at the contact; it’s as electrifying as he remembers.
<><><> <><><> <><><>
“So,” Jaskier says between sips from his coke, “are you still nervous?”
“From the show?” Eskel asks, recalling how shaky his hands were when presented with rope and two handsome magicians.
“From earlier,” Jaskier says, leaning against the wall beside Eskel so they can watch Geralt in the distance. “When we were coming in. I couldn’t tell if it was first-date jitters or if you were having doubts. If it helps, we were nervous, too.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Eskel says, quick to reassure. “You’re both… cool.”
Jaskier laughs, though it’s not unkind. “A great descriptor, thanks. I better see that Yelp review for our show. Audible ellipses included.”
“Whatever,” Eskel says with a smile. With each word, Jaskier’s teasing feels more natural, more comfortable. More like they know each other and less like Eskel’s a fan hanging out with his celebrity crush. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Jaskier says, laughter fading. “But it’s unnecessary. We like you, Eskel. We wouldn’t have sought you out after if we didn’t.”
It makes sense. Eskel knows it makes sense. Still—
“You’re both irrationally good-looking. You have to know this,” Eskel says, dropping his gaze. If he looks at the dirt on his boots, he doesn’t have to see Geralt’s godlike figure as he smiles with horses or Jaskier’s perfect grin as he stands at Eskel’s side. He rubs his face, wincing as deep scars press against his fingertips. “You’ve got this show, these larger-than-life personas. I’m a guy with a pet shop.”
“I’m a runaway who got lucky with a deck of cards, and Geralt’s still a horse girl-- tragic backstory and all. He’s like you, you know? Gets in his head about insecurities until they seem more real than they are.” Jaskier speaks casually, as though there’s any reason someone like Geralt should ever feel insecure. Eskel raises his eyes slowly, shyly, catching a glimpse of silver hair.
“I’m sure you set him right,” he says without looking away.
“We keep each other afloat, yeah,” Jaskier says with a breathy laugh. “It’s been the two of us for a long time.”
“I can tell,” Eskel says, and he can. The way they seem to move in sync, the looks they share as though they’re doing more than looking— as though they’re sharing heartbeats and hidden smiles. He bites his lip, breathing deeply.
“But we both came here for a reason.” Something new tinges Jaskier’s voice, something almost unsure. Eskel glances over, but Jaskier’s the one looking away now, eyes in the distance as he tries to sound nonchalant. “We really like you. And we do consider this a date, in case you were wanting something else.”
“I wasn’t,” Eskel blurts out. “I mean. I was nervous but. I wanted it to be a date, too. If you guys wanted it.”
“We do,” Jaskier says. He waits a moment before shaking his head and looking over with a little shrug. “I don’t mean to get awkward about it but, sometimes, people just want a fun time. In a, uh, non-magic show kind of way. I’m the magician but, fuck, other people can disappear better than any of my tricks ever have. So we have to be cautious about who we let in.”
“And you decided to trust me?” Eskel asks.
Jaskier’s lips lift. “Less a decision and more an impulse. Typically, Geralt and I hold back a bit longer— but, fuck, Eskel. You’re hot.”
“Oh.” It’s not in the way Jaskier meant, but Eskel’s face burns. “You are, too. Both of you. And I typically don’t date, either. This is new for me.”
“Another wonderful impulse.” Jaskier’s grin grows. “Well, let’s not leave Geralt alone for too long. He’s likely to steal a horse while our backs are turned, and I’m the only one-trick pony allowed in his life. Come on.”
But Eskel calls out before he can take another step, stilling him. Stopping him. “Wait.”
Jaskier glances back, an eyebrow raised.
“Do—” It’s such a stupid question. Eskel reaches for the edge of Jaskier’s sleeve to ground himself. Jaskier doesn’t react with anything more than the slightest shift in his breath. “Do you always make magic jokes?”
There are stories Eskel doesn’t know, vague histories Jaskier referenced. He wants to know more, wants to sink inside those secrets because, at least, it means he’s allowed to stand close enough to hear them. He wants to know about the men beneath the stage lights, the people under the costumes.
Jaskier meets his gaze, turning to fully face him. A moment passes— or, maybe, a hundred.
He pulls his arm back and lifts his hand with a cheeky wink, Eskel’s watch hanging from his fingers— sleight of hand, slipping it from his wrist when he wasn’t looking.
“Ta-da,” he says, not answering the question. He turns, wrapping the watch around his own wrist, laughing teasingly. “Now, come on. Geralt will steal a horse.”
<><><> <><><> <><><>
Geralt teases them when they return, asking if they got lost or if Eskel plans on stealing Jaskier from him. An apology halfway makes it to Eskel’s lips, but his conversation with Jaskier reappears in his mind.
We like you
“I’m hoping to steal both of you if this date goes as planned.”
Geralt smiles, and a little piece of anxiety unwinds from around Eskel’s shoulders.
From there, it’s easier. Joking and laughing and talking with each other like they can’t get enough of each other’s voices. Geralt points out rare flowers growing on the edges of the zoo. Eskel introduces them to Lil’ Bleater, a goat he helped birth last summer. Jaskier stares at the bird enclosure, fascinated, and asks if he should add such vibrant feathers to his stage clothing.
Through it all, Eskel smiles. How lucky he is to be here with people like Jaskier and Geralt. To see them without scripts and spotlights, to watch the way they smile at him. To see the men beneath the magic— and to see how doubly magical they are, all on their own.
Of course, others eventually recognize the local celebrities. Near the llama enclosure, a family calls Jaskier’s name. He turns in time for two young boys to approach, bragging about how often they’ve seen his show. Their sister— a bit older, blushing something fierce as her mother urges her forward— asks if Jaskier can, pretty please, do a quick trick.
“Of course,” Jaskier says. His eyes turn towards Geralt. “Do you—”
“Yeah.” Geralt reaches into his back pocket and produces a deck of cards. Eskel’s not half as surprised as he probably should be.
“Perfect,” Jaskier says. He flashes them both a smile. “One moment, dears.”
He leads the kids to a nearby picnic table, and Eskel watches the subtle changes. A showman’s attitude slips over Jaskier’s shoulders like a cloak, his voice now a storytelling tone as he shuffles the cards and jokes with the family.
“He’s not like I imagine most magicians. It’s more than a job for you two, isn’t it?” Eskel asks, facing Geralt. He rubs the scars near his mouth, pausing when he catches Geralt’s eyes following the action.
“For a long time, magic tricks were a coping mechanism of sorts for the both of us. A distraction from reality,” Geralt says. “It’s nice to offer the same to other people.”
“Oh,” Eskel says. He’d known— he’d figured it was something special but to hear it in Geralt’s low voice nearly weakens him. “Wow. That’s—”
That’s something Eskel can’t put words to. Something he can’t name, can’t speak, lest he shows his cards too early. He likes these two— gods, he likes them. He likes them so fucking much, it terrifies him.
And it scares him, even more, when Geralt leans close, when he grins and pulls Eskel’s hand from his scars— rough fingertips brushing Eskel’s lips in the process, a warm breath across his cheeks when Geralt dips his head towards him.
Geralt doesn’t look at Eskel’s face, though, as he lifts his arm between them. He looks at his wrist, still fucking smirking.
“You let him take your watch,” he says, flicking his eyes towards Eskel. “Rookie mistake.”
Eskel swallows. “If only I had another talented magician to get it back for me.”
Geralt holds his gaze for a second more, the smirk making its way into his eyes before he laughs— as satisfying as thunder in a storm. “That’s cheating, and he knows my tricks. Besides, he’d like to see some of your moves, instead.”
“What—”
“It has a simple leather strap, like a belt, so it’ll slip off easier. Distract him, or wait until he’s distracted. Don’t let him see what your hands are doing until it’s too late. You won’t have to create an excuse to be close, at least. He already doesn’t have a sense of personal space. Now, for the tricky part.” Geralt circles a thumb and middle finger around Eskel’s wrist. Geralt’s grip tightens— snug, not painful— and he rests his thumb over Eskel’s pulse. The other finger strokes back and forth hypnotically. “Use the thumb to hold it in place. Your middle finger will slide the strap loose. You have to be patient, but it’ll work.”
Eskel doesn’t respond even though it’s clear Geralt’s done. And how can he be blamed? Geralt’s still holding his wrist, still brushing his finger over his skin. They stand nearly chest to chest, only their hands between them, and Eskel can’t control how his eyes can’t stay in one place— watching the silver strands of his eyelashes or the rise and fall of his chest. He breathes in time with him, head empty of anything other than this moment.
“I can’t pull it off,” Eskel admits. “I barely got the knots right when I was onstage.”
“Here’s a secret— it’s not about getting it right,” Geralt says. “It’s about getting you close.”
Geralt drops their hands and steps away as Jaskier bounds over, waving goodbye to the family walking away. Eskel’s skin burns as soon as the touch is gone.
“What are we talking about?” Jaskier asks, tossing a smile their way. He raises an eyebrow as he watches them. “Why does Eskel look afraid? Did you growl at him?”
“He didn’t. He—” Eskel staggers, trying to catch his breath and calm his heart rate.
Jaskier places a hand against Eskel’s arm, steadying him with a worried glance. “Are you okay?”
Eskel means to pull away, to give Jaskier space, but Geralt meets his gaze. He grants him a subtle smile and a pointed look at Jaskier’s wrist. Realization slams Eskel’s pulse back into a dangerous pace.
“I’m fine.” A hand over Jaskier’s on his arm, slipping slowly to his wrist. Leather and metal meet Eskel’s fingertips. “But, thanks.”
Circling his finger and thumb around his wrist— smaller than Geralt’s, but still warm and soft.
“I’m glad.” Jaskier smiles. Eskel shifts until his middle finger rests over the strap. “I’d hate to— oh, you motherfuckers.”
Eskel pauses, and Jaskier smiles like a shark who’s seen the hook beneath the bait and aims to claim it anyway.
“Stealing the watch back? From a master magician?” Jaskier drops his hand, steps closer. He brings his fingers to Eskel’s tie, tugging at the knot. “Geralt teach you that? That’s not fair.”
“He almost had it.” Geralt stands behind Eskel, body heat scorching his back.
“You’re an awful teacher,” Jaskier says to Geralt, though his eyes stick to Eskel. He flicks his fingers across the tie a few more times— in the time it takes to blink, the tie’s free from Eskel’s neck. “You should have told him no one beats a master.”
“I saw you take the tie, though,” Eskel protests.
“Misdirection, darling,” Jaskier purrs— thank fuck they’re in one of the emptier parts of the zoo, Eskel thinks helplessly. “I like having you look at me.”
Misdirection? So—
Eskel turns, face heating when he sees his belt in Geralt’s hands.
Geralt shrugs, looking surprisingly pleased with himself. “I told him if he gets the watch, I get the belt.”
“Are you magicians or thieves?” Eskel asks.
“If it helps you decide, we can make other things disappear, too,” Geralt says, sharing a look with Jaskier as they both draw even closer.
“Yeah?” Eskel can’t help his smile, not when these two are looking at him like that — like he’s a new trick they want to learn, like he’s magic they wish to command. “You wanna teach me that, too?”
Geralt’s chest against his side, his hands toying with Eskel’s shirt. Jaskier at his front, fiddling with the tie— wrapping and unwrapping them around his wrists.
“Come on, Eskel,” Jaskier breathes. “A good magician never reveals his tricks.”
A good magician never reveals anything, but—
But Geralt’s breath brushes the side of Eskel’s neck. Jaskier won’t look away from him, doesn’t seem like he can.
A good magician never reveals anything but, once Eskel has them alone tonight, he’s sure he’ll learn all about the magic they want to tease him with right now.