Chapter Text
He'd been a ghost at the edge of the bar, maybe a mirage even – more explainable but no less real than each other.
Jaskier drew his focus to his beer like it was a perfectly normal thing for the only other patron in the entire place at two in the afternoon on a Thursday to be studying how the bubbles rose so intently there was nothing else in the entire world.
He was gone suddenly enough to have been a trick or the light or the mind or the gods themselves, too, the far end of the bar empty just as suddenly.
“Your name Jaskier?” the bartender asked.
“Yeah,” Jaskier saw no reason to lie.
“Feller who came and went like that said to give this to you,” the bartender handed him a cocktail napkin with an address scrawled on it, complete with room number.
Fuck.
“Thanks,” Jaskier managed before tucking it well away from where any drink may be spilled on it.
He hesitated, though. Maybe a drink would spill on it. Napkin used, discarded along with the others, address wiped away with the mess.
But if Geralt was here, if Geralt had found his way to him again...
The napkin was tucked away very securely.
–
Geralt had been waiting for the knock on his door for nearly an hour. He'd started catching himself wondering if Jaskier wasn't going to show up. Maybe the bartender hadn't passed on the address like he'd requested but – no. Jaskier would be here. Jaskier always wound up in Geralt's bed when they crossed paths.
Tonight would be no exception.
So he waited.
The knock finally came.
It had been preceded by the rumble of the ancient converted van that had to be older than Jaskier, engine loud and whole machine squeaky when it tried to slow down. Jaskier loved the thing almost as much as he loved his instruments, though, and so it had become a sort-of siren song that preceded the man.
Jaskier was inside the motel room and crowding Geralt before Geralt could get the door closed, teeth and claws he normally kept so well-hidden from the world and fingers adept from a lifetime of music now playing Geralt like the fool he was. Geralt fumbled with the lock for a half a moment before his hands were under Jaskier's shirt. Jasper whimpered but went stiff where Geralt's too-rough hands met Jaskier's too-soft skin.
“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered the musician's name.
“Geralt,” Jaskier's pseudo-greeting was clipped, even more distant than the last time they did this and Geralt couldn't blame him. There hadn't been enough chance meetings since Geralt had hurt Jaskier, and despite how Jaskier kept coming back the twenty-first century bard wore armor around his heart he'd crafted specifically to wear when Geralt stripped the rest of him down.
That was enough formalities for either of them, Jaskier's hands working at Geralt's belt buckle like he'd practiced and, oh, Geralt swallowed that bitter draught of jealousy before it could find ways to twist itself into words.
Geralt managed to shrug his own shirt off before he tugged at Jaskier's. Jaskier let go of Geralt's pants – already undone, damn the man's hands – and let Geralt slide his shirt off and toss it somewhere neither of them were looking.
Geralt stripped his own underwear and undershirt and Jaskier's hands were all over him like he was trying to map all of Geralt's new scars with his palms.
“Our usual?” Geralt asked.
“Is there ever anything else?” Jaskier's words were light, the way Geralt preferred to remember them, well-buried laughter at their roots and a feeling that the world could be brought to heel if the two of them faced it together still hanging on to the edge of every sound despite the years and wrongs between them.
Geralt growled as Jaskier crowded him, walked them both to the motel room's lone bed that had been far too big for just Geralt. Geralt let Jaskier push him onto the bed. He landed on his back and the cheap mattress squeaked and groaned under him.
Jaskier was on top of Geralt before Geralt could get himself fully on the bed, still all teeth and claws and a litany of sounds Geralt thought he might drown in.
Geralt reached down and undid Jaskier's pants and shoved them down to Jaskier's knees.
Jaskier was hard, dick straining at the fabric of his underwear and fuck if a small whimper didn't escape Geralt. Jaskier laughed, breathless, and rose to his knees to shove his underwear down and then laid on Geralt to remove the last of his clothing in one go.
Hell if Geralt knew when Jaskier's socks and shoes had been shed.
“Fuck,” Geralt bit out, Jaskier too close and too warm to do anything but rut against him.
“General plan,” Jaskier managed without effort, “Unless your usual's changed.”
“Hasn't,” Geralt rolled Jaskier off of him and onto his back before following. Jaskier opened his legs to Geralt could settle between them.
“Good,” Jaskier was looking at Geralt's eyes while Geralt was looking at Jaskier's cock. Geralt could feel the weight of Jaskier's gaze, though, unyielding and burning bright as a thousand sunrises.
Geralt gave a little hum and leaned forward to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer.
“Tell me you put that there,” Jaskier told him.
Geralt grimaced and Jaskier laughed again.
Once upon a time, Geralt may have said something like you are the worst or stop it or even Would you like someone else to have put it there? to be contrary, but it had been words and other people coming together in all the wrong ways that had lead Geralt to fuck up so badly, so Geralt opened the lube and squirted some on his fingers before reaching down and applying some to Jaskier's asshole.
Jaskier hissed and clenched and Geralt went still.
“Cold,” Jaskier told him, “Much colder than I was expecting.”
Geralt kept still but said nothing, the words that might help not things he could get a grasp on.
“I'm okay,” Jaskier told him and, if nothing else the only lies Jaskier tended to tell Geralt were big ones.
Geralt started moving again and it didn't take much for Jaskier to relax again, pliant under Geralt's attentions, mewling and gasping and begging and trying to push himself down on Geralt's fingers.
Geralt withdrew his fingers and Jaskier gave him a half-laughed finally as Geralt grabbed Jaskier by both hips and hoisted him up so he could, to use Jaskier's word, finally fuck the other man like he'd been waiting to since he left that napkin behind.
Jaskier was hot, tight, yielding to Geralt's cock as he pushed himself inside in measured increments. Jaskier's noises were loud, reedy, keening things that Geralt was sure he would drown in this time.
He put some more lube where he and Jaskier were anchored together. The bottle snapped shut and Geralt tossed it into the same oblivion their clothes currently resided so he could grab Jaskier by the hips once more.
He fucked Jaskier like he wanted Jaskier to remember what he felt like for days. Every movement, every too-deep breath, every time Jaskier stroked himself off, Geralt wanted to be the phantom that kept him company.
Jaskier's hands were curled into fists around the cheap motel bedspread. His eyes were closed but when he could manage a word it was only ever Geralt's name or please.
Geralt was fairly sure he was going to leave handprint-shaped bruises on Jaskier's hips with how tight he was gripping, but he wanted. Oh, he wanted deeper and faster and more, wanted as much of Jaskier as Jaskier would give him.
Jaskier's breaths started getting sharp and Geralt told him not to hold back in far less eloquent words and Jaskier reached up to grab at Geralt.
Geralt let go of Jaskier's hips and leaned forward, caught himself on the heels of his hands and Jaskier curled up so nicely to let Geralt keep thrusting without losing his angle.
Jaskier grabbed Geralt's hair at his scalp and pulled and Geralt cried out a sound he was pretty sure was a yes and it must have been judging by how Jaskier didn't let go.
Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt and oh, that was new but Geralt loved it, loved the weight and force and the novelty.
“Jaskier,” Geralt purred.
Jaskier whimpered and squeezed and came with hitched breath and small thrusts of his own.
“Fuck,” Geralt bit out as he watched Jaskier fall apart under him. He came, too, the intensity of the everything he was facing pushing what little self-control he had away. He came buried inside of Jaskier and Jaskier gasped and arched his back and this man was going to be the death of Geralt.
Jaskier unwrapped his legs and Geralt went down on his stomach, trapped Jaskier between him and the bed but Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt and inhaled deeply like he was trying to memorize what Geralt smelled like when he came.
Geralt lay on Jaskier while his breathing leveled out and the feeling of every last one of his nerves sparking under his skin faded. He rolled off Jaskier and no sooner than he did so Jaskier rolled to face him. Geralt stayed up on his side so he could keep easy eye contact with Jaskier.
For a moment, he could almost convince himself they were orbiting each other again; their lives never could collide, they were too different, but once they'd always been within each other's pull, always close, always known.
“What brings you all the way out here?” Jaskier asked like they ever had a conversation in the wake they created.
“Work,” Geralt almost said no more but decided to add, “One of the bobcats' radio tags hadn't pinged in months.”
“So they sent you out to check,” Jaskier guessed. Geralt nodded.
“Managed to knock it out,” Geralt huffed, “no idea about the animal but-”
Jaskier's eyes were wide, curious, and almost too much for Geralt to deal with. He reached a hand up and traced the curve of Jaskier's cheek with the knuckled of his index finger. Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
“But sometimes having answers is worse than not knowing,” Jaskier finished for him and suddenly they weren't talking about Geralt's work anymore.
“Yeah,” Geralt closed his eyes, too, knowing he'd have to see the pain in Jaskier's eyes too much for him, “What about you?”
“Just the usual,” Jaskier shrugged with the shoulder not on the bed, “Travelling, singing for food and gas money. Still looking for that one great song.”
“Hmn,” Geralt wasn't sure what to say to that; he'd never known how to handle Jaskier's idea that there was one greatest thing he could create and know it was the best he was ever going to get. Jaskier had described it as a spark searching for the rest of its fire once. Geralt had asked Jaskier, then, if Jaskier himself could be the fire and Jaskier had laughed long and loud and Geralt had never seen him burn so brightly before or since.
They lapsed into silence, then, only to have it shattered not much later by Jaskier yawning.
“Where are you staying?” Geralt asked.
“In the van,” Jaskier twisted his neck like he was going to look out the covered window before he gave up and looked back at Geralt, “Where else?”
Jaskier liked to think his life never changed but Geralt knew that wasn't true. Jaskier was always shifting, one moment and the next so different they barely touched in hindsight. If Geralt was in the habit of being honest with himself, trying to keep up with Jaskier had been too much for him and the idea of being left behind had driven him to other people and-
-and how had he expected to keep that from Jaskier, really?
“Maybe a Motel,” Geralt shrugged, “I hear couch surfing is the new thing.”
He'd heard it months and months ago and he held onto it, wondered regularly if Jaskier was on someone else's couch to escape the way the van made hot nights unbearable and cold nights downright dangerous.
“Turns out you need a couch of your own to offer to get on the couch surfing lists,” Jaskier huffed, “Well, the ones that are mostly sure they're not letting anyone stay with murderers, anyway.”
It hadn't even been a fight when it happened. They were in a shitty little motel room not unlike this one and, while Geralt was in the middle of getting dressed for work, Jaskier informed him he was going to go to Boulder to see how the scene was for musicians like him.
Geralt would have thought Jaskier was just planning on being gone for a few weeks if it hadn't been for the wounded scream Jaskier let out as soon as the motel room door shut behind him.
“Not getting murdered is a pretty solid life plan,” Geralt felt the need to kill the silence before it swallowed them.
Jaskier ducked his chin when he chuckled; Geralt felt the denial of access to the way Jaskier's face lit up when he laughed like a twisted knife.
Jaskier had been gone for months. Geralt had to move on for another job. He'd texted Jaskier the next motel's address and Jaskier took days to text back and tell him Boulder wasn't the place he'd find what he was looking for.
the only roots they'd ever grown were inside their own souls and Jaskier's soul had always ran much deeper than Geralt's.
And yet, they kept running into each other.
Geralt traced Jaskier's cheek again and Jaskier put his hand over Geralt's to hold Geralt's hand there.
“When do you leave?” Jaskier asked, eyes closed again and his entire face pointed at the bed instead of Geralt.
Jaskier had gotten angry at him only once, maybe six months after Jaskier had left for Boulder. And even then, all he'd said was, Was she worth it?
Geralt hadn't answered because the answer was no, and if the answer was no then he'd have to answer questions like then why'd you do it?
If not to Jaskier than to himself.
“In the morning,” Geralt told him.
“Let me guess,” Jaskier huffed like he was trying to trick himself into laughing instead of crying, “just spent a week in the desert mountains, took the day to remember what air conditioning and fresh food feel like, next assignment's already waiting.”
“Five days,” Geralt answered, “otherwise yes.”
“You'd really think states would have dedicated teams to track wildlife,” Jaskier rolled forward and into Geralt.
“They do,” Geralt put an arm over Jaskier.
“Guess your reputation of finding the unfindable makes you quite the exception,” Jaskier was half-teasing, half-serious.
Jaskier had joined Geralt on a few hunts, unofficially. The first one Jaskier had complained almost the entire way, but when he asked to go on another one Geralt didn't say no.
Lost radio collars, ear tags, entire animals. If it was being tracked where people weren't living, Geralt had probably been sent to find it at this point in his life.
He didn't need to track Jaskier, though.
Jaskier always showed up.
“I'm everybody's last choice,” Geralt couldn't help the self-depreciation, “They exhaust all their other options and then call me in.”
“Not everybody's,” Jaskier mumbled.
Geralt let the silence claim them this time.
There would be no words to make this better.