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"Oh, look Geralt," said Jaskier pointing upwards. Geralt sighed softly and lazily followed the direction with his eyes.
They were lying under the tree, after the long day. The sun was slowly approaching the horizon but the rays were still warm on their skin, lending golden glow to the world around them. The trees, the grass, everything seemed peaceful for once. It was end of the fall, and it should be freezing by all accounts by now, but weather was still nice. Pleasant even.
And Geralt found he was enjoying it even more now than those previous months.
"Hm," Geralt said looking up, up, almost into the sky, finally finding what Jaskier was showing him. "Mistletoe."
There was silence as they both gazed up at the round shape, sitting up in the branches.
"It's a parasite," said Jaskier softly, "drains the tree, killing it slowly."
"Hm," said Geralt again, closing his eyes, content. "In some cultures people hang it in theirs homes for festive season. Kiss underneath it ."
He didn't really know how he knew that or why he was telling Jaskier this. It was just another fact, stored somewhere deep in his brain, among the monster guts and ugly truths of world needing a witcher to dispose of its beasts. But it was fact nonetheless, pleasant at that for once and the one he thought the bard might enjoy.
There was some shifting beside him and Geralt leisurely gazed at Jaskier from the side. He was on his elbow now, looking down at him, the soft light of settling sun pleasant on his skin, bathing his features in shadows, making him look - warm. And something tugged at Geralt's heart.
He felt inexplicably pulled towards him, towards his warmth, as if it was the only thing that could stop him from freezing over the winter, only thing that could save his bones from breaking and shattering in the coming frost.
Jaskier leaned closer, just a slightest bit and Geralt haven't dared to breathe, nor move.
"Pfff," said Jaskier, the ever romantic, "you're pulling my leg."
Geralt blinked at that, torn out of his reverie.
"No," he deadpanned.
"No?" repeated Jaskier, not believing. "You're telling me someone climbs up that," he turned his head up, looking up, giving Geralt nice view of his neck, "goodness," Jaskier said, startled, "it really is tall tree, isn't it," Geralt unwillingly tore his eyes from Jaskier to the tree above them and when he brought them back, Jaskier was looking at him again, "just to cut that thing? And then hangs it in their home so they could what? Smooch? Under the parasite?"
"I haven't said it's not weird tradition," mumbled Geralt, slowly regretting bringing it up, pointedly not looking at his lips. "Just that it's tradition."
"It's poisonous, Geralt."
"Just though you might like it," muttered Geralt, in a way of apologizing.
"Imagine breaking your neck for parasite," Jaskier gazed up at the mistletoe again high in the crown.
And Geralt tried not to stare. So instead he shrugged lightly, settling down against the tree, comfortable. The winter was just behind the corner and soon they won't be able to lie on the ground anyway.
"They sell it too," he said, closing his eyes. "In the markets."
Jaskier seemed to consider that for a moment and then he light up. He closed the mouth that he had hanging open, quickly looking over at Geralt. "New business plan. Climb up there," he nudged him, "and bring me the parasite, Geralt."
Geralt opened one eye. "I thought you said it's stupid."
"Stupid sells best, Geralt. I should know. Up you go," "he nudged him again, "off, you magnificent beast. We'll make enough that you won't have to hunt again."
"Why don't you go?"
"Risking my neck?" Jaskier put exaggerated hand against his heart. "Are you short of marbles, Geralt?"
"So you decided I should risk mine, for something you don't even like?"
"I haven't said I don't like it," scoffed Jaskier. "Haven't heard of it before, 'is all. Sounds absurd though," he added softly.
"Forget I said something."
There was more bite in the words than necessary or intended but Jaskier shut his mouth.
The silence fell between them. The sun was lower than before and maybe they should start setting their camp. It was getting colder and soon, they will have to part their ways anyway. Winter was coming with its stupid frost and stupid winter festives and damned mistletoes... Geralt gazed up at the tree, at the offending thing in its crown, the light filtering through the sparse leaves.
It was absurd. Tricking people into kisses they didn't want to give. Just because you happened to be standing under - parasite. Jaskier was right. He just wanted to tell him something nice for a change, something gentle. Something sweet just as the bard himself perhaps. What a mistake. Jaskier had more edges you could cut your hand on than a broken glass.
Geralt chanced a look at his profile, deep in thought.
And yet.
He was the softest thing Geralt knew. He'll miss him terribly during the winter just as he always had. He'll miss his warmth, his jokes, his gentleness-
"Kisses under the thing that kills," mused Jaskier, "yeah," he shrugged, "I could make ballad out of that."
Yeah. His edges too.
"It's used for healing too, you heathen." Geralt huffed. "Never expected you to be the more morbid one out of us."
"Morbid?" repeated Jaskier, moving his hand, so it was almost in Geralt's hair on the ground now. Was it intentional or random, he didn't know. Jaskier didn't seem aware of it, though. "No. Just always found," continued Jaskier, leaning more into Geralt's view, "that romances with dramatic twist were more compelling."
Geralt gazed into his eyes, tarns of brilliant blue he could drown in. Many had before him, he knew. And Geralt suddenly wanted to jump into dangerous depths, let himself be pulled under the current, never to resurface again.
Jaskier was staring back at him, his pupils huge, his skin warmed by the sun. Geralt heard his heartbeat, could almost feel it, in the space where they were not touching. He took bated breath. He was a witcher but he was also just a man and weak at that; and he let his gaze flick to Jaskier's lips.
Jaskier was right. It made for more compelling story.
Wanting what could destroy you.
"To the audience, I mean," rasped Jaskier, licking his lips.
And Geralt squeezed his eyes and sat up, letting breath through his teeth. He couldn't... not really. Jaskier startled but let him, pulling away slightly to give him space to sit up, to lean his back against the tree. To sigh the weight in his chest out.
He could hear Jaskier's heart fluttering in his chest even from here, his breathing still elevated. He stayed still.
"It could be pretty though," said Jaskier somewhat pensively, looking again up, up at the branches high in the sky, where the mistletoe sat.
"What?" asked Geralt, soft sneer on his mouth, not opening his eyes. "Kissing whatever person you happened to be under the mistletoe with? Why would you want that?"
There was silence again, and when Geralt opened his eyes again, he had the full force of Jaskier's stare at him.
He tried his best not to shiver. Because Geralt, to his shame, understood the appeal completely. The excuse to steal, to enjoy whatever touch the other person was willing to give. Even if under the ruse.
Jaskier kept staring at him, hard, and after few moments he squinted. "You brought it up," he said, wheels in his head turning. "You, brought it up," repeated Jaskier as he leaned on his hands and knees, edging closer to him, smirk tugging at his lips. Geralt couldn't escape if he tried, his head against the bark.
And maybe he didn't want to.
His eyes studied him and Geralt had years of witcher's training only to thank for, that his face remained passive.
"Geralt of Rivia, the whitest of wolves," leaned Jaskier in, narrowing his eyes, "were you telling me this, just to make me kiss you?"
Panic rose in Geralt's throat, the lump he could not quite swallow. No. No. That wasn't his intention, it hasn't really crossed his mind when he blurted the cursed fact to Jaskier. He didn't want him to think that.
It was just something he wanted to share with him, to make him smile or sigh wistfully.
Jaskier's eyes shined with poorly concealed mischief.
He was so close he could feel his breath on his skin, tingling, making hair at the back of his neck stand.
Gods, he wanted to make him smile. But.. he did want to make him sigh, too.
Repeatedly, if possible.
"Because dear witcher," Jaskier leaned in, brushing their lips together, "you don't need mistletoe for that."
And yes, Geralt would climb a tree, would climb a thousand, all just for a simple peck of his lips.
Jaskier opened his mouth, flicking his tongue between his lips and Geralt had enough marbles to let him in, lest he says something stupid, something incorrigible, something like-
"I love you."