Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Geralt, would you calm down?” Jaskier drawled without looking up from his phone. Geralt paused his pacing to glare at his boyfriend where he lounged on the couch with an idle smirk on his face.

“I’m perfectly calm,” Geralt muttered, going and sitting by Jask’s feet. It was only with conscious effort that he kept his leg from bouncing, finger tapping restlessly against his knee. He went still as Jaskier sat up with a sigh, tucking his phone away and looking at Geralt with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“What is it?” he asked solemnly, reaching out to take Geralt’s hand. Geralt laced their fingers together wordlessly, struggling to decide what he wanted to say as he stared at their joined hands. Jaskier’s were nimble, long-fingered and elegant; pristine. His own were larger, rougher and scarred. “Are you nervous to meet my parents?” Jask continued, oblivious to Geralt’s inner spiral, “because I told you, you don’t have to if you don’t want–”

“I want to,” Geralt interrupted stubbornly, making himself meet Jask’s gaze. Blue eyes flitted over his face, drinking in his features curiously. Geralt set his jaw and a small, amused smile tugged at Jask’s lips as he squeezed Geralt’s hand.

“Right. Well, it will be awhile before they get home, and clearly you can’t sit still,” he teased, making Geralt flush with equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. He continued blithely before Geralt could argue, “How about a tour?”

“….a tour?” Geralt asked warily.

“Yes, a tour!” Jask enthused, bouncing to his feet without letting go of Geralt’s hand, so he let himself be tugged along. It was easier to just go with it when he got like this, his zeal turning him into a whirlwind that swept everyone and everything along in his wake. “What’s the point of acquiring all these trinkets and art pieces if we can’t show them off?” he asked idly, clearly not expecting an answer.

Geralt sighed indulgently, following Jaskier deeper into the manor. He was aware that his boyfriend’s family had money, but until now he hadn’t been aware of just how much. He was trying not to feel self-conscious as he followed Jaskier through the gallery displaying various paintings, sculptures and other curios. Geralt kept the hand not curled around Jask’s shoved in his pocket as he looked around.

Jaskier paused in front of a sculpture and Geralt looked at him curiously, studying his features. There was a certain tension in the lines around his eyes, his mouth a bit….pinched.

“Do you not want me here?” Geralt asked quietly. Blue eyes snapped to his, shocked.

Jaskier turned to face him, tugging his hand away to plant both on his hips. “Why on earth would you ask something so ludicrous, Geralt?”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t exactly….fit in,” he muttered, staring at his shoes.

“Hey, Geralt.” Gentle fingers hooked under his chin, tipping it up until their eyes met. Jaskier’s face was soft, open and warm and it soothed something withered and anxious inside Geralt, allowing him a shaky exhale as his tense shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Love, if I wanted to date someone who would fit in with my family, I’d have picked up one of those ninnies at those stupid galas my parents drag me to, or my fencing class, or any one of the other dreadful activities I’m forced to endure.” Geralt’s eyes flickered over Jaskier’s face, uncertain, and the brunet offered him a small, gentle smile as he leaned their foreheads together. “I want you. Scars and brutish manners and all.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed, pulling his hands out of his pockets to slide his arms around Jask’s middle and tug him close. Jaskier hummed and stepped into him so they were pressed together, his arms winding around Geralt’s neck. They stood that way, quiet and serene as they held each other, for an indefinable span of time.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Geralt suggested. Jaskier laughed, pulling back and tangling their fingers again, tugging Geralt along with him.

“It’ll be fine, as long as we’re careful not to break the–” He went silent as he heard Geralt stumble behind him followed by a crash and the unmistakable sound of shattering porcelain.

“–oh.” He bit his lip, laughter dancing in his eyes as he looked at Geralt, frozen where he’d stumbled to the ground after tripping over the edge of the stupid rug.

“I didn’t–the rug, I tripped–” he stammered. “Fuck. fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck–”

“Geralt, it’s okay,” Jaskier tried to soothe him.

“It’s not okay!” he snapped. “How much is that even worth?” he demanded.

“Mm….not sure,” Jaskier said idly, examining the shards with mild interest. “Maybe….quarter million? I doubt it’s more than that.”

Geralt blanched. “A quarter million?” he repeated, aghast. “Jaskier, I can’t afford to replace–”

“Geralt, it’s fine! It’s hardly the most treasured or expensive vase we have.”

“I broke it. They’re going to hate me–”

“You’re worried about my parents?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow and Geralt groaned.

“Of course I am!” He threw his hands up. “And I just ruined my first impression!”

“Geralt. Love. It’s a vase. It’s replaceable.”

“That’s not the point,” he nearly whined and Jaskier couldn’t help it, a laugh bubbled out of him. Geralt glared at him. “I’m so glad this is funny to you,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, it’s just–big, scary Geralt Rivi, tough guy, heartless and cold is….freaking out because he broke my parent’s vase, it’s just a bit ridiculous.” Jaskier chuckled again and Geralt spat out another slew of curses. “Geralt, what does it matter?”

“They’re your parents, Jask, that’s why it matters. I…I want them to like me,” he admitted reluctantly. Jaskier immediately sobered. 

“What they think of you doesn’t matter, Geralt.” Geralt opened his mouth to protest but Jask continued without giving him a chance to speak, taking Geralt’s face in his hands and speaking seriously. “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t cared what my parents thought since they first dismissed my music when I was fifteen. So no matter what they say or do, I’ll still love you and date you and probably someday marry you, so long as you’re agreeable.”

Geralt stared at him with wide eyes, speechless. His hands had at some point come to rest on Jask’s hips, holding him tightly. Jaskier’s lip curled up, mischief in his gaze.

“Oh, what’s this? Have I rendered you speechless?” he teased.

“You love me?” Geralt whispered.

The sharp edges of Jask’s grin softened into a smaller, sweeter smile that had Geralt’s heart squeezing. “Is that so surprising?” he asked softly. Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Geralt just nodded, his breathing shaky. Jaskier leaned in, and Geralt closed his eyes as their lips met. The kiss was slow, sweet and reassuring and leaving him breathless and a bit giddy as he clutched at Jaskier.

After a few moments Jask pulled away. “I’m actually glad you broke that,” he said as casually as he could manage with his breathless tone.

“Why’s that?” Geralt murmured, letting go of Jask’s hip to cup his jaw gently.

“I always hated it, thought it was terribly tacky,” Jaskier said with a grin, and then they were too busy kissing, laughing into each other’s mouths, to say anything more. But Geralt’s nerves had finally settled.

Whatever happened, he knew they were going to be okay, and that was all that really mattered.