#blacksmith!eskel

[smolgloves]

The Trial

Summary: Freya is reunited with her cousin, but must face a trial for breaking the rules

Tw: mentions of death, mentions of slavery, transphobia/enbyphobia, deadnaming

Deep underground, unbeknownst to the people of Skaars Hollow, was a colony of borrowers. Tunnels were painstakingly carved by the tiny people to keep such a large group hidden from the larger beings. Uncle Eskel said it was better that way, but after sitting in the empty room with only four dirt walls to keep her trapped, Freya started to wonder if this way was truly keeping her people safe or if this was merely a way to keep them sheltered.

The door creaked open and a figure not much taller than Freya slipped in. “I can't stay here long but you need to tell me everything.”

“Kes!” Freya jumped up from the bedroll and practically tackled her cousin into a hug. His arms wrapped around her and she was fully embraced in the familiar scent of smoke and ash that clung to him. “I was worried sick about you.” He said, trying to sound stern but the crack in his voice gave himself away.

“I know, I'm sorry.” Freya pulled away from Kes to meet his gray eyes. Soot smeared his round cheeks; when Freya slipped out of the border, he was still in the forge. Gods, he must have been searching for her since last night! “I thought I could get more supplies beyond the border.”

“I figured that much,” Kes sighed, taking Freya by the hand and sitting down on the bedroll with her. “But I need to know if you were spotted by that group that caused havoc in Huskin's Tavern.”

Freya tucked her knees to her chest, despite being close to Kes, she still struggled to meet his worrisome gaze. Unlike her, Kes was a more cautious and secluded borrower who didn't care to leave the safety of the walls. To him, there was uncertainty when one ventured out to larger being territory, and he refused to be put in a position where he might get caught. So he opted to be the colony's blacksmith, while Freya looked for supplies for him. They made a pretty good team, but that still didn't make telling Kes what happened any easier. “I got caught last night by that group.”

“By the gods, are you alright?!” Kes grabbed onto her shoulders and began studying her for any signs of injuries. “One of the scouts said you were covered in blood! Which one hurt you?!”

“I'm fine, really!” Freya shoved her cousin away, but flashed a smile. “It takes more than a few travelers to knock me down.”

“I'm glad this experience hasn't shaken your confidence, but this is serious.” He sighed. “What happened out there?”

“They didn't want me to head back home alone, and agreed to escort me back.” Freya avoided eye contact as she uttered those words, yet the horror that radiated off of him was palpable. “They were already planning on coming to town for some business.”

“What kind of business?”

“They were going after the goblins that terrorize the outskirts of the town and their leader wants to investigate the plague.” Freya took a shaky breath, fearing Kes’ reaction. “I think they're going to help us.”

Kes stared at her like she was suddenly growing horns and a tail. “Help us or help the real townsfolk?”

“All of us, Kes!” She exclaimed. “They seem like… good people.”

“Large ones don't help borrowers.” He clenched his jaw. “And if they do, it's never for the right reasons.”

Freya was no stranger when Kes acted this way, she knew what he had been through and thirteen years later, he still was traumatized by the raid of their colony. Normally, Freya would leave him alone to mourn his losses, but in a few hours, Freya would have to stand before the elders and face a trial that may not stand in her favor. Her only hope was to persuade Kes into seeing her point of view. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I don't know how else to explain it, but they're different.” Freya sighed softly, thinking about how Tav treated her, and wondered of their fate. Did they survive or were they already dead? Freya had to push those thoughts out of her head, Tav had to be fine. If they haven't fallen to the illithid parasite, then surely they wouldn't fall to Huskin! “Their leader speaks with such passion and kindness.”

Kes hastily shushed her. “You know better than to talk like that!”

“I'm just thinking about our colony!” Freya retorted. “We've been hurt by the plague too, and they have a lead on how to end it, maybe if we asked-!”

“You're going to get exiled or executed If you keep talking like this!” Kes hissed out, a fierce glare met locked onto her before fading away. He sighed. “Look, maybe there are nice large ones out there, but you need to play this smart. Tell them you were scared, be vague, do that and your punishment might not be so severe. Please, I can't lose you, Freya.”

“Okay.” Freya nodded, there was no getting through to him. Pride and fear kept a lot of borrowers in line, it was usually a life saver but Freya feared that would soon be their downfall if the plague continued to spread.

~~~~

Freya tugged at the sleeves of her green blouse, the questions had been relentless since the trial began, it didn't help when the entire colony had gathered around to listen to her brush with danger. She told them the story about getting caught by Astarion, meeting Tav and the rest of the group, and having to stay until morning; she of course, left out certain details that might make the colony panic more, but the main story was the truth.

“And they just let you go?” Asked uncle Eskel.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Uncle Eskel's stone gray eyes bore into Freya. He was definitely the spitting Image of Kes, but where her cousin showed more kindness and sympathy when he looked at Freya, uncle Eskel only showed a stern disapproval. The two quarreled for a long time, as to why, that remained a mystery. Whatever the reason, Freya knew she wouldn't get any pardons for simply being the elder's niece.

“They… didn't see a use in keeping me.” Freya sighed. “The group had better things to do than keep a borrower around.”

Murmurs spread around the room speculating how a borrower would simply be let go. Then one elder named Whitcomb broke through the crowd. “Preposterous, a larger being wouldn't let a borrower go!” He shook a bony fist in the air. “We are too valuable on the black market.”

“Ta- The halfling showed empathy when they met me.” Quizzical looks painted the faces of the five elders, none of them could wrap their heads around a larger one being nice to a borrower. “Their priority was to figure out what was causing the plague in Skaars Hollow, they had no time to… sell me off.”

“Why are they curious about the plague?” The elder named Petrona asked. She was a woman in her forties, the youngest elder of the five. The only reason she was appointed was because her mother- the previous elder, had gotten sick from the very plague and was likely to die.

“They want to cure the town of this ailment.” Freya glanced over to Kes, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared at her with wide eyes. She wished she could read his mind right now, was he mentally screaming at her for speaking too much or just filled with general anxiety?

“So Freya got lucky and was spared by kind travelers?” The elder known as Veron said, running his fingers through his graying beard. Things seemed to be going Freya's way, the hammering in her chest was slowly easing up.

But Mirable cleared her throat and stood up. “I'd like to remind the council that Freya lingered in the tavern after she was free.” Freya cursed under her breath, of course Mirable would rat her out!

“Is this true, Freya?” Uncle Eskel's voice cut through like a blade, ready to pierce her heart if she even utters the wrong words.

“I did,” She let out a heavy sigh. “I wanted to know more about the plague to see if I could learn anything that might help us.”

For a moment, the crowd seemed to approve of Freya's logic. That maybe the young borrower was only risking herself for the sake of her people, surely she shouldn't be punished so severely for thinking about the fate of her people, right? But Mirable only glared at Freya with dagger-like eyes. “Oh? If that's the case then explain why you attacked the one who tried to kill the Gith?”

Gasps dispersed around the room, Kes looked as though he might rip out his own dark hair. If the ground decided to open up below Freya's feet, she would gladly let herself be swallowed up to avoid this trial.

“Answer the question, Freya.” Uncle Eskel snapped.

“She was aiding in learning more about this plague.” It took everything in Freya to keep her voice from trembling. “I wanted to do my part in aiding them to that.”

“Borrowers are forbidden to aid larger beings no matter the reason!” Her uncle shouted. “You know this, yet you defied the very law that has kept our people safe!”

“Standing back and watching them die could only hurt our people!” Freya retorted.

“Father…” Kes cleared his throat, his hands shook more than Freya did. “Perhaps, Freya's intentions should be… considered over her nativity?”

“Silence Kan… Kestrel!” Uncle Eskel shot a piercing glare at his child. “All of Freya's actions will be judged!”

Nails dug into Freya's clenched fists, even ten years after Kes began his transition, Uncle Eskel's efforts to use his child's true name was lacking. Years of arguing with him wore him down enough to use the correct name to keep the house civil, yet they all knew uncle wasn't keen on the change. Anger boiling, Freya was ready to lash out at her uncle, but her eyes glanced over to her older cousin, who shook his head at her. She didn't need to read minds to know Kes was telling her not to start this now, and as much as she hated it, she knew he was right, the correction can wait until after she is given a penalty.

Petrona glanced over at uncle Eskel. “I hate to say it, but Kes has a point. If the travelers mean to seek aid for this plague then surely Freya should meet a less severe punishment?”

Loza, the other female elder scoffed. “Even if the large ones aid this town, we will not obtain such gratification.”

“That's not true!” Freya blurted out, all eyes fell on her now. Her throat threatened to close in an attempt to seal her true words from leaving her lips, but the searing glares from the elders kept her from freezing up. She had to speak up, to vouch for Tav and their companions. “I mean… their leader seemed keen on helping everyone affected by the plague. Perhaps, aid could even… reach us.”

The collective gasp wasn't at all surprising but it was disheartening, the quiet murmurs became full blown clamors, people spoke of theories of what the group did to Freya to make her say such a blasphemous thing.

“Are you suggesting that we reveal ourselves to those travelers just because a few of our own are ill?” Whitcomb bellowed out.

“Absolutely not!” Her breathing became more ragged, her mind racking for ideas that could win the colony over. “But maybe… I could… ask for the assistance myself.”

“No!” Kes shouted out, terror flickered in his eyes. His fear was reasonable, but Freya only gave him an apologetic look before continuing. “I heard they're going to investigate the cave south of here. If I go there, I could get the answers and hopefully, a cure for this plague. I would be the only borrower they interact with during the whole journey.”

“Have you gone mad, girl?! You're asking to befriend the very beings that have oppressed our people!” Fury was painted on uncle Eskels's face; there was no doubt he wanted to do nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs for even hearing such a suggesting, but he maintained a professional decorum. “Have you forgotten the last time a borrower befriended a large one?” He asked in an eerily calm tone.

“Of course I haven't.” Freya's jaw clenched, how dare her uncle question her loyalty, she was not like the boy from thirteen years ago. The boy who befriended the larger being only to be betrayed and hunted down along with the rest of her colony for a quick profit. The very raid that took the lives of her parents, and the lives of Kes’ mother and younger brother. She wasn't stupid, she knew what larger beings were capable of, but if the fate of her colony rests in the hands of Tav, then she must do everything she can to make sure her people survive, even if such methods were… unconventional.

“I worry about Freya's alliance.” Mirable's cold voice silenced the crowd. “There was another questionable character amongst the travelers. The pale elf had a bounty on him, Huskin and his grunts wanted him, and the way he fought... He used more than blades to slaughter his enemies, he also tore into the neck of one of the cooks. I've only heard of vampires doing such a thing.” The scout studied Freya for a moment, she saw the guilt written on her. “I'm right, aren't I?”

She couldn't face anyone, not Mirable, not the elders, not even Kestrel. There was no good way to explain why Tav kept a vampire around, Freya couldn't even fully understand why. Her silence was all the confirmation the crowd needed.

“By the gods!” Uncle Eskel shouted. “You would have us put our trust in a group who lets a vampire roam free?!”

“One that walks in the sun too!” Veron added.

“Did he charm you?” Petrona gasped.

“Of course not!” Freya scrunched her nose. “The halfling is the one who leads the charge and he listens to them.”

“A vampire will always listen to their instincts.” Whitcomb warned. “And a colony of borrowers will satisfy their hunger for a bit.”

The panic in the crowd grew like a pot of water boiling over. Youngsters mentioned second hand stories about vampires, while the elderly feared they must uproot their lives and leave Skaars Hollow, and mothers cried out for the safety of their children. It was chaos that couldn't be contained.

“You have put our colony in danger with your recklessness!” Uncle Eskel shouted.

“Everything I have ever done was for the colony!” She snapped back.

“It was for your own selfish desire to seek out adventure, like your father!” Her uncle screamed out, his voice silenced the crowd, they watched in bated breath realizing this was no longer just a trial of a borrower who broke the rules, but a family affair being put on display. When Freya didn't retort back, uncle Eskel cleared his throat of all the rage he had pented up. “I have given you a pass due to it being the very thing that saved you from the raid, but now I see my leniency has put us at risk.”

Freya tensed up. “What are you saying?”

Uncle Eskel took a deep breath. “As of tonight, you are no longer welcome as a member of our colony. You will be escorted beyond the border where you will continue your exile alone.”

Yo-you can't do this!” Freya shrieked, her eyes locked onto her older cousin's, who shared the same look of fear as her. Neither of them should be surprised yet they were gutted by the verdict no less!

“Are we sure we should let her go freely,” Loza scowled. “Where she could always return with… unwanted guests.”

“I will not sentence the daughter of my sister to be executed.” While still stern, a glimpse of pity shone in his eyes. It was easier to pretend her uncle hated her, but deep down, Freya knew he had a soft spot for her just for looking like her mother.

“There must be another way, father!” Kes pleaded, tears pricked his eyes. “What if we forbade her from leaving the walls.”

“No!” Uncle Eskel bellowed. “She will continue to sneak out and cause trouble!” His cold glare fell onto his niece. “If you won't abide by the rules that kept your ancestors alive, then you can live on your own where your actions will only get yourself killed!”

“All I did was try to help!” There was no holding back tears anymore, she looked back to Kes, meeting his eyes one last time before Mirable pushed Freya along to send her out in the wilderness.

A/N: Hey, I just wanted to take a moment and say this was my first time writing transphobia in a story and while I took time to consult with people about the topic before hand, I will still admit that this is a topic that I wanted to tread carefully on. I didn't want to shoehorn the topic in but also not downplay the affects of misgendering/deadnaming. If anyone has more advice on how to write such a delicate topic. Let me know! Also Kes is trans-masc and would use he/they pronouns, I'm not quite sure how to write a character with multiple pronouns. So if anyone has any tips on that, feel free to let me know. Thank you for your support!

[curlygirlybitchachos]

Witcher Reader

Jaskier: just a question gentlemen. Because I'm curious. What would you do if you were not a Witcher?

Eskel: farm. Just let me have some peace...

Lambert: I would have an inn. Maybe a blacksmith.

Geralt: hm... *looks at Ciri* stay at home dad.

Y/n: well, one summer I learned how to pole dance. So I think I will stick with that.

*everybody speechless*

Jaskier: I knew that you are a slut. I like you.

[witchaphe]

(used this template and this oc creator)

(if I could have been bothered I would have edited a rainbow horse for Jaskier and called it Pegasus but I am lazy so nyeh)

I've got the Stardew Valley brainrot and now all I can think about it Stardew/Witcher au Jaskier is the new "farmer" that lives in a cozy house full of musical instruments. His farm is covered in dandelions come Spring.

Geralt owns a horse ranch in the mountains and has both a dog and a horse named Roach. Yennefer is his ex wife she owns a potions shop.

Eskel is the blacksmith that always gets excited about the new ores he's brought.

Lambert (and Aiden) own the bar tavern and you can see that there is a back room full of bombs?? Lamberts favourite gifts are beer AND bombs.

Vesemir is the one running the adventurers guild.

[justhereforeskel]

Blacksmith Eskel, my beloved 💜

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Geralt x Eskel | 14.7k  || header by the loveliest @petrificustotaluss​ <3

Geralt is in the middle of bottling a pain elixir for Mildred down the road when there's a frantic knock at his door. Frowning in the direction of the sound, he corks the bottle and rises from his seat, crossing to open the door. A young girl - Geralt recognizes her as the blacksmith's apprentice - is bent over, hands on her knees, and panting on his doorstep. She looks worried and when Geralt crouches down she looks up at him with big, glossy eyes.

"He's hurt," she pants and Geralt isn't sure who she's referring to. It's a farming village, someone is always hurt.

"Who," he asks gently and Gretka just looks at him.

"Eskel," she says and it feels like a dagger being plunged through Geralt's heart. It takes everything in him to keep his breathing even as he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"Where is he?" he asks, "Is he okay?"

"They're bringing him here. The boys from the farm."

"Okay," he says gently, still trying to slow the hammering of his heart, "why don't you run along home and I'll go meet them."

Gretka nods and gives Geralt one last pleading look before straightening up and pulling away. She only takes a couple of steps before turning back to him, fidgeting with the hem of her apron.

"You'll take good care of him, right?"

"Of course."

Geralt doesn't know what he can do. Without knowing what happened, he can't promise anything, but he will do the best he can. Eskel is a friend and one of the kindest people Geralt knows, he has to be able to do something.

When Gretka is out of sight, Geralt pushes himself up on shaky legs, takes a deep breath, and makes his way out of the garden and down the path to meet up with the entourage. He doesn't make it far before he spots them, John the farmer and his three sons, and they've got Eskel between them on a stretcher. Geralt tries not to let it bother him, but even seeing him from a distance makes his chest tight.

As soon as the men reach him, everything moves far too quickly. Geralt is giving them directions and they move surprisingly fast for carrying a man as large as Eskel between them. Eskel himself is awake and Geralt does his best to give him a once-over on the way back to his hut. Immediately, he sees burn marks in his clothes, holes of varying sizes where the fabric was singed and he fears to see the skin beneath. A good portion of one trouser leg has been lost already and Eskel's leg is red and blotchy. Burns, at least, he knows how to deal with; he only hopes it's nothing more serious than that.

When they reach the hut, Geralt hurries in ahead of the others, seeking out a tonic for pain relief. He'd rather Eskel was unconscious for all of it, but that will have to come later; he still needs to talk to him about his injuries. So for now a simple painkiller will have to do. He finds one that's not too strong and hopes it will be strong enough.

He directs the men to lay Eskel on his bed and he hurries into the bedroom after them, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He thanks the men and sends them on their way. He'll have to remember to repay them somehow, but he has other things to worry about now.

Eskel groans where he lies, and Geralt reaches out, his hand hovering just above Eskel's thigh. He doesn't dare touch him because he doesn't know how bad it is, but he wants to comfort him somehow.

"Hey," he says gently, "I'm here. Tell me what happened?"

"Fuckin' goat," Eskel mumbles and Geralt immediately scans his body for signs of bruising or puncture wounds. "Was making coal and she came up and tried to get right into the fire pit, had to pull her out of the way. Dog next door spotted her and started barking-" he groans and shifts in place, wincing, "-spooked her and when she pulled away I lost my footing-"

"Shit," Geralt mutters. He can imagine well enough what happened next. Eskel huffs a laugh, immediately followed by another groan of pain. "Shh, just relax. Where is it worst?"

"I think my leg?" Eskel says, "but my arm's not great either." He sounds much more concerned about the latter and Geralt realizes with a start that it's his left arm, his dominant arm that's worse for wear. Eskel moves to demonstrate and Geralt presses a hand to his chest instinctively.

"It's okay," he says quickly before realizing he's now leaning right over him. "I'll look you over." He only belatedly realizes he's still holding the bottle of pain tonic in his other hand and he pauses. "Sorry, I should have- It's easier for me if you're unconscious when I look you over, but I need to undress you first." He can feel his cheeks flush already and he hates it, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it.

"Do what you gotta, doesn't bother me any."

"If you'd rather be awake I can give you this for the pain-"

"Geralt," Eskel interrupts, "you're not some stranger passing through town, I trust you."

Oh. Geralt's heart clenches and it takes him far too long to recover from that.

"Okay," he says softly, "wait here-" he realizes what he's saying at once and stops, shutting his eyes and dropping his chin. "I'll be right back with the sedative."

Geralt slips from the room and back into his kitchen, pressing his hands to the table and dropping his head. He's an idiot. Eskel is injured - badly - and here he is barely keeping his shit together. He gives himself exactly ten seconds to sulk and panic a little bit about having Eskel in his home and then he replaces the painkiller on the shelf and pulls down a bottle of sedative.

He measures it out carefully, though with shaky hands, and pours it into a cup that will be easier to drink from. He takes it into the bedroom and sets it on the side table, pulling up a stool for himself so he doesn't jostle Eskel any more than is necessary.

"It's fast acting," he explains, "you'll be asleep in a matter of minutes."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours? Unless your body needs the sleep, then maybe longer." Eskel nods lightly and reaches up automatically when Geralt lifts the cup off the side table. "Hey," he whispers, "it's okay, let me."

He presses the cup to Eskel's lips, tipping it up so he can drink it. He hates seeing him like this, helpless and obviously in a great amount of pain, but he tells himself it will be fine. Eskel will sleep soon and Geralt can do what he can for the wounds.

Almost as soon as he's finished drinking, Eskel's eyelids flutter and he lets them drop shut. Geralt waits until he hears the sound of his breath evening out, then finally sets the cup down. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding it until he lets go. His gaze lands on Eskel again, looking over him, and he swallows hard.

Pushing all his other feelings aside, Geralt gets to work. He starts with the belt around Eskel's waist, undoing it and gently pulling it out from under him to set it aside. Next comes the apron - slightly more difficult because Geralt has to empty the pockets first before he can turn him over to untie it, and Eskel's pockets are full of shit. Everything from nails to rags to dried fruit for the goat winds up in a pile on the end of the bed and Geralt smiles to himself as he thinks about it, imagines Eskel feeding treats to lil' bleater even when she's a pest.

Once he's got the apron set aside, Geralt falters. Shirt or trousers next and he can't bring himself to do either. But he's a professional, he can do this. He's done it dozens of times before. But stripping Eskel out of his clothes is not the same as the alderman or the seamstress down the road. Geralt swallows hard and resigns himself to a not insignificant amount of embarrassment as he leans over to unbutton Eskel's shirt.

The buttons end halfway down his chest and thick dark hair appears where his shirt now sits open. Geralt pretends not to notice and reaches down to unbutton Eskel's trousers, making it as easy as possible to pull his shirt loose where it's still partially tucked in. He winces in sympathy as he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing red, splotchy skin on the better half of his chest and stomach. It only goes partway around his side, so Geralt isn't too worried about rolling him over, but he will have to check.

First, he gets Eskel's trousers undone all the way and tugs them down his thighs, shocked to find he's wearing nothing between them. He steadfastly ignores Eskel's cock where it rests against his hip and makes a mental note to find him something to wear if he's going to be here longer than the night. Which, judging by the state of him, he will be.

Once Eskel is fully nude, Geralt inspects the burns more closely and they're worse than he thought. But when he turns him over, they don't reach his back, which means lying in bed will still be comfortable enough. Geralt leaves him for a moment, returning with cold water to rinse the burns and a salve for the burns that will both help with the pain and start the healing process.

He starts with the water, soaking cloths and laying them over the damaged skin, replacing each when they begin to warm up. He keeps it up for close to half an hour until Eskel's skin is no longer hot to the touch and then, once he's dry, he starts with the salve.

Geralt fidgets when he can't get the lid off and eventually has to stop and collect himself before continuing. This time, he gets the lid off without trouble and begins applying the salve.

Eskel shifts in his sleep and it takes all of Geralt's strength not to reach out to settle him. He realizes belatedly that he'll need bandages for him and wants to immediately get up to collect some, but he knows he should finish this first. He's just antsy, struggling to sit still and keep from climbing up onto the bed with Eskel. He takes his time applying salve and once he's satisfied with his work, leaves to collect bandages.

Nearly Eskel's entire front has some sort of damage and Geralt winces as he wraps his wounds, starting with his legs and working his way up. When he's done, he sits at the side of the bed for a moment, barely resisting the urge to reach down and brush his fingers along Eskel's cheek. His face is pinched up, even in sleep and Geralt can only hope the salve will act quickly, helping to relieve some of the pain, if only temporarily.

While Eskel is sleeping, Geralt keeps himself occupied. He brews teas to help with the pain and ensures he has enough salve to re-bandage Eskel's wounds tomorrow. He makes sure he has enough food in the house and calls out for supplies he's missing. It's not often he has someone else in the house with him and he doesn't want to leave Eskel alone like this.

But once he's sure his supplies are in order and fresh salve and bandages are prepared for the morning, Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself. He tries to read, but he can't focus on the words and when he cleans, he finds himself sweeping the same bit of floor four times because his mind keeps going back to Eskel lying in his bed. Although that, at least, gives him something to keep him occupied for a little while.

Geralt pulls all his winter blankets and extra pillows from the cupboard, making himself up a bed on the floor next to his own bed. He doesn't want to be far from Eskel, but he doesn't want to risk hurting him by sharing the bed. Once that's seen to, he makes his own supper and extra for Eskel if he wakes before the morning, then goes out to collect his laundry from the morning's wash.

While he's out in the yard, three separate people stop him to ask about Eskel. Geralt tells them all the same thing; he's fine, but he needs to rest and he'll be in bed for at least a couple of days. He appreciates their concern and he knows Eskel would too, but he'd rather keep to himself right now. He's not the one injured, but he's still feeling rather raw and overwhelmed by the whole situation.

It's a well-kept secret that Geralt has always been fond of Eskel, more so maybe than is good for him. They both grew up together in town, playing in the woods and the creek as boys and later attending the same festivals with the other children their age. They had at some point been mistaken for brothers, only as Eskel got older, he got bulkier while Geralt remained thin but strong. As children, Geralt had had a crush on the other boy and like so many other things growing up, it had never entirely gone away.

He drops a shirt thinking about it and as he ducks down, spots a red tulip growing next to the fence. Appropriate, he thinks. Tulips mean passion, a declaration of love, and he can't help but pluck it from its spot and bring it inside with him. He puts his laundry away and takes the flower into the bedroom with him, intending to put it in a cup to brighten up the room a little, but when he sees Eskel again, he sighs and drops onto the stool.

As he looks over Eskel again, his modesty preserved by a blanket pulled up over his waist, he smiles sadly. Leaning over, he slips the flower into Eskel's hair, tucking it behind his ear and brushing the hair from his forehead.

Eskel is still asleep when night falls and Geralt doesn't want to wake him. He takes the extra food he prepared and sets it on the side table with a cup of water. If Eskel wakes in the middle of the night, they'll be there for him, even if it might be difficult for him to move.

Geralt then settles himself in his makeshift bed and shuts his eyes. Then opens them again, listening to the sound of Eskel's breath. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, pulls his blankets up tighter against his shoulders, rolls back onto his side. Nothing he does makes it easier to sleep. His mind races with thoughts of Eskel's suffering, hoping he won't wake until the morning and Geralt will be there to care for him. He thinks about him into the early hours of the morning and then, finally, falls asleep once he's made himself a plan for the morning.

When Geralt wakes, he can't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He pulls himself up off the floor, groaning at the way his joints creak and his muscles groan at him from sleeping on the hard floor. He'd be much happier to have slept on the sofa in the main room or on the bed, but he'd rather be closer to Eskel, though not close enough to risk hurting him.

He goes about his morning routine, cooking breakfast and disposing of the supper Eskel never ate. He puts it in a bucket for the pigs next door and proceeds to get something hot ready for Eskel in its place. He's glad, on one hand, that Eskel is still asleep, but on the other, he's worried that he's still asleep.

It's certainly not the tonic anymore, but he must have been exhausted, from his injuries or just because he works so damn hard. Geralt gets breakfast and a glass of water together and takes them into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed to prepare Eskel's salve and bandages and behind him, the bed shifts.

"Hey," Geralt whispers, turning to face a very frowny and somewhat confused Eskel. "Don't get up, you're hurt."

"I- Geralt?"

"You were brought to me yesterday afternoon, do you remember?"

"Mm, I remember falling in the coals and… yeah. Yeah, I remember coming here. You took care of me."

"It's my job," Geralt says simply, but he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. It's not his job and they both know it.

"Coulda sent for a doctor."

"You needed immediate attention, I was happy to help. How are you feeling now?"

"Sore. Stiff. How bad is it?"

"Bad," Geralt says simply. He doesn't want to it and he knows Eskel doesn't want that either. "You'll need to rest a couple of days. You're… more than welcome to say here."

"Geralt, I couldn't-"

"You can, you will. I have more than enough space."

"Geralt-"

"I made breakfast," Geralt interrupts, "please, eat. There's water as well and I'll have to check your burns after you eat."

Eskel relents at the scent of food and Geralt is more than happy to have him eat it. He helps Eskel into a sitting position, propping pillows up against the frame of the bed to make him more comfortable. Eskel's right arm is better off than his left, so he's fully capable of eating on his own; Geralt could just leave him to it and give him a bit of privacy, but he can't bring himself to get up.

He keeps his hands to himself, even when Eskel fumbles the first couple of times because he's not sure how much Eskel would allow. He was still pretty out of it when he arrived yesterday, not that Geralt could blame him for that. He sits and waits and when Eskel is finished eating, he drinks the entirety of his water and settles back into bed.

"Sure you don't mind me staying?" Eskel asks.

"Of course not, stop worrying." Geralt gathers up the salve and bandages and sits on the edge of the bed. It's only when he pulls the blanket down to see Eskel's stomach that he remembers he's completely naked beneath the covers and he draws back.

"Do you-" Geralt lowers his eyes, "I could find you some clothes," he suggests, "I could bandage you up well enough if you wanted a pair of trousers."

"'S fine," Eskel mumbles, "wouldn't be the first time, anyway."

Geralt nearly chokes. He knows Eskel's only referring to the times they would swim in the river together as boys, but it feels very different when he's lying naked in Geralt's bed. He's not sure exactly how to go about it with tact, so Geralt just pulls the blankets away all at once and tucks them under themselves to the side. He carefully controls his line of sight as he moves to strip the bandages away.

Some of them have bled through, only a little, but it makes him nervous. He peels the bandages back and is relieved to find the wounds themselves don't look any worse than yesterday. He breathes a sigh of relief and Eskel snorts just faintly.

"I'm more resilient than you give me credit for," he mumbles. Geralt's instinct is to hit him gently, for being so careless about his own health, but he has no intention of proving himself a hypocrite. If Eskel is so blase about it, someone has to take care of him.

Once the bandages have all been removed, Geralt takes them away to be disposed of and finds a clean washcloth. He fills a basin with cool water and returns to the bed, setting the basin on the stool within arm's reach. Eskel has shifted so he's further down the bed now, easier for Geralt to reach, but his legs are spread just so that they draw his attention and Geralt has to try very hard not to look.

He chastises himself for it silently. Eskel is injured and the last thing he needs is his friend gawking at him because he's naked. Forcing the thoughts from his head, Geralt wets the cloth and wrings out the excess water.

Eskel shudders at the first touch of the cloth, winces as Geralt dabs it against the burn on his calf, but he doesn't complain even once. When Geralt is finished cleaning the wounds on his legs, he dampens the cloth again, wiping it along Eskel's unharmed skin. He gets a much better reaction to that.

"If you're too hot I can open the windows in here," Geralt offers. "It's stuffy anyway. In a couple of days, you should be healed well enough for a bath, I can fill it with cool water for you. I know it's hot in the summer."

Eskel just hums appreciatively and when Geralt pulls away to take the water and replace it, Eskel grabs his wrist.

"Thank you," he says, "truly, Geralt I know this is above and beyond your responsibilities. I know we haven't been as close as we used to be. So thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't move, not until Eskel's hand slips away from his wrist. "I'll be right back with fresh water."

His cheeks are hot and he feels warmer than he should be so early in the morning, but his skin tingles where Eskel's fingers touched him and it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. So when he goes to collect fresh water, he splashes some of it on his face to cool down and to calm himself. Eskel is just a friend and he's doing him a favour because he's hurt and he can't do it himself. This isn't anything more than that.

He takes the water back and finishes cleaning Eskel's wounds as quickly as possible. To fill the time and keep his mind occupied, he asks about Eskel's work. He's always been fascinated by smithing, everything from the tiny little hinges that he makes for chests up to the frames that are used to build carts. On occasion, Eskel has tried his hand at swordsmithing and he was damned good at it from what Geralt heard. They'd offered him a position in the king's employ, but Eskel had wanted to remain in town, live a simpler life. Geralt, at least, was glad for that.

When Eskel is clean and dry again, Geralt helps him to his feet and finds him a robe to wrap around his shoulders. It's loose but soft and shouldn't hurt when it brushes against the burns. Not at least, as much as any other clothing Geralt could offer him. Eskel walks around a little awkwardly and pauses when he turns back to the bed. He bends a little awkwardly and picks up a crushed tulip from the pillow covering.

"Must have fallen into the bed," he mumbles, turning back to Geralt. "I must have crushed it in my sleep, I'm sorry." He says it with such sincerity that Geralt doesn't have the heart to tell him it was never not in the bed.

"It's fine," he says simply, his heart hammering in his chest. "There are plenty in the garden." Eskel offers him a smile and sets the broken flower back down on the side table.

"I have to water outside," Geralt says, "the sun won't be good for your burns, but I won't be long. Make yourself at home."

He leaves before Eskel can respond because he's still trying to figure out what possessed him to put a flower in Eskel's hair last night. It was silly and pointless and he could have gotten caught and then maybe Eskel would ask to go home. And Geralt likes being able to provide something for him, even if he doesn't like the circumstances surrounding it.

He takes his time out in the garden, both enjoying the sun and fresh air and giving Eskel some time to himself, even if only a few minutes. When he goes back in, Eskel's sitting on the edge of his bed, just watching out the window.

"In a couple of days, your skin should be healed enough to go back out in the sun," Geralt offers. Eskel hums but doesn't say anything and Geralt is surprised to find he doesn't seem particularly sad as he would have expected.

"Do you want to lie down again? I'll put more salve on your burns."

Eskel nods and shrugs carefully out of the robe, hanging it over the end of the bed before lying down obediently. He lies with his legs spread, just wide enough for Geralt to be able to reach between to wrap the bandage around and he should be thankful that he doesn't have to ask, but all he can think about is crawling between those thighs.

He realizes he has bigger problems when he pulls the little box of salve out. He has to get right up close between Eskel's legs to ensure he reaches the extent of the injuries and that means being very close to his cock. Last night Eskel was asleep so it didn't matter and this morning, Geralt was able to avoid touching too closely, but there's no getting out of it now.

But Geralt reminds himself that he's a professional and that Eskel needs this to get better, so he takes a deep breath and gets to work. Eskel's skin is soft beneath his hands, surprisingly so, and Geralt finds his hands wandering. He spreads salve on the wounds, still struggling not to pull back when Eskel winces. And maybe it's as an apology, that he runs his hand under his calf just gently.

But when Eskel sighs happily - the first pleasant sound Geralt's heard out of him - and settles against the bed, it's all the encouragement he needs. Gerlt doesn't let himself get sidetracked from his job, but he drags his fingers along Eskel's unblemished skin, soothing even as he continues to tend to his wounds. Maybe he gets a little carried away, captivated by the smoothness of Eskel's skin under his hands, but Eskel doesn't seem to mind, so Geralt doesn't think anything of it.

Until he moves up to the burns on Eskel's thighs and finds him… hard. Something hot and insistent swirls in Geralt's gut, but he adamantly tamps it down, refuses to acknowledge it. He smooths his palm up the outside of Eskel's thigh, brushing his thumb against his skin before reaching for the salve again. At the first press of the cream to his skin, Eskel's cock twitches, although Geralt tries very hard not to notice it.

"Sorry," Eskel mumbles, a breath of a moan in his voice, "your hands are soft, feels nice."

"It's fine," Geralt whispers, "I shouldn't have." And although he wants to continue touching, he returns to his work but keeps his hands to himself.

When he's finished, he slides off the bed. His heart is still beating too quickly and his own trousers are a little too snug, but he ignores it and pointedly keeps his gaze on Eskel's face.

"I have to go out," he says, "I have a friend who's a mage at the edge of town, I need to get something from her, it'll help."

"The edge of the village?" Eskel asks, "that's pretty far."

"I'll be back before nightfall," Geralt promises.

It's not really that far, Geralt thinks as he leaves the house, it's only half an hour each way - barely anything in comparison to how far he has to travel for some of the herbs he can't grow at home.

The trip, which should take less than two hours, winds up taking three. It's not uncommon that Geralt and Mara get caught up talking about new remedies or new ways to mix herbs, but it just so happens that she has been developing a potent burn remedy. And while Geralt is always interested in new potions - especially those above his own ability - but something that can help Eskel is even more intriguing.

Geralt leaves with a basket of foreign herbs, two bottles of the burn remedy, and a warning that the latter is potent and need only be given in small doses. Geralt makes a mental note of that and hurries back home, having already delayed longer than he should.

When he arrives home, Eskel is in the kitchen and Geralt frowns at him for being out of bed until he realizes there's a simple supper waiting for him on the table. He still wants to chastise Eskel for not taking care of himself properly, but his heart clenches at the thought of him getting up and preparing food for him and there's something about Eskel wearing his robe that scrambles his brain. He settles for a gentle you should be in bedwith me."

"Oh."

He's not sure what to say to that. Geralt doesn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone for anything other than sex and even then, that was too long ago to be worth remembering.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says because it's easier than admitting he's nervous about sharing a bed because of his feelings for the other man.

"You won't, please Geralt I hate to think of you sleeping down there on the floor."

"Only if you're sure," Geralt says, against his better judgement.

"Completely. Get up here."

Geralt relents and stumbles over to the bed in the dark, climbing up over the end of the bed and keeping close to the wall so he doesn't jostle Eskel. He lays flat on his back, arms crossed over his stomach and focuses very hard on not breathing too loudly or too quickly. But Eskel shuffles over, presses right up against his side and hums.

"'S warmer with you here," he says and Geralt feels awful. He should have asked if he was warm enough.

"If you're cold, I can get more blankets- I didn't think-"

"Hush," Eskel chuckles, "I'm fine. It's always nicer to have someone else in your bed."

Geralt can feel the flush creep all the way up his neck and into his cheeks, but he doesn't dare say anything. It is, he decides, nicer having someone else in your bed, but these are not the circumstances under which he would choose to share a bed. But the heat from Eskel's arm against his own spreads through him and he lets himself relax into the mattress, more focused on Eskel's body next to him than the quickness of his own breath.

When Geralt wakes, it's with his nose pressed into Eskel's neck and a heavy arm around his shoulder. For a moment he's blissfully unaware that he's actually away, happy to remain in his dreamlike state. But when Eskel moves his arm, he seethes with pain and everything comes back to Geralt very abruptly.

He slips out from under Eskel's arms, apologizing profusely, barely aware of Eskel's constant answering stream of reassurances. It's not until they're fully disentangled and Geralt is climbing back out of bed that he remembers Eskel is naked.

It takes everything in him not to run away, but Eskel needs him, so he stays. He's so flustered he almost forgets about the burn remedy, what with bandaging Eskel's wounds and cleaning them again. But he does remember and Eskel swallows it with a grimace.

"Unpleasant?" Geralt asks.

"Disgusting."

"I'm sorry. You should only need to take it a couple of times. It will help you heal faster and I should have you home within the week."

It's only the second day, but as he says the words, Geralt feels a certain sadness to be sending Eskel off home already. He likes having him around and will be disappointed the first morning he wakes and doesn't have someone to care for. But he's glad Eskel is getting better, or will be.

The morning passes quickly, but there's a lingering embarrassment that follows him into the afternoon and early evening. Geralt has been trying to focus on his work - just because Eskel is injured and in his house doesn't mean he's allowed to fall behind on his other orders - but it's hard.

It's summer, so it's hot and Eskel is always shoving the blankets down during the day, pushing them off his chest so they settle just below his hips and Geralt is having a very hard time keeping his eyes to himself. But every time he glances over, Eskel is stretching or smiling back at him and it's very hard to concentrate on even the most basic remedies when he's under Eskel's gaze.

By the time they're ready for bed, Geralt has gotten a little work done and has settled enough that when Eskel calls him over to bed, he doesn't complain. He crawls up under the covers, making sure to stay on his own side, this time.

This time, when the morning comes, Geralt is still on his own side of the bed and he manages to slip out before Eskel wakes. He slips out of the room to collect water for a bath, splashing some of it on his face to wake him up, and by the time Eskel wakes up, Geralt has the bath mostly ready for him.

He takes care in unwrapping the bandages on his chest and wiping away the excess salve from the wounds but already they're starting to look better. Geralt can't be sure if it's his own work or the burn remedy from Mara, but he's happy to see Eskel moving around more comfortably. Still, Geralt is careful with him.

He pulls the sheets down carefully and nearly chokes when he realizes Eskel is half-hard. Feels nice. The words echo in his mind and Geralt forcefully shoves them away along with the stirring heat in his gut. He shouldn't be thinking things like this about Eskel, he certainly shouldn't be thinking about them when Eskel is hurt. So he helps him out of bed and wraps an arm around his waist, pointedly ignoring the way Eskel's cock bounces when he stands up, and helps him get into the bath.

The cold water, Geralt thinks, should ease his arousal, but it doesn't.

Eskel settles in the bath with a hum, stretching his arms up to rest on the edges of the tub. For the most part, Geralt uses his hands to wash him, scooping clean water onto his skin and rubbing gently with his fingertips. He has a special soap he's used before for greater wounds and it doesn't seem to sting Eskel at all, but he's still careful with it, rubbing it onto his hands to apply it, just in case.

And Eskel hums under his touch, head dropped back over the edge of the tub, eyes closed. He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, which is... probably a good thing. It's better than him being in pain, anyway. But as Geralt's hands slip lower, he becomes increasingly aware of Eskel's erection and he knows he shouldn't even think about it, but his fingers twitch against Eskel's skin, eager to touch and stroke.

He restrains himself, but only barely and when Eskel's hips shift to get comfortable, Geralt nearly forgets himself. And when he gets to his thighs, slipping between them to ensure the last of the salve is washed away, Eskel lets out a soft, shuddering moan. Geralt grits his teeth against it and continues, despite his own growing arousal. He barely survives the bath, and he has to keep behind Eskel as he helps him back out of it and wraps him in a sheet because there's no way Eskel won't realize just how it's affected him otherwise.

Eskel gets settled on the bed as soon as he's dry enough, lying with the sheet around him, but not covering him. His cock sits heavy against his hip and Geralt curses himself for how much he focuses on it. Yes, it's been a long time since he's been with someone, but Eskel needs him to help him, he doesn't need Geralt lusting over him while he's barely in good enough condition to get up and walk around on his own. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets to work.

But Eskel is tense under his hands this morning, and while he does his best to be soothing, nothing seems to work. Geralt has apologized three times before he realizes what the problem is and then he feels like an idiot because it's been staring him in the face this whole time.

"Are you alright?" he asks, "it's starting to look uncomfortable." He gestures vaguely toward Eskel's cock where it's swollen and twitching against his hip.

"'S fine. My caretaker would just be upset with me if I tried to do anything about it, anyway. Gotta relax, can't be overworking myself." He chuckles lightly and Geralt would swear he catches a wink as he scoffs at him.

"Sure?"

"Geralt, it's not the first time, you're just-" he takes a slow, measured breath as if to emphasize his point, "-very good with your hands."

Geralt wants to say that he has to be, that it's part of his job, but he doesn't trust his voice, so he takes Eskel's reassurance for what it is. But he's barely put his hands on him again before Eskel is pulling in shuddering breaths and moaning softly as Geralt's palm slides up the inside of his thigh. It's distracting to say the last and Geralt's own cock stirs in his trousers. He doesn't think it through very long before offering to help.

"I could… take care of it for you," he offers quietly, "so you don't overwork yourself. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Yeah?" Eskel asks and Geralt finds himself nodding, far more enthusiastic about touching Eskel's cock than he should be. "As long as you don't mind."

Geralt barely resists licking his lips as he glances at Eskel's cock and assures him that he doesn't mind at all. It's part of his healing, after all.

He slips off the bed to retrieve a bottle of oil and then comes back to sit on Eskel's other side. He slicks his hand up and tries not to think too much about what he's doing. The first touch has Eskel shuddering though and it's increasingly difficult for Geralt to keep his own body under control.

He winds his fingers around him and they don't quite touch. Eskel seems oblivious to his internal struggle and Geralt reminds himself this is not for him. As much as he wants this, it's for Eskel. So he gets to work quickly, wrapping around the base of him and stroking up to the head. To start, he's slow, almost clinical about it, as he would be if he needed to force an erection to examine a patient. But he doesn't have to force anything with Eskel, and before long his hips are shifting, pushing into the touch and Geralt speeds up.

He lets his thumb rub over the head of Eskel's cock, watches the way it pushes through the tunnel of his fist and he barely holds back a groan himself. He wants this to be more. He wants to be able to straddle his hips and kiss him while he touches him, to be able to slip his fingers down and find out if Eskel is amenable to being touched elsewhere. The thoughts bounce around in his head and it makes it hard for him to just keep his hand on his dick. Especially when he rubs under the head and Eskel lets out a low moan, pushing into the touch.

Geralt would do anything to hear that sound again, even if it means embarrassing himself when he's the one who comes out of this with an erection. He gets one hand on Eskel's hip - to steady him, he tells himself - and brushes his thumb against the skin. Eskel makes soft little noises under him and Geralt starts to pick up on what he likes.

Firstly, he likes to be squeezed hard, Geralt almost pulls a whimper out of him when he clenches his fist around the base and pulls all the way up, keeping pressure around him. And when he plays with the head, running the pad of his thumb along the slit and just beneath. But when he goes quickly, jerking only the top couple of inches, Eskel writhes in the sheets. And Geralt knows he shouldn't let him. It's not bad for his burns, most of which being on his front, but it's not good either. Though the sight is something Geralt will remember until the day he dies.

He licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one, and stops abruptly, squeezing the head in his hand. Eskel swallows hard and rolls his head back.

"Geralt," he groans, "fuck, that's good." Geralt doesn't dare respond. His own cock is aching beneath him and his throat is dry. "'m close."

At that, Geralt groans aloud and one big hand comes down to settle on his shoulder. He works him quicker, pushing him closer to that edge and then realizes with a jolt that Eskel is going to come all over himself and he doesn't know what to do about that. In a moment of panic, he ducks down, taking the head of his cock in his mouth.

Eskel bucks and whines and then both hands are in his hair, tugging as he winds his fingers through it.

"Oh fuck- Geralt, yes." The words encourage him and Geralt takes him deeper, pushing as far as he can take it as Eskel mumbles above him. Somewhere amongst the slurry or words, he imagines he hears wanna touch you, but passes it off as a figment of his imagination prompted by how badly he wants to touch himself.

He shifts his position so his cock presses against the bed with every forward thrust and he's pushing his luck because he could easily come like this, even though he's holding himself back. He winds his tongue around Eskel's cock before dragging it up the underside and pressing into the sensitive spot below the head. Eskel groans above him, pressing Geralt's head down lightly and Geralt is more than happy to let him take control. If he lets Eskel call the shots, he can't be held accountable. He's helping out a friend in need, is all.

His own cock jerks under him and he rocks his hips into the bed with a groan, but Eskels thrusts pick up, quicker and harder than before, effectively distracting Geralt from his own need. Eskel moans his name as he comes and it's like a bolt of lightning through Geralt's entire body as he tries to keep his mouth on him. He swallows everything down, pulling up to suck at the head to be sure.

Eskel's eyelids flutter shut and he slumps back against the bed, breathing hard. His hands remain in Geralt's hair for a moment, tangling gently before Geralt rises up and he lets go.

"I-" Geralt starts, but then Eskel's eyes open and he's reaching for him. Geralt shakes his head and pulls away. "You don't need to. I'm fine. I.. have to go get the bandages, I'll be right back."

He barely manages to get out of the room before cursing silently. He leans against the wall, hands clenched at his sides. This was a stupid idea. He should have known he couldn't get out without being affected by it himself. Geralt shuts his eyes and focuses on anything else, walks himself through the remainder of Eskel's care for the afternoon, and once the heat searing through him fades a little, he goes to collect the bandages and returns to the bedroom.

Eskel just looks up at him as he approaches, still slightly foggy from his orgasm and when he smiles Geralt sighs and plops down a little too hard on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Eskel says, "I didn't mean to push, you just- I thought you'd want me to reciprocate."

"You're injured," Geralt says, "and I couldn't ask that of you." He turns away, grabbing the salve from the shelf. Neither of them says anything else as Geralt returns to cleaning his wounds properly.

When he's finished, he's still wondering if he didn't make a mistake and Eskel is right on the edge of falling asleep, so he leaves him alone in the room and sets himself to work for a little while. It's not until well past noon that he realizes he hasn't been out in the garden at all today.

He heads out and tends to the plants, but he can't keep his thoughts from Eskel, from the way he moved under his hands and the way he moaned his name. He doesn't know how he's going to continue on with Eskel in his house after this.

But the following morning when he checks his wounds, everything goes smoothly and some of the smaller burns have already started healing around the edges. Geralt makes a mental note to talk to his Mara and ask about the recipe because it seems to be working wonders. Once Eskel is bandaged up again, Geralt finds him some clothes to wear and Eskel accompanies him out into the garden.

His skin is still sensitive, so Geralt finds a spot in the shade and lays out a blanket for him to sit on while he goes about tending to the garden. Eskel chats quietly to him, petting the neighbour's cat when it comes to see what's happening, and it all feels disturbingly domestic and Gerlt isn't quite sure what to do with that thought.

He continues on with his work, poking at the edges of a fantasy where Eskel comes home to him every night and Geralt continues to care for him. He lets himself get carried away with it, scoping out the best place in the garden to build a pen for the goat; she's well-behaved (most of the time) but not enough to be allowed free reign in his garden. She's already cost Eskel days of work, she doesn't need to cause problems for Geralt's business as well.

But there's a section in the backyard that he keeps for fall plants and they could be moved to the front yard easily enough if he brought some of the herbs inside to grow in his-

He's abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and he spins around to see Eskel standing behind him, smiling at him.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "didn't mean to startle you, you seemed very caught up in your thoughts."

"Mm," Geralt agrees, "just thinking about reorganizing the garden, bringing some of the herbs inside."

"I could help," Eskel offers and Geralt huffs a soft laugh, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I don't think I'll have to, it was just a thought. How are you feeling?" he asks, quickly changing the topic before Eskel can add anything more.

"Better. I got up to walk around a little and I found these growing just down the road. To replace the one I crushed."

"That was for you," Geralt says weakly.

"Oh. I thought," he says a little bashfully, "they'd look nice in your hair." Eskel holds up the white flower, reaching up to slip it behind Geralt's ear. But Geralt jerks away unintentionally when he sees the flower.

"What's wrong?" Eskel asks, withdrawing.

"Nothing, it's just those - Gardenia - it means secret love."

Eskel's cheeks darken just slightly and Geral's heart does a little flip-flop at the sight. It's a very good look on him.

"Keep it anyway," Eskel says, reaching back up again. He pushes Geralt's hair back and tucks the flower behind his ear, smiling at his work. "Maybe you could tell me more about them so next time I can find you something more… appropriate."

Geralt's heart sinks a little but Eskel is still smiling so softly at him and the thought of telling him about his plants is exciting, so he pushes the bad feeling away and smiles in return. They spend the next hour going back through the whole garden while Eskel listens patiently to Geralt's explanation of the plants - what their meaning is, what they're used for.

Eskel listens and takes in everything Geralt tells him and Geralt has never loved him more than he does right now, standing out in the middle of his garden explaining how to make a potion to cure headaches.

By the time dinner rolls around, Eskel is getting sore again, so he heads inside while Geralt finishes up with the garden. He heads in when he's finished to find potatoes and carrots already cut for stew and Eskel sitting at the table in the corner waiting for him. He stays while Geralt makes dinner, talks to him while he cooks and Geralt wants to keep him forever, but he also wants him to leave because he knows he can't keep him.

Tonight, when they ready themselves for bed, Geralt doesn't hesitate to climb in next to Eskel, basking in the warmth that radiates off of him. He remembers nights when they were boys, camping out under the sky and pretending to be adventurers, knights. They would curl up together when it got too cold and he wishes he hadn't taken those times for granted. He'd give anything now to be able to cuddle up close to him and breathe in the comforting, still-familiar scent of him.

He lays quiet for a while in the dark, listening to every little hitch in Eske's breath, every groan when he moves wrong. He wants to reach out to him, to comfort him in any way he can, but without knowing how much would be welcome, he decides against it altogether.

But at some point during the night, Eskel shifts in his sleep, turning to lie on his side and Geralt wakes up with his head tucked under Eskel's chin and strong arms holding him. He wakes before the sunrise, letting himself enjoy the comfort of Eskel's body against his own, but as the sun streams in through the window, he disentangles himself and heads into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Without even checking, he knows Eskel's burns are healing quickly. He knows today will probably be the last he wakes up with Eskel in his bed and his heart is heavy as he prepares food for them. He tries not to think of their upcoming parting, knows that Eskel lives just down the road and they will still see each other, but Geralt will still miss him.

It's only been a few days, but he's been happy with Eskel here, even if he's spent most of the time trying to distance himself from him. He takes the food into the bedroom where Eskel is just sitting up and they eat quietly, but he can feel how badly Eskel wants to say something. Likely, he wants to know what's wrong and Geralt will inevitably lie about it, make up something about the house being too quiet without him around. But it doesn't matter what he says, because there's still a chance that Eskel's burns need treatment and if they do, he'll be staying a little longer.

Geralt doesn't hope for it, but he wouldn't be disappointed by it either.

He is disappointed upon unravelling Eskel's bandages, to find that most of the small buns have diminished to marks on the skin and when he touches them, Eskel confirms there's no pain. The worst of them are still red and uncomfortable, but they no longer inhibit his movement and Geralt barely holds back a sigh at the realization that Eskel is perfectly well enough to go home. And if that's the case, he'd rather do it sooner than later.

"You'll be happy to know they're healing quickly," Geralt says, rebandaging only the worst of the burns. "The remedy I got from the mage had worked wonders, but there's still some discolouration." The scars are lighter than Eskel's tanned skin, but Eskel just shrugs it off as he looks down at himself.

"I've got dozens of scars, a few more won't hurt."

"Suppose not," Geralt hums, tying off the last bandage around Eskel's thigh. He lets his hand slip, running down his inner thigh to rest on his knee. "They're healed well enough now that you'll be able to go home today."

He doesn't want Eskel to leave, not at all, but there doesn't seem to be much of a choice. Because Eskel no longer needs him, so there's no good reason for him to stay. Geralt sighs as he pulls away, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it. Eskel watches him and Geralt almost thinks he looks disappointed (his own feelings getting away with him, he tells himself) but before he has a chance to do anything about it there's a knock at the door.

Geralt gets up to answer it, offering Eskel a half-smile as he goes. He doesn't want to seem down, but he's not looking forward to being alone in his little hut again, especially not after sharing a bed with Eskel for the last few nights. But when he opens the door, it seems Eskel will certainly be leaving him.

John, the farmer and Eskel's closest neighbour, is standing in front of him with a goat in his arms and she's squirming and bleating loudly. Geralt's surprised he didn't hear it before.

"Please tell me he's in good enough shape to come home," John says and gives Geralt a pleading look. "I don't mind looking after the goat, it's just she's… well, she's a demon to put it frankly."

Geralt opens his mouth to reply, but there's a huff of a laugh from behind him and he turns to find Eskel coming up behind him, pulling a shirt over his head. The goat squirms so hard John has to put her down and he's barely bent over before she's leaping from his arms and trotting over to Eskel, still shrieking loudly.

"Sorry," Eskel smiles, "she's attached." He bends down, running a hand along her back and sighs. "Guess that means we're heading home then, hm? Thank you, John," he adds lifting his head again. "I'll bring her home."

"I'll be heading home then," John says and once he's gone, Geralt shuts the door and turns to look at the goat, now happily lying on the floor and nibbling at one of his rugs.

Eskel is gone, but he returns a moment later with his boots, mostly unharmed by the accident.

"Well, I guess this is it. You can have your house back," Eskel smiles but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes and Geralt desperately wants to tell him he doesn't want his house back. He wants to tell him he'll make space for the goat and he'll find somewhere for Eskel to sleep if he doesn't want to continue sharing and he-

"Thank you, Geralt, for everything. And don't tell me you'd do it for anyone, because we both know that's not true." He reaches out, resting a hand on Geralt's shoulder and his thumb just brushes against Geralt's neck. "I'll see you."

And just like that, Eskel is gone, heading out the door and back to his own home. Realistically, he just lives down the road, but he's never felt so far away and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with himself. It's only been a few days but he's grown used to having Eskel around and he's not sure what he's going to do now without him.

He could go after him, tell him he doesn't want him to go, but what if Eskel does want to go home? What if all the little things Geralt has thought were hesitation were really something else? He doesn't want to risk his friendship with Eskel on a guess, so he lets him go and resigns himself to his chores.

The day passes slowly, but it's fine until Geralt turns in to go to bed. The room is still set up to care for someone and Geralt quickly makes the decision to tidy up before bed; it's one thing to come to bed missing someone, but it's a whole other to start your day that way. But clearing away the medicines and bandages doesn't help, because when he crawls into bed it smells like Eskel and Geralt can't help but press his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

He's not sure how it happened, or even when it happened, that his friendship with Eskel shifted into something more, something greedy and wanting, but he's never felt this way about anyone else. A part of him wishes it was anyone but Eskel.

For two days, Geralt's life returns to normal, for the most part. He's plagued by thoughts of Eskel and the memory of him in his bed, of his scent and his smile. But he gets through as he always has, reminding himself that it's better to have Eskel as a friend than not at all.

Then, on the third evening, since Eskel left, Geralt is in the kitchen boiling water for a tonic for the boy down the road when there's a knock on the door. Geralt sets the pot aside and pushes the grate up to keep the sparks in and crosses to the door wondering who could possibly want him so late. Another emergency, he supposes.

He's preparing himself for another sick child or an accident on the farm, but when he opens the door, Eskel is standing in front of him, a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand. He smiles sheepishly and Geralt forgets for a second that he's supposed to greet visitors because he looks so shy.

"Eskel," he says and the confusion in his voice prompts a soft laugh from the other man.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh-" Geralt steps out of the way, eyeing the bouquet as Eskel slips past him.

To anyone unlearned in the meaning of flowers, it looks a little like a jumbled mess, but Geralt can tell there's a theme. Longing. Love. Hope. He knows the meanings of each one of those flowers and realizes with a start that it's a floral confession of love. His heart clenches to wonder who Eskel means to confess to, but he suspects he wants Geralt's help with the flowers and Geralt only wants the best for him.

Eskel shuts the door behind him and holds the bouquet in front of him, looking down at it as if ensuring it's good enough. Geralt is about to tell him it is, that the flowers are a little aesthetically jumbled, but that their meaning is clear when Eskel holds it up to him.

"I'm not very good with words," he says, reaching back to rub the back of his neck, "and you're not very good at picking up on things, but I thought this might be a little clearer."

"Eskel-?"

"I got the idea when you were telling me about your garden and I have a friend who knows about flowers. She helped me pick the right ones because I wanted it to be perfect."

Everything clicks into place at once and Geralt realizes he's been holding his breath. Slowly, he lets it out and considers very carefully what he wants to say before mumbling, "they're for me?"

Eskel nods and Geralt leans in, kissing him without thinking. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Eskel's already got a hand on his waist and he draws him back again, kissing him softly but firmly. Geralt shifts against him, giving in with a soft sigh and wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck. Gently, Eskel lays the flowers down on the table and puts his other hand on Geralt's waist, holding him against him as he kisses him.

It's soft, softer than anyone has ever kissed him before, but there's an urgency behind it, a desperation that speaks of years of longing. Eskel's hands slip up under his shirt and Geralt hums against his lips, parting his own to deepen the kiss as Eskel pulls him closer. For a few, glorious moments, Geralt knows nothing but Eskel's mouth against his own, his hands on his skin, and when they break apart, he finds it hard to breathe.

"I should see how you're healing," Geralt breathes and Eskel grins at him, tipping forward to press a brief kiss to his lips.

"Mm, of course," he agrees, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and pulling it up over his head. It falls to the floor unneeded and Eskel gets his hands back on Geralt's waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom, the implications of which are too much for him to think about right now.

Eskel sits himself down on the bed and Geralt crosses to stand between his knees, looking down at him. He runs his fingers over the discoloured skin, now nearly completely healed, and makes a note to ask Mara about her potion. But Eskel grows impatient with him quickly and in only a few minutes, Geralt finds himself tugged down into Eskel's lap.

"'M fine," he says softly, "thanks to you." He kisses Geralt's cheek, his jaw, his neck.

"Not me," Geralt hums, tipping his head back to give Eskel better access to his neck. "Mara made the potion."

"Mmm, but you got it for me. You cared for me. You loved me." Geralt starts at that, pulling back to look at Eskel. Almost immediately there's a hand on his cheek, rough but gentle. "Hey," Eskel whispers, "I love you, too. Have for a long time."

"I love you," Geralt breathes and the words feel foreign on his tongue, like somebody else is using his voice. He never expected to say those words out loud, much less to have Eskel smiling back at him.

Eskel kisses him again, soft and slow, and Geralt lets himself melt into it. He slips forward, straddling his lap and smiling against his mouth. Abruptly, he's hauled up and Eskel readjusts them so he can lie back against the pillows, pulling Geralt down on top of him.

It doesn't strike him until Eskel's hands are working their way under his shirt again, that he's allowed to touch, that Eskel wants him to, if past experiences are anything to judge by. He breaks the kiss, nosing at Eskel's neck before kissing down to his collarbone. He traces his fingertips along the edges of Eskel's scars, kissing the paler skin with reverence. Geralt pours all of his love into the soft kisses, everything he's wanted to say for years and felt he was unable and as Eskel's hands slip into his hair, he hums softly against the skin.

Eskel moans softly under him, pressing up into each kiss and winding his fingers between Geralt's against his hip. He holds him close even as Geralt dips lower, following the burn marks down to Eskel's stomach and the waistband of his trousers. He only detangles their fingers to get Eskel's trousers undone and once they're off and out of the way, Eskel reaches for him again. Geralt gives a little squeeze of his hand, a reassurance mostly meant for himself as he shifts down the bed and settles himself between Eskel's thighs.

He slides his free arm around Eskel's thigh, tipping his face to kiss along the line of the burn. His left leg is better off than his right, but Geralt picks out every little mark, kissing them individually as he makes his way down. Above him, Eskel groans and Geralt can feel his arousal in every little shift of his hips, of his legs, in the way his fingers clench around his own. There's a peace that washes over him knowing that this is what Eskel wants too; out of all the people he's met in his life, Geralt is the one he wants and it feels something like relief.

Geralt continues, diverting from his task to kiss Eskel's thighs, nipping at the soft skin and running his tongue over it. Eskel moans softly, spreading his legs and then he's reaching down, tugging Geralt's shirt up over his head. Eskel's fingers brush along his shoulders and the side of his neck, soft and tentative, and he lets Geralt linger for a while longer before hauling him up so they're chest-to-chest.

He kisses him again, harder this time and as Geralt shifts to get comfortable, he can feel the hard line of Eskel's cock against his stomach. His own cock twitches in his trousers.

"Gods," Eskel whispers, running his thumb over Geralt's lip, "you have no idea how badly I want you, how tempting it was with you sleeping right beside me." He rests his hands on Geralt's hips, slipping down over the swell of his ass and guides his hips forward, rocking up against him.

"Tell me," Geralt mumbles, "what you wanted."

"Mm," Eskel hums, "you looked so soft and sweet next to me, I just wanted to touch you, to get you hard. I wanted to roll you onto your side and slip up behind you. I'd take such good care of you, fuck you so well, sweetheart."

"Please," Geralt whispers, but he's breathless and the word comes out broken. Eskel doesn't need to be asked twice.

He rolls them over, shifting onto his knees over Geralt to fumble with the ties of Geralt's trousers before shoving a hand inside and wrapping around his cock. Geralt's already half-hard but it doesn't take much to bring him to full hardness with Eskel's mouth hot and demanding against his own and a strong, calloused hand stroking him.

Eskel nips at his lips and Geralt shifts, pressing his hips up and pushing between Eskel's fingers. He rolls his hips and fucks into Eskel's hand, moaning against his lips as Eskel's fingers slip lower on his prick until he's wrapped around the base of him and tracing the vein on the underside with his thumb. When he finally slips up again, he rings his fingers just beneath the head of Geralt's cock, squeezing tightly around him.

He lets Geralt fuck his fingers and Geralt wraps his arms around his neck, happy enough to have Eskel's hands on him. But it gets too restrictive, his trousers are in the way and he wants to spread his legs, to fuck up properly. Eskel seems to notice and he pulls off of Geralt's cock to rid him of them.

As soon as Geralt's fully naked, Eskel presses in close right up against his side. He traces his fingertips down the length of Geralt's cock, his lips hovering just above Geralt's and then, as Eskel's fingers slip down to cup his balls, Geralt groans and Eskel smiles.

"Mm, good?" he asks and Geralt nods, whining softly as Eskel's fingertips press into the sensitive flesh. He rocks into the touch and Eskel's lips drag across his jaw and up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe and nosing behind it.

"You're so beautiful," Eskel whispers, "I love you." He kisses behind his ear, moving down Geralt's neck to nibble at his shoulder. "I want to make you feel good."

Geralt shuts his eyes as Eskel's mouth finds his own again and then Eskel's fingers are slipping down, pressing back behind his balls and teasing at his hole. He shudders and Eskel's free arms lips under his neck, wrapping around so his fingers brush across his jaw.

"Okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, sliding a hand into his hair.

"Please, Eskel, I-"

"Shh," he whispers, "I know love, I've got you."

He presses further and Geralt opens to him, spreading his legs and shifting to give Eskel better access. He wants him, wants this and it still doesn't feel real that he's allowed to have it. But Eskel is soft against him, even his fingers, calloused and rough feel gentle on his face and Geralt tips his head to the side, kissing his fingertips.

Eskel holds him, rubs over his hole, whispering against Geralt's ear. He's only half listening, but it doesn't matter what he's saying because it's Eskel. Geralt just likes the sound of his voice, regardless of the words, so deep and rough yet somehow still soft. He shuts his eyes and focuses on Eskel's voice, on his hands, moaning and pressing back onto Eskel's fingers.

"Eskel," he breathes, "please, I want you."

"I know. Where's the oil?"

Geralt groans. The oil is back where it belongs, tucked away in his cabinet in the other room and Geralt regrets ever putting it away. Reluctantly, he pulls out of Eskel's arms and climbs off the bed. Eskel hums appreciatively as he crosses the room and Geralt smiles to himself. He can feel eyes on him all the way out of the room and even as he ducks into the kitchen, careful to avoid the windows.

When he turns back, oil in hand, Eskel is leaning up on one elbow, watching him with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" Geralt asks.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that? You were always the best looking of us but you really got pretty."

"Shut up," Geralt mumbles, but when he reaches the edge of the bed, Eskel reaches up around the back of his neck and tugs him into a brief kiss.

"'M serious. You're so fucking gorgeous, Geralt." He kisses him again, tugging him closer and Geralt climbs onto the bed, deepening the kiss as Eskel moans softly against him. This time, Geralt ignores his words, despite the heat that spreads through his chest, kissing him deeply instead.

Eskel rearranges them with ease, maneuvering Geralt onto his back again and pressing up against his side. Immediately, he reaches down, stroking him slowly without breaking the kiss. He takes the bottle of oil from Geralt and pops the cork, spilling it over his fingers. He wraps around Geralt's cock, stroking right up to the head and rubbing his thumb beneath the head before slipping back down again.

Geralt moans as Eskel's fingers slip down between his legs, pressing back against his hole. He's less patient this time, pressing against him and pushing inside just a little before withdrawing. Eskel's fingers are thick and stretch with every press and Geralt drops his head back against his chest with a groan.

"You okay?" Eskel asks and Geralt nods.

"'S good."

"Good," Eskel leans in, lips brushing against his earlobe as he whispers, "I want you to come on my fingers before I fuck you." Geralt groans, but then Eskel's pressing into him again and he turns his face into Eskel's neck, breathing against his skin. "There you go, sweetheart, just lay back and let me make you feel good. You took care of me, now it's my turn."

Geralt wants to tell him that there's a huge difference between this and that, but Eskel pushes deeper and the protest dies on his lips. Eskel kisses the groan from his lips as he presses a second finger into him and Gerlt rocks enthusiastically back onto him. Eskel is incredibly good with his hands, pressing in and stretching him, and Geralt is breathless where he leans against him, groaning against his lips.

Eskel is above him, behind him, all around, mumbling soft words into his hair and against his lips and Geralt has never felt so wanted in his life. He shudders and lets out a soft little moan as Eskel presses a third finger against his rim and tips his head back.

"Eskel," he groans, "please, come on."

"Not gonna rush, sweetheart, don't wanna hurt you."

Geralt groans. He's seen Eskel's cock, gotten up close and personal with it and has been dying for a chance to get it inside him. He doesn't want to wait, he wants Eskel to fuck him. But as much as he rocks down or squeezes around him, Eskel isn't letting up. He adds a third finger and Geralt bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"Don't have to be quiet for me," Eskel hums, "I like hearing you."

"Fuck."

"Mmm, that's right." Eskel presses his nose into his ear, nibbling at the skin of his neck. "Tell me how it feels, Geralt."

"Good," he mumbles, "but I want you."

"You've got me. Always."

Eskel gives a good couple of thrusts, then presses in with just two fingers, seeking out that spot inside him and rubbing against it. Geralt squirms against him, writhing as Eskel plays with him and then he withdraws altogether.

"Roll over," he whispers, nudging Geralt with his knee. Geralt turns onto his front and he's still settling when Eskel climbs over him, kissing his neck and pushing the hair aside.

He moves down Geralt's back, kissing a line down his spine and sucking at the skin. It sends shivers through him and Geralt can't help but rock his hips down, grinding against the mattress as Eskel's hand drops to hold his hips. He huffs a soft laugh against Geralt's lower back and then he's moving lower, one hand slipping between his cheeks and pressing back in.

Geralt buries his face in the pillow, gathering it under his face and moaning into it as Eskel fucks him with his fingers again. He's quick and hard but somehow still gentle, lips sliding softly over his skin until Eskel's thrusts slow and his mouth moves to join in.

The first press of Eskel's tongue against his rim has Geralt pulling up on his knees, thighs spread to give him better access and Eskel huffs against him. He slides a hand down Geralt's thigh, steadying him as he pulls his fingers out, and licks over the stretched muscle.

"Think you can come like this instead?" he asks and Geralt nods. He's sure of it.

His cock is already leaking steadily onto the sheets, hard and aching, and every press of Eskel's tongue sends him rocking forward, eager for any sort of friction. And when those thick fingers wrap around him again, Geralt could cry. He rocks forward immediately, rutting into the tunnel of Eskel's hand and pressing back against his tongue.

Then Eskel pushes in and Geralt cries out into the pillow. Rough stubbles scratches against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the slick smoothness of Eskel's tongue pressing inside and he's mindless as pleasure sparks through him. Geralt whimpers and rocks back, overwhelmed by so much sensation, until his hips stutter, unable to move fast enough to keep up with the need. But Eskel pulls him up, gripping around the base of his cock and thrusting in with his tongue.

Geralt whimpers, unable to do anything other than take what Eskel is offering. His legs shake under him, the coil of heat in his gut tightening until he almost can't stand it. He's so close, he just needs a little more. Eskel wants him to come like this and Geralt wants to, wants to shatter apart under his hands, and have Eskel put him back together again afterward. He whines and bucks, vaguely aware of Eskel rising up to cover him then Eskel strokes him again, slow and steady and he pushes him over the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, fuck, you look pretty like this."

Geralt fists his hands in the pillow, hips jerking abortively as he spills all over his sheets. Eskel moves again, continuing to stroke him as he comes and then he's pulling away, readjusting to get an arm around his waist as Geralt's legs nearly give out on him.

"Fuck," he whines and Eskel guides him down against the mattress, humming softly against his skin.

"Yeah," Eskel agrees. He runs his hands up Geralt's back, slowly lowering himself over him until they're pressed chest to back and Geralt can feel Eskel's breath against his skin.

"Mm," Geralt mumbles, "you didn't come. Want you to fuck me." Geralt pushes his hips up and Eskel slides his hands up, letting his full weight rest on Geralt and twining their fingers together. He shifts his hips so his cock fits perfectly against Geralt's ass, pushing between his cheeks with each little movement.

"Just like this?"

"Yeah. Wanna feel you." He loves the weight of Eskel's body against him and he wants to make him come, and he wants to keep as close to him as he can.

"Tell me if it's too much," Eskel hums and then he's pulling one hand away, reaching down to adjust himself. Geralt holds his breath as the head of Eskel's cock presses against him and then he's pushing in, stretching him impossibly further and filling him up. He pauses before he's fully seated and Geralt shifts his hips, wiggling encouragingly.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Eskel mumbles and he sounds breathless already.

"You won't." Geralt can already hear the rebuttal, so he pushes his hips back, pushing all the way onto him, and Eskel drops his head between his shoulder blades.

"Fuck," he whines and Geralt just hums and tips his head to kiss Eskel's fingers where they're wrapped around his own.

Eskel gives a short roll of his hips, testing Geralt's readiness and pushes right up against his prostate. Geralt whines and his cock stirs beneath him where it presses into the bedding. It's sensitive, but it feels good and Geralt exaggerates the motion when Eskel thrusts into him again.

He keeps an even pace to start, slow enough not to hurt him, despite Geralt's assurances that he won't, but quick enough to keep him happy. And gods, he could stay like this for hours, pressed against the mattress as Eskel fucks into him. It feels like a dream, one of those he thought could never possibly come true, and yet with every thrust, Eskel mumbles against his skin, kisses him, holds him close against him. And Geralt didn't think he'd be able to come again, but his cock swells again, needy and wanting beneath him.

Then Eskel is shifting behind him, rising up to his knees and pulling Geralt up into his lap with him. He slips a hand around his chest, tweaking his nipples and sliding down his stomach. His fingers brush the base of his cock and Eskel hesitates before slipping down further, following the curve of his cock.

"Mmm, you're hard again," he hums, burying his face in Geralt's neck. "You want to come again, sweetheart?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Eskel's fingers are already wrapping around him again, stroking him in time with his thrusts and Geralt couldn't stop him even if he wanted to.

He settles his hands back on the bed, leaning back against Eskel's chest and turning to kiss him. The angel is awkward, but he catches his lips, groaning as Eskel takes the opportunity to slide his free hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh. He's already worked up and the faint brush is overwhelming.

He squirms under Eskel's fingers, but they just drag further up, teasing around Eskel's cock where it breaches him.

"Please," Geralt whispers and he's not even sure what he's asking for, but then Eskel presses one finger alongside his cock and Geralt's eyes roll back in his head. He's vaguely aware that he's mumbling, asking him for more, asking him to come, and Eskel holds him against his chest, kissing his shoulders and his neck.

"Come on," he whispers, "come for me, Geralt."

It doesn't take much after that, with Eske's hand around him and one pressing into him before he's coming again, a choked-off moan on his lips. Both of Eskel's hands leave him as he rides it out, wrapping around his middle.

Eskel fucks him quick and hard, panting against Geralt's ear.

"Love you," he mumbles, "gods, Geralt, you're so beautiful, so good for me-"

Eskel comes with Geralt's name on his lips, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and burying himself deep inside him. He shudders as he comes, hips twitching, and Geralt reaches a hand back to wrap around his neck.

For a moment they sit together, panting, and then Eskel flops to the side, pulling Geralt down with him. Geralt shifts to get comfortable, letting Eskel pull him up against his side so he can rest his head on his chest. The sheets are damp with sweat and come, but Geralt has never been so comfortable as he is in Eskel's arms.

"Could I stay?" Eskel hums, nosing into his hair.

"Of course," Geralt smiles, "as long as you want."

"Still got Lil' Bleater to get home to eventually, but I don't want to leave tonight."

"Could put a goat pen in the back corner of the garden," Geralt yawns, "there's lots of space if we move the fall plants to where the herbs are." Eskel pushes himself up, looking down at him.

"Geralt?" he asks tentatively, "are you- are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I- if it's not too much trouble going back and forth to the forge?" he reaches up, running a hand through Eskel's hair. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you until you were gone again. I don't want you to leave again."

"You might get sick of me," he teases but his lips curl up in a smile and he smooths his hand across Geralt's stomach.

"I doubt it, it's been thirty years and I'm not sick of you yet."

"Thirty-" he starts but cuts himself off. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll be building in the morning then, hm?"

"No," Geralt hums, tugging Eskel against him and curling back against his side. "Tomorrow we're moving plants, then we can build a goat pen."

six months later

For months, Geralt has been blissfully happy. He didn't think he'd ever get to be like this, but having Eskel living with him has been everything he could hope for and then some. They've even gotten another goat to keep Lil' Bleater occupied and Eskel has been talking about breeding them and selling goats. It's not a well-thought-out plan, but Geralt entertains it because Eskel's ideas usually turn out well for them and he wants Eskel to be as happy as he is.

But recently Eskel has been distant. He's always busy at the forge making something for someone, but lately, he's been spending more and more time there, coming home long after Geralt is asleep and leaving almost immediately after they wake up. And Geralt has his own business to attend to, so he tries not to let it bother him too much, but he can't help wondering.

Maybe Eskel is tired of spending so much time together, maybe he needs a break. On bad days, Geralt will wonder if there's someone else, but Eskel always comes home smelling of coal and singed hair, and that helps to settle Geralt's worries.

Then one morning he wakes up and Eskel isn't in bed at all. His side of the bed is still untouched from the night before and his first thought is that something happened to him again. Geralt rolls out of bed, fumbling to get dressed as he stumbles into the kitchen and out onto the road.

The forge isn't far, and he makes good time, running half the way in his rush to ensure Eskel is okay. And when he arrives, he shoves the door open to find… Eskel is fine. He's leaning over a table at the back of the shop and when he hears Geralt he turns to look at him.

He looks… fine and Geralt feels like an idiot for rushing up here. He's breathless, leaning in the doorway and Eskel smiles when he sees him, crossing the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, ducking down to kiss him briefly, "and in my shirt, no less?" Geralt looks down to find he is, indeed, wearing Eskel's shirt and he shrugs.

"You didn't come home last night, I was worried something had happened to you." The smile fades from Eskel's face and he shuts his eyes.

"Shit," he mumbles, "I'm sorry Geralt, I got carried away. I didn't mean to worry you." He takes Geralt's hands in his own, bringing them close to his face and kissing his knuckles. "I've been working on something special, something important. I thought it was too early, but maybe,-" he shrugs and smiles, "do you want to come see?"

Geralt nods and Eskel leads him back to the table at the back of the room. There doesn't seem to be anything there, but Eskel picks up a small velvet bag and opens it, tipping the contents into his palm. From here, Geralt can't tell what it is, but as Eskel gets closer, he realizes it's a ring.

"Can I-?" he asks, reaching out a hand and when Eskel nods, he picks it up and inspects it. It's beautifully crafted, delicate flowers inlaid in the band, honeysuckle, he thinks, everlasting bonds, happiness - a wedding ring, most likely. "It's beautiful."

"It's for you," Eskel says and Geralt's heart stops for a moment. "If you'll have it. If you'll have me."

"Eskel-"

"Just… you have made me happier than I've ever been, Geralt and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you. Marry me?"

"Yes," Geralt says before the rest of him can catch up. He doesn't even have a chance to think before Eskel is surging forward and scooping him up into his arms.

He kisses him softly, slowly, only pulling back to take the ring from Geralt's hand. He slips it onto his finger and slips his fingers between Geralt's, tipping forward to kiss him again. There's a weight to the ring, but it feels like comfort, like that first time Eskel touched him. Geralt smiles against his lips, bringing his free hand up to slip through Eskel's hair.

He can't believe that a year ago, he was silently pining over this man and now he's looking forward to spending the rest of his life with him.

[elliestormfound]

okay, listen to me

Are you listening?

Okay, here it comes: 

Blacksmith Eskel

Because they need someone at Kaer Morhen who can do metal work and who is better suited than our favorite beefy boy? 

Just imagine him all sweaty from the heat, bare arms with rippling muscles, a bit of soot smeared on his cheek...so strong...

[starwrittenfates]

Ellana was surprised to hear him bring up the Undercroft. While she still didn’t know too much about her new companion, it was clear Eskel was a capable fighter that could handle his own. “If you want to visit the Undercroft, you’re free to do so anytime. I’m not too knowledgeable on blacksmithing, but I would be interested to see what you make.”

Her knowledge and interests were in magic and funny enough the Fade. While the Dalish often thought of anything involving the Fade and Spirits as dangerous and something to avoid at all costs, Ellana couldn’t help in being interested to learn more about them. If anything, it was something that made her a black sheep of her clan at times.

And just like that, she started thinking about her home again and the clan she had lost. Keeper Deshanna would no longer be there to get on her about her ways or laugh. They were gone…everyone was gone.

Taking a swig of her drink again, she knew it would take time to heal this wound. All she had to do was stay focused on trying to defeat Corypheus and keep everyone safe.

“I believe we will find a way to take Corypehus down. We have to— for all those we’ve lost and those still here standing. There’s no other answer to it.”

"True enough. Got enough enemies as it stands. Don't need her added to that long list, seeking me out. Got nothing to prove with any pissing contests around here either. Prefer to let my work out in the field against Corypheus' abominations and cult speak for itself."

Eskel's low, amused tone returned to her swiftly with a chuckle of his own, following her at her prompting, making their way out of the war room gradually and down the subsequent corridor. Passing through her office soon after, Ambassador Montilyet looked up from her desk and the messenger she was consulting with, doing a double take, an expression of surprise crossing her pretty Antivan features at the sight of him accompanying the Inquisitor. A look he received more of when they made it out into the main hall... along with whispers his enhanced senses picked up. Not hostile, at least, a welcome change from what was usually said about him, but certainly bewildered and curious. Nothing he wasn't used to, at any rate. He supposed it was compounded by how rarely he went out around the keep during the day... he was an oddity. He looked back at her throne and over the guards and other folk around the hall, marred features smiling politely, trading a respectful nod with the dwarven rogue storyteller Varric as they passed his spot near a fireplace, then focusing on making his way with Ellana outside, the cool mountain air greeting them. He breathed it in... and almost felt like he was home, again. Maybe he was, and just didn't know it yet. It was the longest he had settled into a place outside of Kaer Morhen, at least. Moving down the stone steps, crossing over the yard towards the awaiting inn, he became aware of the further eyes turning their way.

The Witcher wasn't sure if they were more staring at her, the beloved Herald of their Andraste, symbol of their order and Thedas' best hope, or him, the mysterious mutated stranger and suspicious outsider of the Inquisition. It was an amusing thought, regardless. He would always be the stranger, on some level. It was the nature of his profession and existence, the Path and his destiny. Though he did offer Scout Harding the polite nod she deserved. The moment they approached the Herald's Rest, his enchanted medallion began to hum... detecting the presence of the spirit calling itself Cole that lived in the establishment, taking the form of a pale, unusual yet skilled young man, who traded a wave with Ellana. It was strange to be fighting alongside one... especially considering he was usually slaying similar beings for coin. Entering the tavern, the music and chatter greeted them, a few conversations breaking off at the sight of them again... he ignored it, settling down at the table she indicated with her, ordering a drink as well before focusing his viper eyes and senses back upon her. He was hardly surprised to hear of her favorite area in Skyhold... had heard some whispers about her and the mysterious elven mage called Solas who resided there. Personally, his instincts told him to trust the elf no more than he trusted the haughty Orlesian Sorceress Vivienne. Nodding at the Inquisitor's words, his deep, languid voice returning to her with a smile of his marred visage.

"It could grow on me, I'm sure, especially given the present company. Might prefer the lower courtyard, but I'd also like to take a crack at that forge of yours in the undercroft at some point. Not as good as some of the experts you picked up for blacksmithing, but not half bad either. Everyone at my school learned to work a forge... learned many useful skills for the Path and on it."

@starwrittenfates

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[eskel-and-goat]

Eskel might be the *polite one* but he’s got mad shit on everyone on the continent and he WILL spill it if deserved (and no one knows how he got it because he seems like such a nice shy witcher man but actually he’s been directly involved in every weird royal scandal for the past near-century)

He’s got his own burn book and everything. He can and will shit talk, don’t test him

[chasneedsamoustache]

How to get Eskel to fall instantly and completely in love with you

[deathswcrn]

"They feed you light in the Witcher school, Eskel?" she asked, looking at his meal - it was certainly more food than she could eat in one sitting. Her tone was mildly teasing, but not malicious. She'd not malign someone for their appetites. She sipped her own drink quietly beside him, taking in the ambience of the tavern whilst he dug in. Her own stomach was barely full, but she couldn't stand the idea of a meal right then. Not since shaking off the illness that claimed her after escaping Faroe.

She saw a bard setting up across the tavern, gearing it up for what would be a night of drinking and revelry amongst the locals. Another time, Breina would have joined in with fervour. She would have gotten drunk, danced on tables with some young blacksmith or farmhand, perhaps rolled in the hay with them before going home. She was, uncharacteristically, not in the mood for such revelries. She turned back to Eskel; "You'll have to tell me that story about Kaer Karrag. Think I've heard ghost stories about wraiths, but I'd love to hear it out of a witness' mouth."

He'd go to Skellige. He'd consider going there and hunting her beast. She felt the first flicker of hope she'd felt in a long time that revenge might be had upon it. Of course, his mention of the Witchers native to the isle made her squirm a bit in her seat. Of course she could have sought one out. But that would have meant staying."We've been callin' it a dragon, but I don't think it is. All the stories my da told me made me think they were bigger, and this only stood a few hands taller than a draft horse. It's- y'know what, hold on."

She bent down to grab something from the bag at her feet - Piles of parchment, bound together in a piece of leather. She pulled an untouched one out, shook out a small piece of charcoal from her bag, and got to work quickly sketching the creature as she remembered it. The details were off slightly, scales smooth where they had been rough and the eyes too big for the head, but the curved horn on the creature's nose should have been distinctive enough for Eskel to recognise. The tail of the draconid she'd drawn was half-missing also, but so had it been on the creature.

When she was satisfied, she held the page out for Eskel to see. "The fucker landed on me, claws first. I managed to get my axe into it's leg and wiggle free, but it was faster than me by a long shot. I squeezed myself into a crack in a cliff face that it couldn't follow. Reckon that's the only reason why I'm still standing."

"Faroe... destiny has a strange sense of humor, it seems. I did some hunting there for your clan, about sixty years back, when my school still functioned. Wraiths infesting the ruins of Kaer Carreg... preying on and spooking even the hardy locals. Adopted a Warg pup while I was there as well, Beowulf, took him back to the mainland with me. Better days for a Witcher, those. I got in towards the end of a good thing, once upon a time. Pleasure to meet you, Breina."

Eskel's deep, calm voice returned gradually to the young woman with a nod, rubbed his cheek scars absently, and took another drink of his ale, considering the memories of the past, the times he had paid visit to the islands. At her mention of work on the island, his interest grew, he hadn't heard tell lately of any monsters that might require a Witcher over there, but then the only news he could get about the islands were typically from sailors at ports. Weren't many of them to be found this far inland. Now that they spoke of it all, it had been awhile since he'd last visited the islands, and if she was correct, it might be the time to visit them again. He had spent enough time wandering the mainland as it were. Winter was awhile off yet anyways, he could probably get to Skellige, carry out some hunts and make it back to Kaer Morhen in time for the winter. He could use the coin to continue his repairs of the keep, purchase the supplies he would require, among other necessities. And since the False Conjunction, when Geralt had fought the Wild Hunt, the monsters that had poured into the world through it, which had begun and ended at Skellige, they likely could use his assistance. Could be worth the likely risks heading out there entailed. After further consideration, he took another drink and took his time answering her.

"Could probably be convinced to head back out there, especially if the gold is as good as the mead and meals are. Got some experience with sea monsters as well. Hopefully wouldn't run into another Bear School Witcher though, happened the last time I went out there... not the most reasonable of my kind to deal with, and they tend to favor working there. Have a fair bit in common with you islanders."

The Witcher smirked grimly at the memory of the encounter with the belligerent Witcher, to say nothing of his contracts on various sea monsters, aboard Skellige ships that had recruited him for such tasks, his expertise. Krakens and Sea Dragons especially had a way of making even most of the bloodthirsty islanders sensible enough to become one of his clients. Before the False Conjunction, the monsters on Skellige were usually fewer than the mainland, but due to the warrior clans that lived there and Witchers that visited, it tended to mean only the most dangerous and capable monsters remained. Survival of the fittest was the law of any land and species, a law Witchers knew well. It was always riskier than most places to hunt in, but the rewards and experiences tended to be greater as well. No risk, no reward. He had that, among other things, in common with the Bear School, preferring to hunt there more than most other places. As he considered her and her scars, the waitress arrived at last with his sizable, assorted meal, the aroma intoxicating, he took the time to thank her, ignoring the intimidated expression she wore, waiting for her to depart again. When she was gone, appetite ravenous, he took up his utensils as he studied Breina, questioning her further.

"Hmm... you got off better than I did, at least, where scarring is concerned. Lucky. This beast of yours, which sort might it be? Quite a clawed variety out on Skellige. Harpy? Siren? Draconid?"

@wolfsbarbaren

[thesleepy1]

Thank You For Making Him Smile

A/N: Anonymous asked for a Lambert fic. Pretty wholesome prompt compared to the last Lambert fic I wrote, lol. I love my angst but I'll try to keep this one light hearted. Scouts honor.

Pairings: Lambert x Reader

Summary: Lambert takes you to Kaer Morhen for the first time to meet his family. Suffice to say they aren't expecting you to bring out a better side in Lambert.

Word count: 1,683

Warnings: suggestive themes,

According to the stories Lambert told you, witchers were not known for their look of shock and surprise. It took a lot to catch a witcher off guard. Let alone a whole school of witchers. Apparently, their youngest bringing back a lover warranted a whole cloud of disbelief.

"Please, don't tell me you kidnapped some poor human," the eldest of the witchers remarked the moment you trailed in from the cold behind Lambert. Your witcher did not even have the chance to greet his family before all sets of eyes were on you, mouths gaping. Some were already making jests and jeers at Lambert, others were just confused as to why a human was following in Lambert’s wake.

The witcher of the hour looked irate to put things politely. He looked ready to do something worse than spit in someone’s tankard. His jaw was set and he glared at any gaze that lingered. A curse was hanging on the tip of his tongue, his fangs ready to sink into the first person who got too close.

Before an all out fight could begin, you embraced Lambert’s side and laid your chin on his shoulder. “Are you going to introduce me to your pack or are you too embarrassed to be seen with a lowly human?” you teased, giving Lambert a peck to his chin. His scowl lessened with the gentle kiss, eyes softening around the edges. His amber gaze settled on you like you were a jewel that had to be treasured.

Lambert’s arm came to wrap around your waist, his sag of personal belonging dropping onto the floor with a heavy thud. “That old fart is Vizimir and the pretty boy’s Geralt.” Lambert went on introducing you to the other witchers. You learned their names along with colorful insults some of which contained curses that you were not even aware of. When it was finally your turn to be introduced, there was no ill intent to be found from Lambert. His voice took on a low tone, something almost private despite the audience. He spoke of you far higher than you deserved. You were just a mere blacksmith in Redania but Lambert made you out to be the royal family’s personal armorer. You were no such thing but you could not help but soak up Lambert's praise.

*****

The other witchers took well to having a guest in the keep. You were afraid that everyday was going to be a battle to earn their respect but when you volunteered to help Eskel with supper that night, it seemed like you had won them over. Cooking was not your speciality but Eskel was a good teacher and you had brought along spices and herbs from the city and passing merchants. It may seem like a trivial thing to invest one’s coin in but some ginger root was the difference between dull slop and a gut warming bowl of stew.

And when the school of witchers had a taste of yours and Eskel’s meal, they had to agree. Lambert begged for seconds which was common, but you distinctly saw Coen sneaking spoonfuls from his neighbor. It was hilarious to be honest. These century old monster hunters fighting over food like some school children. You could almost imagine what the keep must have been like in its prime.

Hundreds of heads darting about. Boys and men of all ages coming in and out of the dining hall, the kitchens. You could see boys the same age as your little brothers fighting over who got the last of the baked sweets. You could imagine war tired witchers settling down next to the hearth. You could picture boys coming back from their first year on the path, stories and horrors to tell to the witcherlings.

These still living witchers breathed with the spirit of the old.

*****

“Do you know where Lambert ran off to?” Coen asked from the doorway of the armory. You had taken to the weathered room like a moth to a flame. There was a little cot and furs in the corner where you had refused to leave unless your work was finished. Lambert had taken to sleeping with you as well, the young witcher could almost always be found within an arm's distance of you.

“It's his turn to bring in firewood,” you informed Coen from your work table.

“Well, yes, I know it's his turn. I’ve been tasked to drag him outside,” Coen spoke as if this was an annual occurrence. “Do you know where I could find him?”

“Last I saw of him, he already had an ax to a fallen pine.”

“He what?” Coen’s surprise made you look up from your restoration of a battered chest piece. Your look of confusion must have thrown him off as well because before you knew it, he was standing right in front of you. “Repeat that. Please.”

“Lambert is outside,” you spoke slowly, feeling as if you had missed something.

“What do you mean he’s outside?”

Your brows furrowed, lips pursed in thought, “That’s where you get firewood around here, yes? Or do you just use your signs to warm up the keep?” You tilted your head. You surely saw logs in the fireplaces. Sure, the witchers started the fires with their signs but fire still needed something to feed on. “Lambert’s getting firewood as far as I know.”

Coen rubbed his face in disbelief. At what you were not sure of. “I’ve got to tell the others.” A grin stretched across his features that told of nothing good. “They won’t believe my words. Tell me, how did you convince him? Bribery? Insults? We’re tried them all and nothing has worked.”

You shrugged, at a loss to Coen’s reaction. “I only told him I was cold.”

*****

Late in the night after supper all the witchers cleared their tables and brought out the stores of ale. Tankards were shared as well as tales of monsters and monstrous humans. There must have been a class on storytelling because their recallings were captivating. You hung onto every word even when your eyes grew heavy and your mouth was filled with more yawns than sips of ale.

You leaned into Lambert’s side, the heat from the fire, ale, and Lambert’s body were nothing if not very soothing. Your head laid on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh. “Sing to me, Lambchop,” you requested, voice barely above a whisper. In a dining hall of heightened senses, everyone heard. “Please, darling?”

The other witchers tried to be subtle as they lessened their talks and leaned towards you and Lambert. They weren’t fooling anyone but Lambert was not put off. He pulled you flush to his side, stubble scratching at your skin as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Lambert knew only a handful of songs, most centered around taverns and what sort of people to spend the night with, but he sang them anyway. His voice was low, pitch something of a mother’s lullaby despite its lyrics. The witchers held their breaths as the youngest of their ranks sang his lover into slumber.

*****

Nearing the end of the winter, you were pulled aside one morning on your way to the hot springs. You held onto your towel of soaps and oils possessively against your attacker. “Geralt, I thought I told you to purchase your own oils,” you scolded the pair of arms that tugged at you.

When you turned around to face more than your resident white haired witcher, you were baffled to say the least. “Do all of you expect me to give you my soaps? Don’t you have any of your own?”

Geralt was the one to speak for the group, although not eloquently. “No-yes, I mean,” Geralt cleared his throat. “No to your first question, yes to our hygiene.” You nodded, still skeptical as to why all the witchers were acting like they were guilty of some crime. “We just wanted to say thank you.”

“What for?”

“For bringing out a better side to Lambert. He’s never brought anyone to the keep before and we had feared that he never will. Lambert can be…”

“Difficult,” you finished for him, finally understanding what the witchers were getting at.

“Yes, to put it politely,” Coen piped in, another word for what Lambert was on the tip of his tongue.

“He’s not the easiest to get along with, but when he’s with you it's like the Lambert before all the terrible things that happened comes out.” A small smile that must have passed for a face altering grin passed Geralt’s face. “He’s playful and responsible, he sings with us again without being blackout drunk. Hell, he hasn’t been black out drunk since he got here and believe me when I say he had many chances.”

“You make him happy and for that we could not thank you enough,” Vizmir finished.

*****

Later, in the hot springs with your back resting on Lambert’s chest, you told Lambert of his family’s words. “They outright thanked me for making you yourself,” your tongue twisted on your words and Lambert kissed you until you could remedy your phrasing. “They were grateful that I made you Lambert.”

“But I’m already Lambert.”

You turned in your seat on Lambert’s lap. “Exactly, my dear. I didn’t do anything worth thanking.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lambert mused, thumb grazing your lower lip. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been. I think that warrants a thanks.”

“But it's not like it's a chore, Lambchop. I’m honored to make you smile.”

Lambert pulled you into a kiss, his tongue asking you ever so gently for permission. You gladly granted him entrance into your mouth. Your hands cradled his face like it was the most precious thing, your legs straddled his legs. His hands ran up and down your naked body, thick fingers pressing against your hips, your thighs, your arms, and anything else he could reach.

He parted only for you to catch your breath. Even then he pressed a chaste peck to your nose. “Either way, thank you.”

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Tender Love and Care. Alpha!Eskel X Omega!Reader

Master List

*Edited and Revised 06/07/22. Story and character developing chapters added.*

Alaska are you starting another series even though you haven't finished the last one????

Maybe........

There is like zero ABO Eskelxreaders and, seeing as filling niche genres is my specialty (as of posting this still the only person to have written Laufey x reader) I figured I would at least give it a go. How many parts am i planning? Don't know. Do I plan on smut? Honey this aint ABO for show. Is there smut in this chapter? no, in usual fashion I can't write anything short. Anyway onward to the fic!

There was a sort of endearment you had for men that were completely oblivious. Maybe it was the vulnerability they showed in not knowing. Maybe it the breath of fresh air that seeing a man asking for help—in a world where men knew all the answers—brought. Maybe it was just the utterly adorable look on Eskel’s face when he was confused. Yeah, that probably had a lot to do with it. You and the Witcher were quite familiar. Living in the closest village to Kaer Morhen you ran in too many of the Witchers. Running the only library/bookshop/book repair shop meant you ran into two Witchers more than others. Vesemir was the one you were most acquainted with, seeing as he stayed at the keep year-round. He made monthly trips to see you for supplies, to fix books for him or just to chat. You held a soft spot for the old man. His eyes seemed to hold an air of regret, you supposed in a life as long as his he had done many things he regretted, you sure had.

In truth you were not fully human. You were half fae. The daughter of a king and his once swore enemy turned lover. This meant you lived long-- in truth you were probably as old as Vesemir if not older—but still appeared fully human. This however came with it’s quirks. You were still subject to heats. Yes, if being a fae hybrid was not enough you were also an omega. This had made you unique and had drawn quite a few eyes your father was none too thrilled about. That was why you chose to stay here instead of the land of the fairies. You could visit at any time, all it took was a looking glass or a still, clear, pool of water to go back, but it was safer to reside here full time. It also came with the perks of seeing the other Witcher you were acquainted with, Eskel, standing around your shop looking for all intents and purposes, oblivious.

You had resided and run this book shop in this exact building for 50 years (you resided in a different town before that) and not once had Eskel seemed to notice you did not age. Vesemir also never said anything. You wondered if all Witchers were like this. You hoped so. As watching Eskel try to sneak glances at you while supposedly perusing books. All the while you trying to pretend like you didn’t notice, never failed to make you bury your head into a book to hide your smile.

Eskel and you had been flirting back and forth for the past 10 years. You weren’t sure how it started. The time spent with Eskel blurred into one amazing scene in your head. Over time awkward glances turned into loving glances. Jolted unexpected touches turned into lingering of hands over one another as he handed you something. In a blink a decade had passed of casual comments and gestures, and he had been your best friend before that. He knew everything, everything that made you tick or caused you to calm down.

 It excited you, knowing he would come to you every spring and fall like the rising and setting of the sun. However, you wished to progress with him. You were in no rush that was for sure, but it was becoming harder and harder to watch him walk away. Your heats felt like they were becoming lonelier and lonelier. Sure you could probably have some Alpha stay and satisfy you. Both the widower tavernowner and local blacksmith had propositioned you before.  But you didn’t want SOME Alpha. You wanted the Alpha that was too large to fit through the doorway and had to crouch. The one that would enviably knock over a book or two and then profusely apologize for it. Probably thanking all the gods above that he couldn’t blush. The one that would press wildflowers into the pages of the books he borrowed for you to find when he returned them. Yes, you wanted him. And you were intent on having him.

Just like clockwork, as the leaves started to fall, your door clicked open. The smell of Patchouli, lemongrass, and pine mixing with that of paper, leather, and ink. The smell of Eskel in your bookshop was one that enticed you to no end. You wished more than anything you could bottle it. You looked up through you lashes, away from the, frankly large, tomb you were fixing to gaze at Eskel. He narrowly avoided knocking over a stack of books while trying to maintain eye contact. You laughed quietly sitting up and looking at him straight on. His face was worn, the sun ravaged skin that comes with traveling making him even more appealing to you.

He stood before you, content to stand there all day and look at you. It was quite a few moments before he seemed to realize he was before you for a reason and grabbed at the bag from his shoulder.  He cleared his throat.

“I believe these are yours” He said. Extending the four books you had lent him this year.

“Why thank you” you replied mirth slipping into your voice. You placed the books on the floor on top of another small stack next your stool behind your desk.

“What are you working on?” Eskel said, slipping to stand behind the desk next you. On queue knocking over the stack you had just set down.

“fuckin hell” He said under his breath the venom in it lost when paired with the little giggle you gave out.

“I’m fixing this tomb for Vesemir, he’s supposed to come pick it up before winter. But, if you don’t mind staying for a bit.” Eskel perked up at the invitation.

You continued “I almost have it done. Then I can send it up with you instead of having him make the extra trip” You reached over the desk for the needle, working on fixing the outer seam of leather from where it had come undone.

“I recognize this” Eskel said from where he was peering over your shoulder. You hummed at him and you looked up to look at his face. His lips were upturned slightly and his eyes shone. His neck stretched out, leading in a trail to the wide expanse of his shoulders. As he peered over you his body enclosed around you, creating a magnetic, warm wall against your back. You leaned back just barely to get closer. Not enough to touch, just enough to get that much closer to him. Perched on the ledge, not ready to jump.

“Yes” there was an undertone of excitement in his voice  “this is the old sword drill manual. Why on earth would Vesemir want you to restore this?” Confusion marred his face as he continued “All of us have this thing memorized, hell Vesemir himself could probably quote it word for word.”

“Maybe he’s sentimental?” you offered. Recalling how gingerly Vesemir had carried the manual into you.

“Perhaps, but seems a strange thing to be sentimental over.” He dismissed.

“Oh come on” You started playfully. ”You can’t tell me there isn’t one thing in that keep you don’t want to preserve?”

He seemed to ponder it a moment before nodding slowly

“You know there is one thing.”

“what?” you asked. You turned to face him better, an arm resting on the back of the chair.

“A book of poetry from my mother. It’s the only thing I have from when before I took up the path, outside of some vague memories. It’s only the size of a hand or so. I snuck it into the keep in the waistband of my pants and kept it in the straw of my mattress in the bunks.” He looked off in the distance for a moment. Emotion flashing behind his eyes.

“I haven’t read it in years for fear it will completely fall apart” It didn’t seem like he was talking to you. It was more like he was talking to himself, or someone else lost in his memories.  You lifted you hand to his arm, grabbing his attention once more.

“If only you knew someone that fixed books” You said eyes gesturing back and forth between his gaze and the book you were fixing. He laughed a moment.

“I suppose I never thought of that, though I’m afraid if it wouldn’t survive a simple read it certainly couldn’t take traveling down a mountain.” You hated the dejected tone that took over his voice. You were well acquainted with that feeling. The spark of hope that flares in you only to be plunged into the cold water of reality. That feeling. You wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially not Eskel.  A fire was set under your skin as you spoke.

“Well we’ve got at least a good few weeks before it’s ought to snow. If you’d like I could come up to the keep myself and fix it up there. At least enough to where I could bring it back here and work on it this winter.”

“Really?” The smile reached Eskel’s eyes as he looked down expectantly at you.

“Well I mean I’ll have to miss out on all these costumers” You gestured to the empty shop. Eskel gave out a small chuckle.

“But yes Eskel I would love to fix it for you.”

[justhereforeskel]

Gift prompt for @witcher-bows-and-arrows Blacksmith!Eskel made a nice little trimming dagger for Herbalist!Geralt 💜 Playing in @witcher-and-his-bard's AU with this one! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

After making their way upstairs from the inn, away from the onlookers, closing the door, at once Eskel locked it up and began to draw some Yrden Signs upon its surface, violet magic glowing brightly from the tips of his fingers. Further magical seals, force fields and glyphs, in case anyone got any ideas... however unlikely it would prove, especially with the folk of these lands being far less hostile to Witchers. Even so, he was taking no chances. As Rhaena went to collapse into the bed, and as he worked, his viper eyes moved back the eastern woman's way again when she spoke, smirking a bit. Life out on the Path away from civilization likely hadn't appealed much to her, doubtless the lack of experience doing so. Not everyone was made for a life of wandering, though she had managed better than most might. The Witcher's deep, calm voice returned to her steadily. With his other hand, looking over to the fireplace, wood already in it but not yet lit up, he aimed, concentrated and cast an Igni Sign as well, lighting it up in a flash of blazing magical fire. Nodding with satisfaction while he continued enchanting the door.

"The rulers of Kovir and Poviss were smart enough to stay out of most of the wars, remained neutral. As such were entirely untouched by them. One of the few good places left in the Northern Realms for Witchers to take contracts at... pay well too. Built up a number of contacts here... Griffin School Witchers, Triss, local merchants, alchemists and blacksmiths... even a Dimeritium forger. Anti magical material that is greatly in demand, for combating mages. Most of it comes from these lands. Had a few weapons and items made of the stuff, for if I have to fight them, witches or Necromancers. Among others. We can rest easy now, at least, more or less. Not about to stop looking over my shoulder or taking magical security precautions, even in the safest territories. Survived this long by doing so."

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[proheromidoriyashouto]

after more than 22 years on the Path together, Geralt knows Jaskier can Sing. he’s a classically trained bard, with decades of experience spanning the Continent many times over to earn food, money, warm beds, and even medicine. Jaskier’s voice has kept them alive when Geralt has only survived a hunt by the skin of his teeth, has gotten Roach care when farriers would turn Geralt away, has repaired and replaced swords and armor when blacksmiths and clothiers would shun a Witcher client. Jaskier’s voice is worth his weight in gold.

this is important because so many fics have the Wolves of Kaer Mohren howling, and by Melitele’s sweet tits, can Jaskier howl. if given the chance. after Geralt explains about mutagens and Witcher instincts and Wolf Witcher school things specifically and now would you please stopaskingmeaboutembarrassingthings, Jaskier, leavemetheillusionofpride,bard

and im obsessed with the idea that Geralt doesn’t want the others to know  about Jaskier(his barker) joining him in on howls because then they will hear him(Jaskier) and fall in love with his timbre croon(Jaskier’s lovely voice) and want to steal him(Geralt’s bard) for themselves, more than they already do for the songs(sung by Jaskier).

until, one night when the moon is clear and they’re nearing Oxenfurt, and Geralt is starting to feel the beginnings of loneliness without his mate by his side stirring in his heart so he starts a howl. and Jaskier smiles at him with fondness and exasperation because they still have time and they will find each other in the spring always, and sucks in a breath to join him in his song when he’s cut off by distance voices instead. one, and then another, respond to Geralt’s call, and he drops it for a moment because he wasn’t calling for them--yet(we sing in the mountains), here(they’re early).

he tells Jaskier not to howl to his brothers since they don’t know him(if they learn your voice they might find you without me), and he doesn’t, but he will be singing, dear, if they ask. that’s fair, that’s fine, everyone has heard the songs he sings for Witchers(mostly for Geralt). but there are songs he sings Just For Geralt, Just With Geralt, curled up around their fire, buried in blankets at an inn, their voices joining together in the dark and alighting the cruel unforgiving Path with love and devotion, and those are only for him(Jaskier’s Geralt).

Eskel(older but not really) and Lambert(youngest forever) ride into their camp on panting horses and tackle Geralt into a pile of Pack(bonds of circumstance) and brother(bonds of choice). and yip and bark and scent each other until they smell like family(bonds of love) again. and Jaskier(his) greets them while pouring their soup into a larger pot with more venison(Witchers will eat me out of coin and clothes), with plenty of bones(chewing and marrow), and they inevitably ask for songs. the ones that have made them heroes, welcome in little hamlets that used to chase them away, the ones that have lined their purses and eased their time on the Path.

Jaskier sings, and talks, and the brothers howl together before piling atop bedrolls while he strums his lute along, and does not join the howl himself though he is pulled into the pile by many hands. they split in the morning, and Geralt and Jaskier spend their last night of the year together in the fields outside Oxenfurt, howling as one in the morning light, a song of parting and longing and promises. see you in spring, love.