#bouncey's smoochfest pt 3

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

What if Jaskier has a lil cold or something (minor) and is laid up in bed. He loves getting kisses from his Witcher, but he's like "aw man, I don't want to get you sick!" because that's happened with other lovers before? Good news though, he can't get Geralt sick. So they have some good long comfort make outs until he falls asleep and then Geralt just cuddles up with him to keep him warm.

Jaskier gives a long series of loud, hacking coughs before falling back against the plethora of goose-down pillows on Geralt’s enormous bed. It looks even larger with a bard as its only occupant, frail and sickly as Jaskier is. His summer-tanned skin has taken on a greenish tinge. He’s covered by a thin sheen of sweat and his usually bright blue eyes are glassy and seem unable to focus; every Witcher in Kaer Morhen is worried that he will not last the week.

Geralt paces the length of his room again and adds another log to the already impressive fire. Jaskier smiles and rolls his eyes affectionately, “I’m not dying, dear heart.” 

Some of the reassuring sentiment is lost when he punctuates his statement with another cough and a sneeze. Geralt growls low in his throat and settles on the edge of his mattress and reaches out to lay the back of his hand across Jaskier’s forehead. “You’re still burning up. Fuck.”

“Maybe if you and your pile of frigid Witcher brothers get in here with me, I’ll cool down.”

“Hmm.” Geralt seems to consider it before narrowing his eyes. “You’re jesting with me, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely, my love. I know you don’t like to share. Nor do I think the frame of your lovely bed could support all that...muscle.”

“You’re right that I don’t like to share,” Geralt nods. “But I will get into bed with you. I’m not leaving your side again until this fever breaks and I know you’re safe.”

“Will you hold me?”

“Of course,” Geralt frowns, slipping off his boots and trousers. He slides into bed behind Jaskier and wraps his arm around the bard’s middle. “I wouldn’t want you to be lonely or uncomfortable in your convalescence.”

“Mmmm, this is nice,” Jaskier rasps, voice giving out after all of his coughing and hacking. “Will you kiss me, too?”

“That seems...counterproductive,” the Witcher glowers. Jaskier feigns innocence, glancing up through his lashes. 

“Please? Maybe it’ll burn the fever away.” 

Geralt relents with another drawn-out sigh, gathering the bard into his embrace and planting a gentle kiss on his too-warm lips. Then another. And another.

Until the bard falls asleep smiling, his arm thrown across Geralt’s hips, his head rising and falling with each of the Witcher’s breaths. Geralt only follows his beloved into the land of sleep when Jaskier’s fever breaks near dawn. He presses another quick kiss to the bard’s tousled hair. “Hmmm. I love you, lark. You aren’t allowed to die on me yet.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

sorry to hear about your injury. maybe some jaskier giving geralt forehead kisses will make you feel better?

Jaskier smiles softly and glances down at the man whose face is pillowed on his chest. He can feel the warmth of Geralt’s broad palm stretched across the expanse of his ribcage, the fingers splayed out to cover as much skin as they can. Strands of white hair are tangled with the dark, matted curls of the hair on his arms and chest; it’s adorable, really, how calm the mighty White Wolf looks as he sleeps.

He never snores.

“Witchers don’t snore, Jaskier. It’s a tactical thing.”

Jaskier snores terribly, but Geralt never seems to mind. So the bard doesn’t mention his lover’s occasional drooling. 

“Sweet dreams be yours dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me. I wish I may, and I wish I might So goodnight, my someone, goodnight.”

Geralt snuggles impossibly closer, a wall of heat against Jaskier’s right side. His arm is looped across the Witcher’s broad shoulders, and he revels in the way Geralt’s muscles slide and shift beneath his pale skin. He’s a wonder. A fallen star in the arms of one foolish, mortal bard. Jaskier is a lucky man and he knows it.

“I love you,” the bard whispers. He tilts his chin down and presses a kiss to the Witcher’s forehead. “Always have, always will.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

how about some soft "good morning" geraskier smooches? 😘

here you go!! some soft modern au morning feels.

---

Geralt turns off his alarm and slips silently from his queen-sized bed, which has started to feel a little cramped recently. The reason for that cramped feeling reaches out after him, two lightly tanned arms stretching from beneath the covers accompanied by a quiet groan of protest. A smooth tenor manages to slur, “G’r’lt?”

“Shhhh,” the Witcher croons. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

“Kisses first,” the musician grumps, glaring out of his warm nest. When the taller man seems to ignore his pleas in favor of pulling on sweatpants, Jaskier begins to whine: “Geraaaaalt.”

“Fine.” Geralt leans down over his boyfriend and smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to his warm, sleep-chapped lips. “See you after my run, sleepyhead.”

“Mhm,” Jaskier yawns. He’s safely back in the realm of dead-sleep before his mouth can even close all the way again. Geralt envies how easy it is for his partner to stay in bed after sunrise, but he also knows how terribly difficult it is for Jaskier to fall asleep in the first place. Even with his medication, the musician’s mind seems to be a constant whirlwind of thoughts, feelings, ideas, and memories that all beg to be given attention. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with it when they first started dating, but now they’re like a well-oiled machine: Jaskier sews up Geralt's injuries and massages his sore muscles after a contract while Geralt reminds Jaskier to eat lunch and take a shower between gigs or events. 

As Geralt plugs in his headphones and swings a left out of their driveway to start his usual morning jog, the Witcher wonders how he got so lucky in the first place. He and Jaskier should have been like oil and water based only on their general personalities and aesthetics, but they aren’t, they’re more like shadow and sunlight. There couldn’t be one without the other. They’re always together, even if they’re not stuck to each others’ sides.

Geralt loves their relationship and their history together, even the painful parts. Those bits remind him, even now that they’re living together and planning to get married, that relationships take work and communication; he’s great at the first one but the second one had taken time to build. 

But still, at least there was a decent meet-cute, unfortunate as the circumstances had been. They had crossed paths when Jaskier was booed off the stage at a public music festival by some friends of his ex and Geralt, a stranger, had turned and glared them down like a man possessed, teeth bared like a wolf. He hated bullies. Wouldn’t stand for rudeness. Jaskier had given him a nickname that day, thanking him from between quiet, smothered sobs. “My hero, the mysterious White Wolf. How can I ever repay you?”

Geralt had given the younger man his number, which was incredibly out of character, and asked for a coffee sometime, whenever convenient. He hadn’t expected anything to come of it (people very rarely went for guys with weird scars, white hair, and a glower like his) but Jaskier had called the following evening. His voice had been so bright and gentle, Geralt couldn’t have said no even if he’d wanted to, which he hadn’t. 

When he gets back from his run, Geralt stops in his (now their) bedroom doorway for a moment. Jaskier has his head buried in the center of Geralt’s pillow, his arms thrown around it like a shipwrecked sailor with a life preserver. The Witcher smiles softly to himself and pads forward, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible. He crouches next to the bed and observes his boyfriend.

His hair is worse than a haystack, more likely the product of a natural disaster, and a thin line of drool connects his mouth with Geralt’s pillowcase. He can wash it later; for now, he’s happy to let Jaskier abuse it to his heart’s content. “G’ralt.”

“Hmm?”

Jaskier rolls over, and Geralt realizes that his name has been murmured in sleep; his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. He stands up and leans forward again, his hand smoothing over Jaskier’s shoulder and upper arm. The musician leans into it, humming happily and sighing a little. He squints one eye open after a moment and regards Geralt with an imperious look. “Go shower and then come snuggle me some more.”

“Are you giving me orders? You know only Vesemir can do that.”

“Vesemir be damned,” Jaskier huffs. “Only not really, I like him. But I am your boyfriend, and I overrule Vesemir any day of the week.”

“Is that so?” Geralt asks, leaning forward a bit more. Jaskier sits up a bit to meet him, their lips now only a hair’s breadth apart.

“Yes. And you can tell him I said that, too. I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be.”

“And you, Mr. Witcher,” Jaskier grins playfully, sliding his hands up into Geralt’s sweat-damp hair and brushing their mouths together as he speaks, “Should be afraid of what will happen to your perky Witcher ass if you don’t get clean and get under these covers in the next ten minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fine, fifteen minutes. But you’d better let me be the big spoon!”

Geralt presses their lips together and kisses Jaskier deeply for a long, slow moment. When he pulls away there’s laughter in his voice and joy in his gaze, “Fine.”

“Now you’re down to fourteen minutes”

Geralt gives a loud, barking laugh of pure happiness and makes his way into the bathroom. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

I'm sorry you aren't feeling your best! I hope it gets better soon 💕 May I request a soft winter at Kaer Morhen kiss? Maybe Geralt reassuring Jask that he wants him there?

Geralt rolls over and catches the last hint of a frown on Jaskier’s face. He frowns in response and pulls the bard closer so that the skin of his bard’s back is pressed tightly against the warm planes of Geralt’s chest. “What’s wrong, Julek?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier replies, too quickly to be truthful.

“Hmm.”

“I just-” Jaskier bites his lip and takes a deep, steadying breath. Geralt has never heard him struggle to speak like this before and it begins to worry him.

“Do you want... Do you want me to take you back to Oxenfurt? It will be treacherous but I-”

Jaskier interrupts him by twisting violently in his arms and pressing their lips together. He pushes his body impossibly closer to Geralt’s, determined to make his feelings known. He barely pulls away long enough to whisper, “I just want to know that you don’t regret inviting me to stay with you.”

Geralt surprises them both by crying out in dismay. His broad, sword-calloused palms move to cup either side of Jaskier’s face with the utmost gentleness. “I love you, Julek. I have always wanted you here.”

The Witcher leans forward and captures his bard’s mouth for another, much longer series of sloppy kisses. He’s drunk on happiness, on the warmth of Jaskier against him, on the sunshine coming in through the window. 

“I love you too, Witcher mine,” Jaskier replies, returning the embrace wholeheartedly. “Now, let’s get down to breakfast, shall we?”

Geralt rolls over, pinning the beaming human beneath him as he does. “I was thinking we could skip breakfast entirely. Aim for lunch?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier grins, mimicking Geralt as well as he can. “I suppose I can make that work.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Uhhh, Geralt stealing a kiss as they get ready for bed?

“You have something on the corner of your lip, bard,” Geralt murmurs, leaning in close. Jaskier’s heart stutters magnificently in his chest. 

“Do I?”

“Hmm.”

“Would you mind... getting rid of it for me, dear heart?”

Two warm, dry lips press against Jaskier’s in the next instant and the bard’s blue eyes flutter closed in rapture. Geralt is gentle and fierce in equal measure, cradling Jaskier against his chest even as his teeth and tongue conquer the bard’s will to move completely. When the Witcher finally pulls away, Jaskier is left gasping for breath. After he calms down enough to speak he asks, “Did you get it?”

All he gets in reply is a quiet laugh and, “Goodnight, lark.”