#coming to a tavern near you except it wont because it is secret

[servicebottomgeralt]

@fangi2 AAA it still wont let me tag you lmao but!! you wanted jaskier being noisy and geralt Doing Something About It. i somehow completely missed the bed sharing part of your request and i am so sorry rip But ,

let me know if you have an ao3 and i can gift it to you on there too!!

Ao3 link

Jaskier makes enough noise when he's awake that it feels like some cruel, sick joke from the universe that he's almost as loud asleep, too. He'll hum and mumble to himself until he drifts off, then it's all soft sleeping sighs and nonsense conversations.

Geralt has considered waking him up, just to force silence upon him for a moment, but he never deems it worth the inevitable bitching that'd follow. I was perfectly comfortable, Geralt, he'd say. Stuff cotton in your ears if you can't tune me out.

Yes, as though he'd cut off his better-than-human hearing while they're alone in the woods just because every layer of Jaskier's consciousness has to be a fucking racket.

The one exception is when Geralt times things just right — leaves to gather wood while Jaskier is just settling into his bedroll, and is almost back when Jaskier's hand slips past his waistband.

Geralt stays far enough away that Jaskier can't see him but Geralt can still hear him. Jaskier makes soft sighs that quickly become frantic, panting breath, bitten into his hand to keep from being too loud, and those are the nights Geralt lives for.

Jaskier passes out as he comes down, satisfied moans melting into steady breathing, and, miraculously, there's not a peep out of him until morning.

It's a good system for a month or two, until Jaskier finds out exactly how far a Witcher can hear clearly, and either realizes he's definitey been caught every time or assumes he's been careful enough. Either way, it's come to Jaskier trying to make excuses for why he needs to lie down early, or why Geralt should go, stay up a little longer, maybe meet some nice peasant lady to spend the night with. He's not feeling well, or he'd like to catch up on sleep, and every time, Geralt shrugs and follows him to whatever room they're renting or settles in whatever temporary wilderness camp they've made themselves.

Part of it is that he doesn't trust Jaskier to be alone; he's gaining a reputation as being the bard that travels with the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, and contrary to his lyrics, he's never won a fistfight in his life.

The other part of it is that, for reasons he can't quite identify, he's come to enjoy the sound of Jaskier getting himself off before bed.

Tonight, Jaskier says he's going to sleep now so he'll wake up early and be able to practice a new song before they hit the road again, don't wait up, and Geralt nods and stands from their table at the tavern as well.

Jaskier's casual smile falters for a near-imperceptible moment, but he doesn't protest.

Geralt walks in first, and Jaskier hovers in the doorway behind him.

"You know, I — I think I might go for a walk, actually," Jaskier lies. "Why don't you go ahead and settle in?"

"It's dangerous after sundown," Geralt hums. "I'll go with you."

"No," Jaskier says too fast, and Geralt quirks his eyebrow up at him, and then Jaskier is groaning defeatedly into his hands. "Geralt, I — look, I just need a little privacy for a bit."

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jaskier sighs. "I don't know how Witchers work, okay, maybe it's not a concern for you, but I... I need some alone time."

Geralt stares blankly as though he's not sure what Jaskier means.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Geralt, I need a wank," Jaskier finally admits, loud enough more than just the witcher has heard it, surely.

Gerat smirks so wide it's cruel.

"I mean — Gods, why'd you let me be that loud?"

Jaskier brings the door closed behind himself and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, could you just... Stay downstairs? For, like, 20 minutes?"

Geralt sits on his bed instead, feeling bold from Jaskier apparently being desperate enough to inform half the town.

"Do you think that'd be far enough for me not to hear you?" Geralt asks curiously. "Do you know the average earshot of a Witcher?"

Jaskier begins to redden, and doesn't stop.

"That's not my problem," Jaskier denies, "you don't have to listen."

"Don't I? If I hear your heartbeat pick up, shouldn't I listen to make sure you're not being kidnapped or killed?"

"You can hear my heartbeat?" Jaskier yelps. "Why hasn't that come up?"

Geralt shrugs; it just hadn't, and it's not like he's willing to divulge every secret to the man that sings about him for a living.

"I — okay, so, what, you're the Guardian of Wanking, then? If you smell me thinking about rubbing one out you'll come slap my knob out of my hands?"

Geralt barks out a laugh at that, the image of himself angrily stopping Jaskier from getting himself off by smacking his dick away from himself, and it's so amusing that the words kind of tumble out of his mouth.

"I wouldn't stop you," Geralt corrects. "It’s very —"

Wait.

No.

What was he about to say?

"It’s 'very' what?" Jaskier asks suspiciously.

Very loud, he could say, but that wouldn't make sense. He listens to Jaskier because he likes to, it's interesting and Geralt finds a small amount of pleasure in imagining Jaskier's face twisting with every little noise. It’s ‘very’ nice

"Have you listened to me?" Jaskier asks, with a completely different flavor of suspicion in his voice.

"On accident."

"On purpose," Jaskier corrects. "You've eavesdropped on me touching myself."

It's not a question. Jaskier knows it, somehow, and suddenly Geralt feels much less like a teasing friend and much more like a trapped lover.

When did Jaskier get the upper ground here?

"Once or twice," Geralt finally admits.

"And?" Jaskier asks, stepping closer.

"'And' what?"

Jaskier is close enough that his heartbeat rings in Geralt's ears, thundering so loudly it's almost the only thing he can hear. Jaskier is all he can see, all he can smell, the day's sweat and the light, flowery scent of the oils he slicks into his hair in the morning.

"Did you like listening?" he asks. His words are purposely low, purposely a barely-there whisper. "Did you hover and make excuses to yourself for why you wanted to listen to your bard stroke himself off?"

Jaskier is smiling broadly now, hovering over Geralt like it's where he's meant to be; Geralt is meant to be sitting on the bed, with Jaskier standing between his knees and leaning so Geralt has to look just slightly up to meet his eyes, and Geralt has never felt so pleasantly threatened in his life.

"It's better than your singing voice," Geralt mumbles, and that's what finally brings Jaskier down that last titch between them.

As Jaskier spreads Geralt out over the bed, kisses him a little too roughly and a little too eagerly, Geralt wonders when he'd gotten so fond of such an obnoxious man. He wonders why he didn’t notice sooner, but Jaskier busies himself with getting under Geralt’s shirt and it doesn’t really matter.

Jaskier smells like flowers and infatuation, and Geralt is more than happy to breathe it in.