#it's jaskier pov so lbr he's biased

[smolalienbee]

inspired by this prompt // post s2, geraskier; in which Jaskier decides to push his luck with some compliments

Later on, he’ll blame it on the alcohol. On the pleasant warmth currently spreading through his body, relaxing, making him feel as though no matter what he says, things will turn out just fine.

It’s not like Jaskier doesn’t ever run his mouth when he’s sober (in fact, he does so far too often), but there are still certain topics that he avoids, things that he doesn’t want to let slip. Especially these days, when that bitter taste of heartbreak is still relatively fresh on his tongue. 

Right now, though, he’s content. Here, in Kaer Morhen - there’s a fire burning, laughter and chatter all around him. Good ale in his cup. And Geralt is sitting right across from him and gods, it’s impossible to look away when there’s this soft look on his witcher’s face, when strands of white hair frame his face just so, when his eyes glow from the light of the flames. He seems just as comfortable as Jaskier feels.

And he’s beautiful, Jaskier thinks to himself and then he’s opening his mouth with not a clue as to what he’s about to say.

“You know, Geralt, I’d compliment you, but I feel like you’re going to take it the wrong way,” is what comes out of it. Could’ve been worse.

Geralt doesn’t move an inch. He only acknowledges Jaskier’s words with a subtle glance and a questioning grunt.

“The wrong way?”

“Yes,” Jaskier nods quickly, shifting his entire body until he has an elbow on the table, chin rested in his hand. He never takes his eyes off Geralt and there’s an amused smile playing across his lips as he elaborates. “Platonically.”

If Jaskier were a different man, a man who hadn’t known Geralt for quite as many decades, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out much from his reaction. As it is, though, even tipsy, he immediately picks up on all of Geralt’s movements. Because while Geralt’s expression remains as neutral as ever, he does turn his body until he’s properly facing Jaskier. His eyes roam, all over Jaskier’s face, as though searching for something.

He’s thinking, that much Jaskier is sure of. What is he thinking is a little more difficult to pinpoint, especially when it comes to a witcher who has so far stubbornly ignored all of Jaskier’s advances. Even the most obvious ones. Perhaps it’s not just alcohol, but also that knowledge that gives Jaskier the confidence to keep going.

(Because he knows no matter what he says, Geralt can ignore it. They can both act as though nothing has happened.)

“I’ve changed my mind,” he declares, a tad too loud, but they’re far enough from everyone else that no one pays them any mind. There’s another shift in Geralt’s expression - surprise. He remains quiet, though, so Jaskier takes that as his cue to continue. “I think you’re - breathtakingly beautiful. In general, of course, even when you’re covered in monster guts, but - especially right now. In fact, I’m beginning to regret not taking a more keen interest in visual arts, because I’m not certain there’s enough words fitting to describe what you look like to me. A painting could capture it better.”

It’s over the top, Jaskier knows, and he’s rambling, but there’s a point to it. The longer he keeps going, the more ridiculous he sounds, the more Geralt softens - goes from tense surprise to soft, amused eyes yet again. As though the compliment isn’t much of a compliment anymore, as though he thinks Jaskier is joking.

He isn’t, though.

(He’s not sure if he should tell Geralt that.)

“Enjoying the ale, then?”

“I am, in fact, thank you very much for asking, darling, but it is hardly relevant to what I’ve just said.” Teetering on an edge. Trying to work out just how direct he can be. How far he can push before Geralt’s discomfort becomes too much for either of them to handle. “I mean it, Geralt,” he adds, voice softer. More genuine. Geralt looks away from him as soon as he does and Jaskier hates it.

(He hates how much he wants to soothe that discomfort. How he’s willing to lie, hide his own emotions, if only it means Geralt will look at him again.)

“Jaskier -” Geralt says and it sounds like a warning. Jaskier has never been good at listening to warnings.

(What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? He’s forced to slide down yet another mountain?)

“I know you don’t like to hear it,” he pushes on, somehow, even quieter now. He keeps looking at Geralt, trying to catch his eye, to force him to meet his gaze. “But it’s true. It’s always been true, dear heart, as much as you may try to deny it. And...” Jaskier trails off for a moment and this time it’s his turn to look away. He swallows, glances into his nearly empty cup. “...there are times when it’s difficult to ignore what I feel for you. When I see you like this, when I see that... joy in your eyes. How gentle you look, when you’re happy.” He sighs. “I just wanted you to know. That you’re beautiful. That’s all.”

When he finally finishes his monologue, he dares a glance up at Geralt. To his surprise, the witcher is looking straight at him and their eyes do meet, this time. Jaskier’s grip on his cup tightens.

“Most people wouldn’t describe a witcher as gentle,” Geralt grunts and it’s a pleasant surprise. Jaskier hasn’t expected a response of any sort and especially not such a direct one. Despite the lingering tension, he smiles.

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?”

“Hm. You aren’t, no.”

Jaskier lets out a breathless chuckle at those words. At how Geralt didn’t even hesitate before agreeing with him. There’s something about it, something about how he said it, so fondly, that makes Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, a different kind of warmth spreading through his chest.

“You don’t have to say anything, you know,” he decides to speak again, leaning back as he does. He feels more confident in his words, now that it feels as though Geralt can take it - that he can take his compliments, his emotions. That maybe for once it won’t be too much. “I don’t expect you to. I simply... happen to think that you deserve to be reminded, every once in a while, that you’re not as horrific as some like to paint you as. That, in reality, you’re gentle and beautiful and bright.”

And that I love you. That I still love you, but he doesn’t say that. That, he knows, would be too much.

One day, perhaps. One day Geralt will be ready to hear it.

“...thank you, Jaskier.”

As it is, Jaskier is simply glad that Geralt’s taken the compliments at last. And so he grins at him and relaxes and decides that maybe he doesn’t have to blame anything for what he’s said tonight. That, maybe, he can allow himself these moments of honesty and appreciation, ones that aren’t only woven into words of a song.

And maybe, Geralt appreciates it, too.