Chapter Text
The Semi-Charmed Life of Julian Pankratz,
Assistant Manager at Suzy’s Adult Novelty Boutique
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That One Time Jaskier Made Culinary History
Chapter One: Alas, poor Yorick!
By lemon (yolkipalki) & Jadelyn
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Geralt‘s neck ached and his eyes burned from the hours of delicate, precise work under the bright light. He flipped open his phone and glanced at the time.
Fuck. It was already two in the morning. He needed a drink, needed to eat something.
On the plus side, waiting until the middle of the night meant Jaskier would be asleep or at least in his room and Geralt could avoid him entirely. He took a deep breath and stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders and feeling them pop. He made his way to the kitchen, idly wondering how long he could keep this up before Jaskier realized he had returned.
It didn’t surprise him that the living room light was on and the kitchen light was on and the bathroom light was on...and most of the cupboards and drawers opened. Jaskier left a very clear trail wherever he went. He never turned anything off when he was finished with it or closed anything up ever. After only a week Geralt was already used to turning off lights and closing cupboards for him, it was almost as bad as living with Lambert. It might be worse...Lambert could cook.
Geralt reached the sink and filled his glass of water. Before he could take a drink he heard a shrill, ungodly noise from the room behind him. He spun to face it.
“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio,” Jaskier moaned, flinging something around in his right hand and holding a pair of kitchen shears in the other, “a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times.” He laughed, trying not to break character to the empty living room. “And now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it.”
Geralt was...confused.
At this point, he was too caught up in abject bewilderment to interrupt. Jaskier hadn’t noticed him. Geralt’s very strange roommate was now leaning back on one hand and sliding his legs out as if he were a naked woman posing for a portrait holding a rose. Except it wasn’t a rose at all. It was what appeared to be a very small and girthy...plastic pink penis.
“Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? your songs?” He snipped off the head and pretended to weep. With a dramatic sigh, he tossed the now ruined plastic cock aside and rolled onto his stomach to fish around in a black trash bag for another.
Jaskier was cross-legged, his gestures painfully theatrical. With a pair of dull kitchen shears, he was steadily gnawing through a comically large, purple silicone dildo. His eyes wandered behind him to the dark kitchen and he screeched like a small child, limbs flying up as if to shield him, scissors and dildo flying through the air. He made eye contact with Geralt, eyes wide with absolute panic. They suddenly narrowed though, with a fire in them that made Geralt choke on his tap water.
“Good evening, Dexter. Long time no see.” Jaskier quipped. His voice was curt and he wore an expression Geralt couldn’t place in part because he refused to look at him. “ It’s nice to see you still live here. I was beginning to worry I was going to have to hire Badger to pick the lock on your door.”
Geralt said nothing, face scrunched curiously at the new nickname.
“When did you get back from..where did you say you went again? Oh. That’s right, you didn’t.”
“Three days ago.”
“Thr-” Jaskier sighed, clearly exasperated. “Well. I guess you’re not obligated to let me know when you come or go, a heads up would be nice instead of waking up on the couch with your blanket draped over me and no sign of you for almost a month. I-,” his voice grew solemn. “I was worried about you.”
Geralt didn’t know what to say so he chose not to say anything. It seemed like the wiser course of action.
It's not like Jaskier minded. He didn't. It didn't bother him that Geralt had been gone for like three weeks and then not told him he was back home and alive. It didn't mean anything to him, waking up after the best sleep he'd had in years on the couch to discover that his surly roommate had brought him home, wrapped him up in Geralt's blanket, and then just peaced the fuck out, never to be seen or heard from again. He didn't even care, it was fine. He hadn't lost any sleep over the possible murderer now missing from his midst. He didn't worry that it was his fault that Geralt had left.
In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind that his new roommate had quite possibly just cut his losses and disappeared forever and ever, never to be seen again directly after he realized that Jaskier was too much of a bother. They were just roommates. Geralt could do whatever he wanted. It was fine. He literally could not have cared less.
“So. Welcome home from nowhere. I’m glad to see you seemed to enjoy the nothing that kept you doing whatever, wherever for three weeks. What brings you out of your secret sanctum?”
“Nothing nearly as interesting as...whatever all of this is.”
“Oh, I see you’ve taken an interest in my work, have you?” A flourish of the hand that delicately held the head of the now sawed-off silicone penis like a Baroque sculpture.
Fuck. Don’t encourage him.
“No. That’s...not what I meant.”
“It’s okay, Dex. It’s not a glamorous job hacking the heads off these pretty, plastic cocks like some... butcher of pleasure.” He made another dramatic gesture as he tossed it over his shoulder to join the other fallen toys, “But alas, someone’s gotta do it.” He sniffled theatrically before continuing “And besides, you’re not wrong. I am, at this very moment, changing the world.”
Geralt raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.
“I’ve made culinary history tonight, my friend. Call Gordon Ramsay, call Jamie Oliver, call Elton...Alton? Yeah, Alton Brown, the Good Eats guy, because they are going to want a taste of this.” Jaskier stood and grabbed the glass that had been sitting next to him on the floor. He held it out to Geralt who looked at it suspiciously, sniffed it, and recoiled. “Ah, smart man. You would be right to make that face. For tonight, I have invented the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
Geralt looked at him with disgust and disbelief.
“It’s called a beer float.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I feel like that was directed at me as a person and I’m feeling very attacked right now, I just want you to know that,” Jaskier said, not sounding the least bit upset by Geralt’s words as he held out the spoon with flat, cheap beer, and frothy melted ice cream. “Here. Just try it.”
“No.”
“Just...just like a taste.” He pouted at Geralt with big, blue eyes and something about it made Geralt want to smack him.
“Jaskier. Get that shit out of my face.”
“Seriously, check it out, it’s disgusting. Look.” He took a sip and made a rather comical face, his head recoiling at the flavor. “Here. Try it.”
“You nearly vomited on the floor just now. Why the fuck would I put that in my mouth?”
“Because misery loves company, Geralt. Here. Just a sip...a little one...a tiny...little-”
“Ah, so you do know my name.”
“Just take the goddamned spoon.” He sounded like a stern parent but was prodding the spoon forward at Geralt again and again with a stupidly hopeful grin.
Geralt took the spoon from Jaskier’s hand and dropped it in the sink behind him. Jaskier glared at him with pursed lips.
“Rude.” Jaskier reached around him, dumped the rest down the sink, and made his way back over to the floor and the battlefield of silicone carnage.
Geralt shook his head, pulling a bag of cauliflower from the freezer and throwing it in the microwave to steam. He opened the fridge and found it depressingly empty, with a head of broccoli, an excessive amount of condiment packets, and five bottles of beer left in the six-pack. The beer looked questionable at best. It was a brand that Geralt had never heard of before.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He found himself asking aloud.
“I’m going to assume you’re talking about the beer float, but you should know that is a question I get asked fairly often so in the future do try to be more specific.”
Geralt laughed, fighting the urge to suppress it. Jaskier stopped his work to look up at him with a small, genuine smile. Geralt hated how it made his skin feel raw.
Clearing his throat he turned back to the fridge to grab a beer, his mind jumping back to the cheese drawer full of sauce packets.
Who the hell was this guy? And what was wrong with him?
"You know you don't have to refrigerate these, right?" Geralt said as he pulled a large handful of fast food sauce packets from the otherwise empty drawer.
"I am aware of this, yes. Thank you for that, Dexter. It just makes it less depressing to open the fridge when there's something inside of it. Now drink one of those bilgewater beers so you may know my suffering or I’m making you another beer float."
Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled a beer from the fridge, scrutinizing it.
“Fair warning though,” Jaskier added, “that stuff tastes like swamp ass. Far be it from me to judge though, if swamp ass is your thing, you’re more than welcome to have it. Try it for yourself.” Jaskier continued, as he hacked away again, this time at a fleshlight about the thickness of Geralt’s forearm.
Geralt shrugged, sticking the bottle between his molars and prying the cap off with them.
Jaskier made a horrifying noise. “Sweet baby Jesus in a breadbasket. What the fuck is wrong with you? The bottle opener is literally right there on the fridge.” He waved his arms wildly at Geralt. “You are a monster.” He accentuated his disgust with a fake gagging noise like a cat hacking up a furball and then looked at Geralt as if he were disappointed in him.
Geralt laughed again and shrugged, taking a sip of the beer. He held it in his mouth for a moment unsure of whether or not it was safe to swallow it.
“I told you. Bottled swamp ass.” Jaskier snorted, nodding at Geralt.
Geralt managed to choke it down, finding himself sipping on the truly revolting drink. He flipped the bag of cauliflower rice and put it on more time, content to watch curiously as Jaskier nearly sliced his finger off trying to wedge his dull scissors between the folds of a fleshlight.
“Okay. I have to know. What the fuck are you doing?”
Jaskier looked up at him, genuinely surprised that he had asked. “Hmm? Oh.” Geralt could see the realization dawning on Jaskier’s face. He seemed to understand how odd it must have looked and he laughed. “Well I'm maxed out on hours this week, been picking up everyone's shifts so I don’t work for the next few days and I haven’t had that kind of freedom in like eighty-four years. Anyways, corporate won't approve overtime for me and our store manager is...not in the picture at the moment for...reasons. So store damages have to be done by close on Tuesday each week and I’m the only one at the store that can do them currently This is all discarded product from work.” He flipped his hair from his eyes, toying with his labret with his tongue. “After it’s discarded in the system it has to be destroyed. The mall I work at is in a wealthier part of town though and I guess people have been dumpster diving for treasures from Suzy’s so I have to damage them out and dispose of them off the mall property. And I mean I could’ve damaged them out at work and then brought them here but our stock room is really small and like I said, I didn’t have the budgeted hours so I’m here working for free. Yay .”
“Dare I ask what products a store such as Suzy’s damages out.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, moving to sit at the kitchen table.
“Nothing used if that’s what you’re asking. I refuse to take back used products, though that doesn’t stop my lovely customers from throwing said products at me in a blind rage when they’re told that I won’t refund their crusty cock ring that they assure me has never been used before.”
Geralt laughed at that and Jaskier hoisted a black trash bag onto a chair beside the table.
“So basically any product that is broken in the store or in shipment, used for a display, defective products or ones malformed from heat or whatever, they all get damaged out. Along with any discontinued items or expired, in the case of like candy and flavored lube.” He dug around in the bag for a moment before making a face and pulling something out. “Here’s a great example. I have to go through and manually scrape the faces off these misprinted dice because my boss hates me.” He held out a handful of glow-in-the-dark dice to Geralt.
Geralt held out his hand and Jaskier dropped a set of them into his palm. He turned them over a couple of times before handing them back. “Sandpaper.”
“I had the same thought,” Jaskier commented, as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the lid off with the bottle opener. “But I’d have to walk to the hardware store and I doubt they’re open right now anyways. I have a nail file somewhere around here but I’d be sanding for the rest of my natural life, the only legacy I left behind would be the remaining sets of misprinted bedroom dice that I died before I could damage out.”
“Hmm.” Without another word, Geralt got up from the table and went to his room. He came back moments later with a piece of sandpaper and tossed it on the table between them. “180 grit.”
Jaskier smiled at him. “Thanks. Now it should only take me until I’m too old to eat off the senior menu at Denny’s. I have 86 of these sets to get through.”
Geralt picked up the set that Jaskier had handed him before and moved them around in his fingers, looking at the faces. Jaskier peered up to look at him, polishing off the rest of the beer before setting down the sandpaper and watching Geralt toss the dice in the air a few times. Geralt noticed, and stopped setting them awkwardly on the table.
“You played before? It’s quite fun. It can be absolutely ridiculous or incredibly sexy.”
“It seems pointless. If you’d do it anyway why would you need the dice?”
“First of all, it’s called foreplay Geralt, look it up. But more importantly, these are designed to intentionally break social rules.”
Geralt looked at him with furrowed brows.
“You ever played spin-the-bottle?”
“No.”
“Uh...ok, well have you heard of it at least?”
Geralt grunted, choking down another swig of the awful drink.
“Okay, I’m just gonna assume that’s a yes. Same concept. These games are designed to give people a socially acceptable setting to do the things they want to do but are afraid to do.”
Jaskier had lost him.
“Okay. Think of it like this." He was resting his head in his palm, fingers twirling idly in his hair as he fiddled with his lip. "You have a friend and she’s incredibly attractive and you would very much like to bed her, at the very least snog a bit. But you’re afraid if you make a move she'll turn you down and your friendship will be ruined. So rather than risk losing the friendship for something that may not work out anyways, you let things stay the way they are.”
Geralt nodded.
“Okay, so then this same very attractive and incredibly beddable friend is at a party that you also happen to be at. Don't look at me like that, I know you'd never go to a party. It's hypothetical. Just pretend you have a life and friends for a moment. So anyway, someone brings out these dice and says ‘Hey we’re all consenting adults here who don’t make things weird unnecessarily so let’s play this just for the hell of it.’ And so you do. It allows you to make that move, possibly advance into that territory without making things awkward or weird or risking destroying the relationship. In part because the rules are established. There's no obligation to marry the girl because you played a dice game at a party once."
“Hmm.”
That’s...is that a good hmm or a bad hmm? I can’t tell.
“Now, that being said, some of these combos can get pretty weird. But, there's something you should know about me. I am a proponent of the deep-seated spiritual belief that just about anything can be incredibly erotic if you do it right.” He had set down the sandpaper and was leaning across the table now. “So, you just pick up the dice and roll them and then do whatever they say. It’s stupidly simple.”
Geralt tossed the dice before he thought too much about it.
SUCK. FINGERS.
“Suck...fingers?" Geralt read off the dice before leaning back in his chair, then before thinking immediately followed it up with. “I fail to see how that’s erotic.”
Jaskier laughed, his hair falling into his eyes as he played with the rings on his fingers. He looked back up at Geralt, who looked confused. Taking a long drink of his dumpster brew beer he stopped himself.
“Wait...what?”
Oh shit. Was he serious? He was.
“It just sounds... odd, it doesn’t sound erotic.” Now it was Geralt’s turn to look away.
Geralt wanted to crawl inside his rib cage and stay there until one of them died...maybe both. Both might be good. His cheeks felt flush and his inhibitions ever-so-slightly impaired which kept him sitting across the table from Jaskier when everything inside of him screamed at him to retreat to his safe space, to the place where he knew the boundaries and the rules and didn’t have to worry about what odd things people did during sex or parties that were somehow considered universally erotic that he had never done.
Before he could work up the courage to run away from the situation his stupidly attractive roommate looked up at him with abnormally bright, stormy eyes, bit his unfairly-shaped lips, and leaned across the table. With a fluttering breath, he turned Geralt’s wrist and swiftly sucked Geralt’s index and middle fingers into the heat of his mouth. Brilliant eyes fluttered under dark lashes, still fixed on Geralt’s face with an innocent, painfully curious stare.
Geralt’s eyes went wide, his head falling forward, as his lips parted just barely enough for a stuttering gasp to escape.
The part of Jaskier’s brain that was constantly screaming at him, fretting into knots, begging for him to stop being an impulsive idiot was all the sudden dead silent. He didn’t worry about thinking or think about worrying, instead, he simply pulled Geralt’s fingers deeper into his mouth until they touched the back of his throat, hollowing out his cheeks and running the tip of his tongue along the underside of them.
Geralt slid his fingers slowly upwards, lifting Jaskier’s face and eyes to meet his gaze once more until his head could no longer move and the fingers slipped free of his mouth with a satisfying, wet pop.
Jaskier lay there, splayed across the table, lips swollen and eyes blown wide. He didn’t move, arms tucked beneath his chest as if he were a child, leaning over the edge of his bed in prayer.
“And...then you just roll them again and this time the other person goes,” Jaskier whispered.
Without taking his eyes off Jaskier he lifted the dice from the table and tossed them forward. Reluctantly breaking his gaze to glance at the glowing dice. Then Geralt had the last reasonable, cohesive thought he would have for the rest of the night.
Your cauliflower rice is getting cold.