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As soon as he laid eyes on it in the market, Jaskier knew immediately that it was made for Geralt. Just a simple thing, plain and unadorned on the outside, and he very nearly didn’t see it. Still, something about it drew his eye, and he glanced up at the stall keeper for permission before picking it up to examine it.
It wasn’t quite entirely silver (and he would know, he knew good and valuable jewelry when he saw it), and Jaskier mused it must be mixed with steel.
“You’d be right good sir,” the stall keeper said, he drew himself up from his stool, his bones creaking along the way. “Beautiful enough to adorn noble hands, but sturdy enough to stand up to a good wallopin’.” He gave Jaskier a wink. He just gave an easy smile in response. “But the inside is what makes it one of a kind.”
Jaskier turned the ring over and saw exactly what he meant. The outside of the band may have been simple and plain, but delicate twin spirals adorned the inside, each leading to the words ‘My Heart’ in Elder. The decoration was raised in relief as opposed to etched in; marks would be left on the wearer. Unbidden, the image of Geralt’s sturdy and scarred hand, with ‘My Heart’ delicately marked into his finger leapt to his mind. His heart lurched into his throat, threatening to beat right out of him. Without another thought, he paid the stall keeper and clung to the ring like a lifeline.
Even though he knew Geralt wasn’t around, he couldn’t stop his eyes from searching for him. He could never stop them, whether waiting in safety with Roach during a hunt or playing his heart out in a tavern. There was just something magnetic about his witcher, some strange gravity he couldn’t escape. Not that he wanted to. He accepted a long time ago he was hopelessly in love with the grump.
His witcher? Where had that come from? Sure, he supposed he could say Geralt was his in the same way Geralt could say Jaskier was a pain in his side. He considered it a very good day indeed if Geralt admitted they were friends. By now Jaskier was used to his monosyllabic responses and not-so-nice suggestions, and he didn’t expect any affection from a man he knew didn’t return his feelings, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
Jaskier stopped cold in his tracks, only a few feet from the jeweler’s stall. It was a good thing Geralt wasn’t here after all. Now the reality of what he’d done, and his half-formed plan slammed into him. He spent a good deal of coin (Geralt would probably say way too much) on a gift for Geralt, one that made it clear exactly how he felt. He couldn’t pass the gift as one between friends. Friends don’t usually give rings, do they? Much less ones that imprinted ‘My Heart’ onto the wearer’s skin. And what if Geralt could read Elder? That definitely wasn’t something friends said, much less marked into each other’s skin. And did Geralt even wear rings? Would it even fit?
Just as fast as his heart leapt into his throat at the thought of Geralt – his witcher – marked as his, claimed – it plunged to his stomach faster. This ring would tell Geralt exactly how he felt. Jaskier was fine with loving the man from a distance, from wherever Geralt was comfortable letting him in. He didn’t want to force his affections on him, or worse, give him reason to push him away. The thought of being sent away, of living without Geralt made him nauseous. No, better to pine in secret for another decade than to risk his friendship and be removed from his life completely.
Jaskier almost turned around to try and sell the ring back, claiming it wouldn’t fit, or whatever excuse he could come up with, but something stopped him. The ring lay heavy in his hand, much heavier than the coin he parted with for it. Maybe he would keep it, just for now. He could always sell it later. For now, he needed to work extra hard to make his money back. But if there was anything he was good at, it was loving Geralt and entertaining crowds.
Jaskier tried not thinking about the ring burning a hole in his pocket. He honestly tried. It was only a little thing, he couldn’t feel it in his pocket as he danced around the crowd, but that didn’t stop it from weighing heavily on his heart. He shook his head again (he lost count of how many times tonight) and focused back on his song. He needed to focus, even if this was an easy crowd. He didn’t have to fight for their attention, nor pull out all the stops for their tips, and they didn’t even seem to notice his lapses in attention.
Speaking of attention, he lost his focus again as his eyes darted to the tavern door opening. In stepped Geralt, mostly ignored by the other patrons (which Jaskier considers a crime, especially since the crowd’s favorite songs tonight are all witcher songs), quietly made his way to a dark corner, probably to brood. To no surprise of his, he couldn’t take his eyes off his witcher, drinking in the knotted hair, the slight limp in his step, the stiff way he settled in his chair. When Geralt finally looked up, Jaskier shot him a wink. It’s easier than asking what’s wrong, asking to make him feel better. Safer.
Jaskier threw himself into his set now, now he has favorite audience. Of course, Geralt would never say anything, if he even noticed, the brute, but Jaskier can’t help his flair for the dramatic, can’t help but show off.
And if his eyes don’t deceive him, Geralt secretly looked like he’s enjoying himself. He settled into his chair a little easier, and it almost looked like he’s smiling. Either that or it’s some strange side effect of one of his potions. Still Jaskier took it as a sign that he’s enjoying the entertainment – or at least not hating it. And with this knowledge, he dove in with even more renewed vigor.
This does pull an actual, honest-to-gods smile from Geralt, though whether he’s enjoying the music or laughing at Jaskier’s theatricality, he doesn’t know or care. He’d gladly be the butt of a joke just to see that man smile. As he skirts the crowd, he can feel those golden eyes on him. He can feel the effects of his witcher’s strange gravity on him, and of the tiny silver ring in his pocket. Maybe it was the adrenaline and the rush of performing talking, but would it be such a bad thing to give it to Geralt? Surely the man knew how he felt about him, he’d been in love with him for years by now, and even if he didn’t return the feelings, he had to know about them right? He caught another glimpse of Geralt’s rare smile before turning back to the crowd and ending his first set of the night.
He decided he was going to give it to Geralt after all. He could claim he bought it for him because it matched his swords and complemented his complexion. And if the message inside was ill-received, he would just pretend he hadn’t noticed it when he bought it.
Jaskier made his way over to the barkeep, arranging for food and ale for him and Geralt. After contracts Geralt was always hungry and the distraction of good food would help Jaskier find the courage to go through with his plan. The tiny little ring in his pocket suddenly weighed a ton now as he waited. The noise from the other patrons in the tavern was far too loud and not loud enough at the same time. Time slowed down and passed all too fast, and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. No this wouldn’t do at all. Geralt would hear his elevated pulse and see right through his lies.
By the time the food was ready (no more than a few minutes passed, but it felt like a lifetime) he had gotten his heartrate under control, or at least as under control as he could get. He turned, bearing gifts for his friend, only to find his seat empty. A quick glance around the tavern, and then a longer one just to be sure, Geralt was nowhere in sight.
For the second time that day his heart sank to his stomach. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He caught the barkeep’s attention and arranged for Geralt’s food sent up to their room and went back to his lute.
This is for the best, he told himself. He probably would’ve made a fool of himself and fuck up the best thing that he had. No, it was better indeed that the ring stayed hidden, along with his feelings.
Jaskier fell back on the bed with a sigh. He allowed himself one moment of rest – just one moment he sternly told himself. When he caught his eyes drifting shut, he sprang back up with a groan.
Tonight had been a good night; it was a fine celebration, full of wine, women, and food. The crowd was energetic and easy to play off of, and he earned enough they could even take a few days off. Not that Geralt knew the definition of a day off.
Speaking of the devil, Geralt actually came for once, and without much pestering on Jaskier’s part. Of course, he had to needle him to wear his nice clothes, and he did his hair for him (never mind the way his heart beat out of his chest or how his face must’ve looked like a kicked puppy), but still a small price to pay, considering the celebration was about the witcher. Geralt took n out a nest of fleders bothering a wealthy nobleman (said nobleman was a big fan of Jaskier’s work) and not only paid Geralt fairly but insisted on throwing a feast and insisted on Jaskier performing.
Now Jaskier found himself sliding out of his doublet with a groan, already wanting to crawl back into bed. Previous performances left him keyed up, and energetic for other activities, but here lately all he wanted was to come back to his witcher.
“Surprised you’re back so early,” Geralt grunted out. He laid his sword on the table – his steel one – and put his whetstone down. “Thought you’d be off…raiding pantries.” Apparently Jaskier wasn’t the only one who noticed the change in his behavior.
“Tomorrow perhaps.” He slipped out of his good trousers, clad only in his small clothes. Modesty around Geralt disappeared long ago. “Even legendary bards need their beauty sleep once in a while.” He shot Geralt a stunning smile (one that would’ve wooed any noble lady) and Geralt only hummed. He turned back to his sword and whetstone.
Jaskier put his clothes away, mind already wondering if he could press the noble’s hospitality and arrange for their clothes to be washed. His lute also needed some attention, preferably in a nice room with a nice bed and not out under the stars on the dirt. All of this could wait until tomorrow. Right now, that bed called his name. Or at least one side was, Geralt would be claiming the other (after years of travelling with his witcher, sharing a bed was no big deal, at least he tried to convince himself).
Jaskier was nearly half asleep, his body running through the motions when Geralt scoffed. Being well versed in his grumpy noises, this wasn’t his usual kind of scoff.
“Was that a gift from your Countess? Thought she’d left you. Again.” Geralt’s voice came out much rougher than it had a few minutes ago. Jaskier followed his gaze, confused. He hadn’t seen the Countess de Stael in over a year-
The ring. The plain silver band that left imprints in the wearer’s skin. The ring he bought for Geralt. He had just pulled it off his hand – he dressed in a hurry earlier and must’ve slipped it on without noticing.
“No, it was meant for someone else,” he caught himself saying quietly. He turned away from Geralt chastising himself. He meant to pawn it in the next town and forgotten about it months later. And if Geralt realized it was romantic in nature and not just pure decoration, then that meant he could read Elder, and it was a good thing he’d decided against giving it to him after all. He would’ve been found out-
“Didn’t think you were the type to give out such gifts,” Geralt said, his voice less rough now.
“I’m a very generous lover I’ll have you know,” Jaskier replied with faked importance. He felt raw and unstable.
“Spare me the details,” came the dry reply. Rare night indeed when the crowds were good to him and Geralt was in a talkative mood.
“The right opportunity just never presented itself.”
“Probably for the best. You should’ve had that sized. I doubt it would fit her hand.” That rough voice was back again. If Jaskier didn’t know better, it almost sounded like jealousy.
But it would fit yours, he thought to himself. “No, I suppose not.” He turned the ring over in his hand. A rush of bravery hit him, and the words bumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Why don’t you try it on?”
He more jerked the ring at Geralt than tossed. But his witcher caught it easily and raised an eyebrow. Jaskier knew he could hear his elevated heartbeat and it wasn’t helping his nonchalant façade.
“Why?” Well, it wasn’t a no. And his tone was decidedly neutral.
“Well, don’t you think it’s a little sad this gift was bought and then not gifted? Better for it to serve its purpose, don’t you think? Besides, it suits your aesthetic much more than mine,” he answered, quickly moving out of Geralt’s line of sight. He wasn’t sure he could keep up the charade with those piercing gold eyes on him.
“I thought the words ‘My Heart’ make its purpose pretty clear.” Geralt turned around to look at him. Jaskier took it as a good sign that he still held the ring.
“No one will see it unless you take it off, and they understand Elder. And they’ll think you have some mysterious lover. Ooh! That could be a new song, the White Wolf’s mysterious lover, I can see it now. You should absolutely wear it.” Please wear it. Please never take it off. But if you do, you’ll still be marked as mine for everyone to see. He needed to get these thoughts under control before they gave him away, or worse, came out his mouth.
“Jaskier.” Geralt stood up, the chair scrapping across the floor. Faster than he thought possible – he knew Geralt was fast, but he didn’t think that fast – he was up in Jaskier’s space, standing much too close and not close enough. His heart leapt into this throat.
“I wear it on one condition,” Geralt practically purred in his ear. He could hear the smile in his voice. There must be something wrong with him because Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off Geralt’s broad chest and look up to his face to read his mood, can’t move his heart out of his throat to make the words come out.
“You tell me the real reason you want me to wear it.”
This man’s voice should be illegal, Jaskier absentmindedly thought. Of course, Geralt knew, how could he not? He closed his eyes and tried to swallow around his heart in his throat. He wasn’t stupid and Jaskier wasn’t exactly reserved and –
“I want you to wear it because you do own my heart and to show the world that you’re taken, and you’re loved and you’re mine.” Jaskier’s eyes popped open, still staring straight ahead into Geralt’s chest. He had not meant for those words to come out – ever, but here they were, and he couldn’t take them back. He almost didn’t want to take them back, a weight was lifted off his shoulders, but now Geralt would push him away, have nothing to do with him –
“Good.” His voice was like velvet in Jaskier’s ear. His hand was on Jaskier’s chin, tilting his head up – and those golden eyes were getting closer, locked on his lips, drifting shut –
Oh. Geralt’s lips brushed his, only for a split second before pulling a hair’s breadth away. He could see those golden eyes peek open through sinfully long lashes, looking at Jaskier like he’s the whole world on a plate.
Jaskier melted. He closed the distance between them, returning the kiss with everything he has, pouring years and years of longing and love and devotion into it. One hand found itself brushing along that silver stubble, the other holding his waist, pulling him closer – and Geralt kissed him back with just as much fervor and his heart is going to burst, it’s all too much and somehow not enough –
When they broke apart, either to breathe or relocate, Jaskier wasn’t sure which, his eyes slide down to Geralt’s hand and his ring, shining on his witcher, and he melted all over .