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For Real

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He didn’t know Geralt could be shy. He had no idea the man had it in him. He always came across as so measured and contained, sure and confident within himself. To find him faltering after a kiss is unexpected. Jaskier isn’t sure what’s happened for a moment, not until he sees the blush.

“Oh, are you—?”

Geralt looks away, gritting his teeth.

“You’re blushing!” Jaskier delights. “Oh darling, you’re so adorable!”

“I’m not adorable,” Geralt huffs, with all the effectiveness of a sulking puppy. “I’m just… not used to this.”

Jaskier hums softly in acknowledgment, even if he doesn’t understand. Geralt is far too handsome to be inexperienced, surely. “Well, do you want to get used to it?”

Geralt nods, lacing their fingers together, but he keeps his gaze averted.

“We can take our time,” Jaskier promises.

There’s a soft noise of agreement and then, to Jaskier’s delight, Geralt leans in and kisses him. It’s brief, but so wonderful, and the blush on Geralt’s cheeks makes it all the sweeter. Jaskier is definitely going to enjoy this while it lasts.


Why Geralt is shy, Jaskier can’t fathom. There’s absolutely nothing about his body or his looks to be insecure about – the opposite, in fact. The little moments of hesitation are confusing, but Geralt pushes past them, letting Jaskier kiss him, and run his hands over his body, feeling the contours of his quite frankly god-like physique. He’s unfairly attractive, and doesn’t even seem to realise it.

The first hint comes when Jaskier turns up early for their date. Eskel lets him in before Jaskier has even rung the doorbell, ushering him into the kitchen and offering him a drink. They’re chatting about cacti – there’s a whole windowsill of them in the house – when Geralt walks in, topless. Jaskier’s jaw hits the floor, his mind short-circuiting. Geralt hasn’t realised he’s there yet, and holds himself with complete ease and comfort, not a hint of shyness about him.

Well, not until he notices Jaskier.

His question about where it's shirt went dies on his lips, a blush so furious it spreads to his chest gripping him. Jaskier doesn’t know where to look. Beside him, Eskel gives a soft ‘wow’.

Geralt fumbles with the moment, clumsily withdrawing, and Eskel excuses himself to go after him. Jaskier isn’t sure what to do with himself. He half finishes his drink, and then leaves the rest, pacing a little.

The date that night is awkward at first. Jaskier doesn’t understand it. He’s good at conversation and flirting, a master of putting people at ease and making them laugh. He should be good with Geralt by now. In the end it takes a kiss to break the mood, and Jaskier has to admit he’s surprised that Geralt is the one who initiated it.

“You were rambling.”

“Oh.” So he was. Oops. “Well, that’s one way to shut me up!”

There’s a fragile look of longing in Geralt’s gaze.

“Did you know that there’s a worm called the rib—”

Geralt kisses him again, and the warmth within Jaskier deepens.


Jaskier has realised by now that Geralt only seems shy with him. He frowns at attention from anyone else, seeming confused by it but wholly uninterested. Around his friends, there’s absolutely no hint of shyness or reservation. He’s so at ease it makes Jaskier yearn to have that with him, to be someone effortless to be around. It’s been a few months now, and kissing and light touching is fine, but more than that…

He doesn’t push. Geralt can just about cope with Jaskier’s hand against the front of his pants, so Jaskier contents himself with daydreaming about each little step they’ll take, the goal he wants to work towards of having Geralt naked and confident of his beauty beneath him. He can’t wait, and doesn’t know why he does, when he comes to think about it. He’s used to things going from nought to a hundred within two weeks at most. It’s not that he’s impatient, it’s just that with everyone else everything it just happens that way. He’s never gone slow, or taken his time.

With Geralt, though, he realises he doesn’t mind. It’s strange, yes, but there’s something about the unhurried journey that he realises he really enjoys.


When they end up in bed together, naked for the first time, Jaskier understands. He finds himself shaking, trembling just as much as Geralt is with the newness of it, blushing at his own shyness. He never realised sex could be like this, so much like the first time he never had. They share tender kisses, moving slowly and carefully, breathing heavily as they explore each other. Even with all of his experience, Jaskier is out of his depth, faltering and laughing softly when he gets the condom tangled up and has to reach for a new one. They’re both flushed, clinging shyly to each other as they move together, the experience beyond anything Jaskier has ever felt. He can name it, though. He knows that, somewhere along the way, he fell in love for real.

And wow, was it worth the wait.