thank you for this lovely prompt! <3 and sorry that it took so long, my muse was on holiday? :D
cw: none, just 423 words of fluff
“It was horrible, Geralt,” Jaskier said with his back to him. He was wildly gesticulating as he was telling Geralt about the contest and how he had lost to Valdo Marx. Geralt was sure that he had not really lost. For him it sounded more like they both had won, but it was clear that for Jaskier sharing the first place with his rival felt like a defeat.
“Not only had he stolen some of the lyrics from me and thrown them together without any sense of building a dramatic arc, but his lute was also off-tune.”
Geralt had never been good with words - consoling someone, giving advice, calming someone down. But he had learned that there were better ways for him to do these things for Jaskier without saying a single word.
“Can you fucking believe it? His lute sounded like a cat in heat, I swear to Melitele’s other-wordly bosom that…” He stopped mid-sentence when he suddenly felt warm lips press on the top of his shoulder, where his unlaced shirt had come loose from waving his arms around and had slipped down a fraction. He gasped and a moment later felt Geralt’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him to his broad chest.
Jaskier had not noticed Geralt creeping up on him - too preoccupied with his rant to notice the approach of the light-footed witcher. He exhaled slowly and leaned back into the Geralt, letting himself be anchored in his strong arms.
“Do you want me to shut up?” he asked quietly after a moment.
“No.” Geralt’s reply came quickly. “I just...don’t know what to say that would help,” Geralt murmured against his bare skin. “But I’m here. I’m listening.”
Geralt could feel Jaskier smile, his cheek rounding out where he had pressed it to Geralt’s.
“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Geralt said after a while.
“Oh, you would have hated it.” Jaskier was right in part. He would have hated the crowd and probably most of the contestants.
“I love to hear you sing,” Geralt replied. Over their friendship and their recent romance he had made an effort for Jaskier to communicate his thoughts and feelings.
Jaskier turned in his embrace to face him. Geralt leaned forward and brushed his nose along his cheekbone and whispered, “this Marx guy has nothing on you.”
Jaskier giggled, one of the best sounds in Geralt’s life. “I think you are prejudiced on that,” he replied.
“Or,” Geralt said and kissed him, ”I just have excellent taste.”
