#gerrito!? in MY inbox!?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

what if... someone made a clone of geralt o.o complete with memory and everything

okay this one was fun to figure out. hope you enjoy! LOVE your art btw. I am honored as heck to have you in my inbox. <3

It also got kinda long.

---

“Am I still dreaming, or have I been cursed to see double?”

“Hmm,” reply the two identical Witchers staring down at him. They’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the far edge of camp, likely sensing his apprehension and trying to make him more comfortable by keeping their distance. 

“It’s a curse,” the grumpier of the two Geralts replies, stepping forward. The Original, Jaskier thinks. “Apparently I need to have a good talk with myself and figure some things out.”

“Like what?” Jaskier asks. He’s still sitting up in his bedroll, hair like a bird’s nest and eyes bleary with sleep. He looks so soft and both Geralts ache to hold him and press gentle kisses atop the crown of his messy head. 

“I guess we’ll figure that out,” says the second Geralt, crossing his arms over his chest. He seems softer, somehow. Gentle around the edges where Jaskier’s Geralt, the one currently taking a seat next to his pack, is gruff and irritable. 

“So broody already,” Jaskier sighs. “And the sun has barely risen. There’s a long day ahead for me.”

“I could, uh…” Second Geralt trails off nervously. Jaskier perks up. 

“You could what? How are you going to brighten my day, White Wolf?”

The real Geralt feels his chest tighten when Jaskier calls the stranger by his moniker. The nickname that Jaskier had bestowed upon him after their first adventure together. He doesn’t miss the way his doppelgänger’s chest puffs out with pride at the form of address. 

“I could carry you,” he offers. Jaskier lights up immediately, practically bouncing out of his bedroll to hug the half-stranger. 

“Oh, you lovely thing! Geralt,” the bard shoots the Original a pout, “Can’t we keep him?”

Second Geralt smirks at his counterpart and glances down at the bard, who still has his arms wrapped around the Witcher’s neck. Something hot and angry prickles to life beneath the real Geralt’s scarred skin; he has to suppress the sudden, primal urge to growl and rip Jaskier away from the imposter in their midst. He desires nothing more than to shelter the bard in his own embrace and never let another person touch his Buttercup again. 

Oh, he realizes with a start. He glares across the campfire at the copy, still holding Jaskier as comfortably as ever, and narrows his eyes: I think I know what the mage wanted me to figure out. 

“Geralt, darling, stop glaring at our guest and help me figure out what to do about breaking our fast.”

“Hmm.”

“I can fetch a rabbit or two,” Second Geralt offers. Real Geralt shoots him another dark glare. 

“That would be lovely,” Jaskier smiles. Geralt glowers from his seat beside the fire. 

“Go ahead. I’ll get Roach brushed down and watered.”

“Good plan,” Jaskier nods. Second Geralt disappears into the trees and Jaskier bounces over to his Witcher with a wide grin. 

“What happened? I thought you were just turning in a trophy and getting paid.”

“I got paid; but I also got cursed, as you can see.”

“I kind of like him,” the bard says. “He’s nice. He offered to carry me.”

“Well he doesn’t have a horse, does he?”

Jaskier nods and goes quiet. Geralt kicks himself. He can’t prove his affection if he’s too busy being a self-flagellating asshole. He watches with anxious golden eyes as the bard cleans up their bedrolls, packs away their supplies, and builds a small cookfire for breakfast. 

Jaskier goes about his duties silently, and the silence is unnerving. 

Uncomfortable.

The itching beneath Geralt’s skin grows stronger. 

---

Second Geralt carries Jaskier piggy-back for a good majority of the distance between their campsites, hefting him easily and letting the bard hug and nuzzle as much as he pleases. Geralt can hear every word of their conversation from his seat atop Roach and he can smell the self-satisfied smugness radiating off his counterpart; he also can’t help catching continuous and ever-stronger whiffs of Jaskier’s bright, tangy happiness and softly floral arousal. 

That should be me holding him, Geralt huffs to himself, the jealousy hot and bright and ever-present. This ends tonight.

---

“Wolfie! You’ve brought more food!”

“Hmm,” the Second Geralt nods, dropping three skinned and skewered rabbit carcasses over the cookfire. Jaskier beams and drops onto his bedroll with his notebook. Before Second Geralt can make a move, Real Geralt kneels beside the bard, close enough for their shoulders or arms to brush in passing.

“What are you writing about?” 

“Oh! Uh… you, of course. Working on the song about that Griffin hunt.”

“You were very brave getting as close as you did,” Geralt says offhandedly, like it’s not the nicest thing he’s said to Jaskier in weeks. “And I can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you’re finished. I’m sure it’ll be a big hit.”

The bard blushes and stutters, eyes flicking between Second Geralt, the fire, and Real Geralt’s soft but focused gaze. Eventually he goes back to writing, murmuring and singing in little spurts when he feels the need. Both Geralts kneel on their respective bedrolls and meditate. Only the Real Geralt does so with Jaskier close enough to touch, and that settles the itching rage. That settles a lot, actually.

---

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers beneath the light of the stars. The bard turns towards him.

“Mhm?” comes the sleepy reply.

“I love you.”

“Wha-?” Jaskier murmurs, confused. His eyes, bluer than the sea but equally stormy, are bright and wide in the darkness. Geralt bolsters himself and repeats the admission.

“I love you, Jaskier. I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile now, but I wasn’t sure that you’d want to stay with me if you knew. Lately though, seeing the way this other Geralt has been making you so happy… seeing the way he’s been treating you so well and with such gentleness; you deserve that, Jaskier. You deserve softness and care and compliments. I’ve been too stubborn and selfish to do what you’ve needed and I’m so sorry; you could have so much better, but I love you.”

“Foolish Witcher,” the bard sniffles, scooting himself closer until the two are chest-to-chest. “I love you, too. You must have known?”

“I may have improved senses, but I am foolish and uneducated in uh… matters of the heart.”

“Well luckily for you, I’m a professor,” Jaskier winks. He follows up the wink with a wide yawn and Geralt tucks the bard’s head beneath his chin, wrapping one heavy arm over those slim hips to keep him close. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight… my love.”

Jaskier’s scent spikes with happiness and contentment and within a minute or two, he’s drifted back to sleep. Geralt stays up an hour or so more, simply enjoying the solid weight of Jaskier’s body pressed against him. 

---

When they wake in the morning, the secondary Geralt has faded away, not a trace of him to be found. 

“So I guess that’s what the mage needed him for, huh?” Jaskier surmises. “Getting you to admit your feelings. You big, broody, handsome thing.”

Geralt blushes as much as he still can and runs his fingers gently through Jaskier’s hair. He cups the back of Jaskier’s neck and slowly leans down to capture his lips for a sweet kiss. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

Dreamily, Jaskier blinks up at him through long black lashes, doe-eyed and content, “Me neither.”