#yes it's the same dress as yen wears in ep 5

[king-finnigan]

I don't know if you're taking requests right now but could I maybe get a drabble about Jaskier and Geralt his pretend boyfriend going to Cidaris and meeting Valdo Marx?

Geralt is very much regretting saying yes to this whole ordeal, as he squeezes himself into a slightly-too-tight doublet the colour of the night sky. Sure, he’s grateful he doesn’t have to wear anything with colour in it, and these clothes fit much better than the last time Jaskier had forced him to attend a party, but still - he prefers his armour, or something he can at least properly move in. He’s not looking forward to having to spend the night in a room full of nobles, either, or to having to pretend he’s Jaskier’s lover.

He sighs. “Why the hell did I agree to this, again?” he mutters to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

He hears the door open, and looks up, any and all regrets flying out the window as soon as he sees Jaskier. 

“The- the...”

Jaskier looks down at himself, before looking up at Geralt again. “Do you like the dress?” He gives the Witcher a little twirl, the soft, light fabric of the skirts billowing around him. Geralt can see that Jaskier’s back is almost entirely exposed, the cleavage at the front showing off his chest hair. There are tiny, clear gems embroidered in the pale silver fabric of the dress. 

If Geralt’s clothes make him look like the night sky, then Jaskier’s make him look like the moon.

He’s gorgeous. Geralt shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “You and I both know I look better than ‘fine’, my dear Witcher. What I need to know is: is this going to make Valdo Marx jealous?”

Geralt swallows thickly, and offers Jaskier his arm. The bard takes it, grinning up at the Witcher. “Definitely,” he mutters, and Jaskier’s grin only widens.

The bard gestures to the door. “Let’s go, then. Let’s ruin my ex-boyfriend’s night.”

---

The second they step through the large doors, Geralt already knows he’s going to have a shit night. There’s not a lot of people in the room - and those who are there are all nobility - so their entrance draws everyone’s attention. Jaskier grins at the sudden audience, his presence next to Geralt the only thing keeping the Witcher sane, and bows at the nobles. 

Luckily, after a few seconds, people seem to lose interest, and most look away. Jaskier tugs him towards the tables against the wall, filled with food and drinks. “Come on, let’s get some alcohol. I don’t feel like suffering tonight sober,” Jaskier whispers, soft enough that only Geralt’s heightened senses pick it up.

He lets himself be handed a glass of wine, and sips as he stands next to Jaskier, both of them looking around the room. “So which one is Valdo Marx?” he asks the bard.

“None of them,” Jaskier whispers back, and Geralt can’t help but notice how his lips are stained red slightly from the wine. “He always likes arriving way too late cause someone he knows once said that it makes him look better.”

“Whoever told him that lied.”

Jaskier chuckles softly, taking another sip of his wine. “That, I did,” he whispers into his cup, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Geralt makes a mental note to make sure Jaskier never gets angry with him, because his bard sure seems to know how to ruin someone’s life.

Geralt’s attention is drawn away from the bard when a middle-aged man and a slightly younger-looking woman approach them. 

“Ah, the Duchess of Iylico, and of course her handsome husband, how lovely seeing you two!” Jaskier exclaims, raising his cup in greeting.

The Duchess and her husband stop in front of them, the woman giving them an appraising look, the man staring blanky ahead. “Master Jaskier, so lovely seeing you here. That is quite a dress, you look absolutely lovely,” the Duchess says.

Jaskier smiles at her. “Why thank you! But of course, one could never be as lovely as the Duchess of Iylico, herself. You look splendid as always, Martha.”

The woman blushes a little at the praise. “Oh, stop it, you. Say, master Jaskier, will you be performing tonight?”

“I will not, unfortunately.” He leans towards her, a bit conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Of course, I would never arrive so late if I were.”

She nods. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Quite a travesty, if you ask me.”

“A disgrace, indeed,” Jaskier agrees, sipping wine from his cup. The Duchess excuses herself, and moves on. 

Eventually, a door in the back of the room opens, and a tall, slim man walks in, his curly, blond hair reaching down to his shoulders, his outfit too bright and entirely too pompous, and Geralt quietly blesses Melitele that Jaskier doesn’t dress like that - compared to Valdo Marx’s outfit, Jaskier’s almost looks humble.

“That’s him, that’s Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hisses to Geralt, entirely unnecessary, and the Witcher nods.

The troubadour of Cidaris starts his performance, and though his music isn’t all that bad, it doesn’t hold Geralt’s attention for long - the language too flowery and complicated, the songs too long-winded, his voice only slightly above average. Clearly, he isn’t the only one who gets bored of Valdo Marx, and after half an hour or so, the conversations have picked up again.

Jaskier goes to fetch another cup of wine, and as he goes, Geralt can’t help but be distracted by the way the skirts of the dress billow around him, the way the open back shows his toned muscles and soft skin. The Witcher’s so distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Valdo Marx has stopped playing until the man is right in front of him, drawing his attention away from his own bard.

Valdo makes an exaggerated bow that has Geralt fighting not to roll his eyes. “My, oh, my,” the troubadour says, “am I mistaken or are you Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher?”

Geralt nods curtly. “Hmm.” He notes in the back of his mind that Valdo Marx smells of cheap wine and dust, barely masked with way too much lavender perfume. 

“Quite an honour to meet you, Witcher.” He doesn’t say those two syllables the same way Jaskier always says it. It almost sounds hungry, and it makes Geralt’s stomach churn lightly.

“Hmm.”

“So, what brings you here, Geralt of Rivia?”

“I do.” Suddenly Jaskier is back by his side, a new cup of wine in one hand, the other splayed across Geralt’s lower back possessively, and the Witcher feels himself relax slightly. “Lovely seeing you again, Valdo. That performance was quite... something.”

“Why thank you, Julian. And thank you for honouring us with your presence, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” He looks Jaskier up and down. “I suppose you got off the road only just now?”

Jaskier smiles broadly, but it looks so fake to Geralt it makes him slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I could ask you the same thing, since you were so horribly late. Did no one ever tell you it’s not polite to be late? You’ve made a bad impression on the Duchess of Iylico.”

Valdo’s cheeks start to redden slightly, and Geralt can hear his heartbeat picking up. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Though I’m glad I at least have a reputation to tarnish. Unlike some bards.”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back, though there’s no real mirth in his voice. “Oh, Valdo. I do have a reputation, but it’s mostly outside of the walls of Cidaris. I’m quite well-known both in the smaller towns all across the Continent and in Cintra’s court. I was even invited to play at princess Pavetta’s engagement party, a few years ago, and have been invited back every year since. Of course, you wouldn’t know that if you never leave Cidaris. Maybe it’s time to do so, dear, I don’t think I’ve heard your name in years.” He turns to Geralt. “Have you, my love?”

The Witcher startles slightly, but quickly shakes his head, fighting to hide his smirk at the anger he can smell in the wine-dust-lavender-scent of the troubadour of Cidaris. “Unfortunately, I’d never heard of you until Jaskier told me about you, good sir,” he says to Valdo Marx, who turns even redder.

“Really?” The troubadour says. “I presume you two don’t talk a lot, then.”

“Oh, we do,” Jaskier says, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes. “At least, not unless our mouths are otherwise occupied.” He winks at Valdo, who suddenly turns pale, the redness draining from his cheeks as he looks between Jaskier and Geralt.

“Ah, so you two are...”

“Lovers, yes,” Jaskier fills in for him. He smoothes his hands down his dress, making the gems shimmer in the candlelight. Geralt watches Valdo’s eyes follow the movement, sees him swallow thickly, the anger in his scent making way for slight arousal. “Well,” Jaskier continues. “We must go, don’t we, Geralt, darling?”

Geralt nods, laying a hand on Jaskier’s waist, the fabric of the silver dress soft beneath his fingers. He bends towards his bard’s ear. “As gorgeous as you look in that dress, I can’t wait to tear it off you,” he half-whispers in Jaskier’s ear, way too loud, trying not to grin as the arousal and anger spike in Valdo’s scent again.

Jaskier laughs, slapping his chest lightly. “Geralt! This dress is expensive.” He turns back to Valdo. “Well, it was absolutely lovely to see you, dear. Until the next time?”

He turns around before Valdo can answer, the soft skirts of the dress swishing around him, and Geralt follows him through the large front doors.

---

Jaskier breaks out in giddy giggles as soon as Geralt closes the door to their room at the inn behind them. “Did you see his face? He was so angry.”

He can’t help but grin at Jaskier’s mirth. “He was. I could smell it on him. He’s still attracted to you, too.”

Jaskier gives him a delighted smile. “I knew the dress would work. And I knew our little charade would work, too!” He walks towards Geralt, laying his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders, Geralt’s own hands settling on Jaskier’s hips without a second thought. “You did amazingly, Witcher. Thank you for indulging in my little revenge plan.”

“My pleasure,” Geralt replies. “I can see why you don’t like him.”

Jaskier smiles at him for a little longer, before stepping a bit closer, his smile turning sly. “Did you mean it when you said you couldn’t wait to tear this dress off me?”

Suddenly, he can smell arousal, thick in the air around them, though he’s not sure if it’s from him or Jaskier. He bends forward, nosing at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear, and he figures it’s from both of them, as the scent spikes. “I did. Though you look gorgeous in it as well.”

Jaskier’s heartbeat is rabbit-fast against his lips, and he can’t help but grin. “Well-” the bard swallows thickly. “I would prefer you keep it intact, but I’m sure I would be able to get certain... stains out of it.”

Geralt smiles, moving back a bit, looking into impossibly blue eyes, pupils blown wide, arousal spiking in the air. Jaskier’s lips are still a bit wine-stained, and Geralt can’t stop himself from kissing them, licking away the taste, his bard sighing into his mouth softly, contentedly, slender arms looping around Geralt’s neck. 

Eventually, he breaks the kiss off, leaning their foreheads together, hands gently stroking over the soft fabric of the dress. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he whispers.

Jaskier grins back at him.