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Professor Pankratz
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Geralt surprises Jaskier by travelling back from Kaer Morhen a fortnight earlier than planned.
Of course, when asked, he simply states that they’ve had a mild winter and there was no sense in loitering inside the castle walls when he could have picked up a few contracts along the way.
“Naturally.” Jaskier agrees with a knowing smile. For once, he refrains from calling the witcher out on his bullshit. That’s one of his many ways to show Geralt that he missed him, being mindful of the man’s appreciation for quiet after a taxing journey.
Just like Geralt is always more prone to soft touches and casual gestures of affection, after he’s been away from his lover for so long. It’s the sweetest thing, really. Like the first bite of a warm pastry filled with jam.
And not even Jaskier, for all his lyrical prose and dewy-eyed emotions, could have imagined a future like that for the both of them. But against all odds, it works. Summers circle back to misty autumns, icy winters give way to springs and their bond grows fonder, steadier and all the more fiery for it.
The bard doesn’t say much that night, but he does draw a hot bath for Geralt and he scrubs his back, unknotting the tension in those broad shoulders with a nimble touch born of intimacy.
“Hmm, I needed that” Geralt murmurs once he’s drying his hair with a towel that smells like lavender. It means thank you, but also come here.
They tumble into bed together not one minute later. It’s been four months and they’re eager, so thrilled to stroke and lick and bite, to plunge and sink deeper.
They’ve dreamt of this so many times.
After, when the window is cracked open and the smell of sex blends with their languid breaths, Jaskier rolls over and slings an arm across Geralt’s flank to draw him closer.
“Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.
Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.
“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”
“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”
“Jaskier, no, you know I don’t-”
“If you say yes now, I won’t ask you for another three years.”
Geralt considers it as Jaskier nips at the nape of his neck. “Deal.”
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How awkward can it be anyway, the witcher asks himself as they walk inside a small classroom on the following morning.
Pretty fucking awkward, as it turns out.
“Good morning, professor!” A couple of students pipe up, before a dozen pairs of young and excitable eyes zero in on the massive, leather-clad man standing next to their teacher. Even without his swords, there’s no mistaking who he is.
“Melitele, is that-”
“It’s Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier’s muse!” Someone hisses with unabashed glee.
Geralt glares at them, wide-eyed and scowling, and they stare back. Trust a bunch of green singers and poets in training to call him, a witcher of Kaer Morhen, a blasted muse to his face.
“Yes, we have an acclaimed guest with us today, and I’m expecting you all to be on your best behaviour.” Jaskier announces with a flourish of his hand and a smile that’s equal parts dazzling and menacing.
And fuck it if that doesn’t turn Geralt on a little.
But this is decidedly not the time for it, so he dumps all of Jaskier’s books and scrolls on the desk and he just sit there, feeling very much like he’s trapped in a Kikimore’s nest.
Meanwhile, Jaskier prompty busies himself with returning the lastest assignments, taking the time to bestow a comment or two on each student. It’s clear that his pupils hold him in high regard, but they’re not afraid to interact with him.
Geralt remembers a couple of tales about Jaskier’s education, and how literacy was beaten into him with a stick, to quote the bard. It’s a thought that sits uneasy in his stomach, even now. Which is why he feels a surge of admiration witnessing his lover in his element.
He’s not playing the lute yet, but he’s composing a symphony nevertheless, carefully guiding and encouraging every young man and woman.
Then he launches into a full analysis of an epic poem and the merits of adapting a story to the metrics of a contemporary ballad, talking fast but never rambling, and no one is staring at the witcher anymore.
Geralt crosses his arms and listens, his cool exterior still in place, though Jaskier can definitely tell he’s amused. He flashes him a smug smile.
The class soon nears its end and Jaskier goes to stand behind Geralt, placing a hand on his shoulder. A couple of students most definitely mask an aww with the turn of a page or a cough.
“Now, as you’ve been such lively listeners, let’s see if our guest would like to, um” He tilts his head and meets Geralt’s wary gaze, “Answer a few questions, absolutely not related to his personal life?”
Four hands shoot up immediately. Geralt groans.
The questions are actually nothing like he expects.
“Did you ever meet Filavandrel again? Would you say your advice had some influence on his decision to change the rules of succession?”
“Was your life any different during the plague?”
“How does it feel to have inspired many tales that will live on as popular folklore?”
Geralt does his damnedest to give passable answers using as few words as possible. He’s sure no one is very impressed, but if they’re disappointed, they don’t show it. Smart brats.
As soon as Jaskier declares that their time is up, he stands up in one fluid motion and he heads towards the door with a brief “Hm. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Pankratz!” A girl answers politely. That stops him dead in his tracks.
Mr. Pankratz?
“What the fuck, Jaskier.” He mutters as he turns around and fixes his lover with a stunned glare. The man throws his head back and chortles, and the whole classroom bursts into laughter after that.
Geralt doesn’t remember ever blushing for such a trivial thing. For a second, he’s legitimately hoping some monster will emerge from a dark corner and swallow him whole.
Jaskier teases him about it later, but not that much. And he more than makes up for it when he drags Geralt to his chambers.
All in all, Geralt doesn’t regret visiting him in Oxenfurt. Quite the opposite.