#geralt of rivia is a little dense and jaskier is very very pretty

[planetesastraea]

On the tip of his fingers

Geraskier, Modern AU -  Mature - 6 277 words - Warnings: none

First meetings, himbo Geralt, bisexual Geralt (even if he’s just finding out), bottom Geralt (that too), top Jaskier, first time, handjobs, banter, praise kink, consent kink

Betaed by Micaela Dawn: she’s a wonderful artist and beta, check out her work!

Read on AO3

-

The bar was oddly crowded for a Wednesday night and Geralt was trying his best to not look as out of place as he felt. He had to be there, were Yen's words. And once Triss and Sabrina heard he was trying to get out of the team’s celebratory night out, his fate had been sealed.

"You deserve this too," Yen had said. “You’ve been working your ass off as much as we’ve all been and you deserve to blow off some steam.” 

“I can blow off some steam at home.”

“Playing Skittles-stake Gwent with our teenage daughter doesn’t count. Also you promised you’d spend more time with the team outside of  work-”

“I actually never agreed to that,” 

“-so you’re coming.” 

  And so here he was, wearing one of his black button down shirts and a comfortable pair of jeans with an empty beer bottle in his hand, making casual conversation over the slightly too-loud music and praying to the highest powers that the girls wouldn’t try to get him to dance. Triss and Yen had met him in front of the bar to make sure he wouldn’t turn away once he had a look inside the place. As soon as he had been close enough, Triss had reached a hand out to his collar, making a tsk sound. 

“What are we going to do with you, hm?”, she had whispered to herself as she had opened the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled his collar a little wider. 

“Hey, be gentle,” Yen had cut in softly. “At least he lost the tie.” 

They had cackled in unison as he rolled his eyes, yet unable to fake annoyance as a smile drew itself on his lips. With one of the women clinging to each of his arms, the three of them comfortably slid together as they walked into the place. 

He liked being around them. Over the years things had been several levels of complicated and then some, but the three of them had found their pace eventually. Triss and Yen liked to mock him and he liked to act dumber than he actually was- well, most of the time. His social skills still didn’t reach that high.

As it turned out, you could learn a lot about people by staying at the office several nights in a row working a gigantic case, taking turns on who would get to doze off for twelve minutes on the couch and who was to blame for the soy sauce on page 86 of the Claremont contract. And damn did Triss and Yen know him well. Which was why they had dutifully waited for him outside the bar. Claiming he looked for them but gave up because of how packed the place was would definitely have been among his top three excuses to go back home and relieve Eskel of his Uncle duties. (Both he and Ciri would have been terribly disappointed and that was about 75% of the reasons why he had made it to the party).

  They had been here for a couple of hours now, had done a good amount of talking and heard some more-than-other alright bands take to the stage. One of the junior associates further away from him called “Hey, here’s Sabrina!!” and Geralt turned towards the sound of Sabrina’s voice going “You guys are not going to believe this!” when something, or, well, someone, slammed right into him.

“Owww, holy shit I’m so sorry, you alright?” 

The man was carrying two pints that had probably been full to the brim before he collided with Geralt. Luckily most of what spilled had hit the floor (he didn't need a repeat of the 2017 "Wet-Shirt Contest Winner" from when a sink pipe had blown up in the men's room. Lambert had walked in, taken a thousand pictures and emailed memes to the whole floor for weeks). 

Geralt’s shoes had been fairly sticky with booze already so it wasn't much trouble. 

“I’m fine,” he said and that’s when he noticed the other man had come to a full stop, eyes locked on him intently, lips slightly parted. The eyeliner around his eyes was a bit smeared and Geralt recognized him as one of the singers from earlier. 

“That you are,” he murmured in a low tone, almost to himself. Geralt blinked.

“Yes. I am,” he said back louder in hope to maybe clear out the odd look on the other man’s face. Just because he was tall, well-built and, well, apparently, somewhat broody, people expected him to get pissed at the slightest things. 

“I’m Julian," the guy said and Geralt smiled politely, unsure why the stranger would introduce himself.

“Geralt,” he replied at the same time Julian went “But you can call me Jaskier!” and then “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

It was like his words were running faster than his thoughts.

“Geralt. My name is Geralt,” he repeated.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Geralt.” Jaskier’s lips rose to one side and he tilted his head slightly. Geralt was way more used to people trying to avoid looking at him, he had his unusual colored eyes to thank for that. They were easily disturbing and while people didn't always show discomfort, they at least showed restraint. Jaskier didn't have an ounce of it and Geralt had absolutely no idea what to do with that. 

“Can I get you another drink?” Jaskier blurted out. 

“Mine was already empty. That’s your drink on the floor,” Geralt replied as the other man chuckled, eyes looking down briefly.

“Right,” he raised his eyes and licked his lips. “Offer still stands. Can I get you another drink?”

“Hm,” Geralt said, his well-known wording skills kicking in. “My friends are-” he turned around thinking he’d find Anica and Tiff where he had left them only to realise they had disappeared among the crowd. In the far back he recognized Triss and Yen dancing on a table like nothing in the world could stop them and any back-up plan he was about to use evaporated. 

Jaskier raised his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. Give other people a chance, Yen’s voice said in Geralt's head and the line of his shoulders softened. Jaskier’s eyes hadn’t moved from him for even a second. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. 

“Sure,” Geralt aimed for a neutral tone but sounded nervous even to his own ears. The other man’s smile widened. 

  They found two empty stools that felt oddly closer than those in Geralt’s bars usually were - but then again most of Geralt’s bars were hotel lobbies on work trips or the kind where he could take a whole bottle for himself and sit in a corner where no one would dare bother him. (He hadn't been in one of those in a while. He didn’t miss it.)

Jaskier set an ale in front of him and Geralt faintly wondered who it was originally destined for. 

“So what are you doing here tonight? I’ve never seen you around,” Jaskier started. 

“Celebrating,” he said, in a voice that hardly sounded celebratory. 

“Is it your birthday?”

“No,” he replied, vaguely gesturing to his group of friends who were lost to the crowd, “with colleagues. We closed in on a deal." 

"What kind of business do you work in?" The other man seemed way more interested in learning about Geralt than actually drinking the ale. Geralt shrugged, a wordless version of his usual ‘hm’.  

“All of them. We're a law firm.”

“Oh! Well, congrats by the way!" Jaskier said and then leaned in and using a secretive tone he added, "I mean, you didn’t help a dangerous criminal get away with it, did you?”

Geralt grimaced and prepared himself to lose Jaskier’s interest in his job entirely. 

“Not that kind of lawyers.” 

“What kind, then?” 

“Corporate.”

To his surprise, Jaskier kept nodding.

“So what was the deal about? Please tell me you’re the kind of firm on David’s side and not on Goliath's.”

“It’s rarely as straightforward as that,” Geralt mused and took a drink of his ale.

Jaskier hummed softly.

“What was this one anyway?” 

“I can’t disclose any details,” he hedged and Jaskier chuckled. 

“Oh, you can’t disclose any details, can you?” he leaned again, this time his arm and shoulder pressing against Geralt's. 

“No, I can’t,” Geralt articulated again to make sure Jaskier would hear him. Music rarely ever left anyone’s hearing intact after a few years, maybe that was why the man kept leaning closer. 

“Anything I’ll hear about on the news?”

“The local ones, maybe.”

“Well aren't you a man of mystery.” Their shoulders bumped again. Geralt didn't remember at which point he had rolled up his sleeves but his forearms felt oddly comfortable being that close to someone else's skin. It had been a while since he had even given thought to someone else's skin.

There was still a band playing on the stage out of his sight, a crowd surrounding them, people all along the bar calling for the bartender’s attention, noises and lights everywhere and yet, somehow, in the ocean of stimuli, his attention was focused on Jaskier.

"Maybe I should take your number then?" Jaskier said, wriggling an eyebrow. "As legal counsel. For when law enforcement catches up with me." 

“What would they catch you for?” he asked, willing to take the bait. 

“Oh, there’s quite the list,” Jaskier said. “I’m afraid I have a rather criminal past. There’s the illegal bus riding, parking in client-only spots,” he counted on his fingers, adding each theatrically. “I once shook a vending machine to get my chocolate bar and got a second one I didn’t pay for.”

“Hmm. I think you might get away with those,” Geralt answered, taking a drink from his pint.

“Well I guess all is left is the case of indecent exposure.”

The man had a nonchalant demeanor about him but his eyes were focused on Geralt and definitely didn't miss the way he almost choked on the ale. Geralt only then realised how much of Jaskier’s chest was visible. He registered vaguely how he’d never had an interest in other people’s collar bones before and realised he had forgotten where they were going with this. 

"Hmm,” he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered. “Like I said, not my area of expertise."

He saw Jaskier lick his lips and something in his eyes reminded him of the decisive moment that came with all his negotiations. 

"How about we get out of here and you show me your area of expertise?" 

"What?" He couldn’t have heard that right. Jaskier’s eyes softened and his hand hovered over his bare forearm.

"I'm saying I want to take you home.” There was a beat and Geralt swallowed, the taste of ale still on his lips. His conversations with other people definitely didn’t go like that. The peak of panic might have been obvious on his face because Jaskier’s fingers touched his wrist and he spoke into his ear.  "I'm making a move on you, Geralt,” he said kindly, “and I don’t know if you’re too polite to decline or if I’m being too subtle-” he pulled back to look at him and his face was so fucking close. “Which, honestly, would be a first! So... What do you think?” 

What did he think? His mind was an uninhabited fish tank. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a light flicker. He blinked again, looking at Jaskier’s lips. His brain whispered pretty, and right then, because life always loved fucking with him, the lights and the music went out.

There was a deafening silence for a moment when everyone held their breath and then lights as bright as day came on. The crowd booed. "Oh for fuck's sake, it's the third time this month," Jaskier grumbled. “Sorry my dear but duty calls!” 

He stepped down from his stool only to hoist himself up onto the bar. "Not to worry, gentlepeople!" he called out like he was standing on a stage rather than a drink-sticky counter. "The lights will go down and the music back on again as soon as our beloved Essi, Mistress of the house, puts that freaking generator back on! And in the meantime, if you would please allow this humble bard to entertain you,” he took a dramatic bow and rose up again. “Someone please toss me a folk guitar; drinks are on me!"

The crowd cheered and Jaskier got down behind the bar as one of the crew members passed over the guitar. He went off in a cheery song some people started singing along to, bathing in the crowd's energy like he breathed that very element. 

Something funny and complicated was happening in Geralt's chest when a hand gently grabbed his arm.

"Come on, let's go!" Yen. "It was getting boring anyway!"

Geralt squinted at her.

"You were dancing on a table,"

"Yeah, exactly!" 

It didn’t make the slightest sense but most of his conversations with Yen ended with her radiating with knowledge and him feeling stupid anyway.

"I was talking with someone," he said and instantly felt like a small child very proud to say he made a friend.

"You were what?" her voice pitched up and Geralt could tell she was a bit on the tipsy side. "Where are they?" 

He looked around and back towards the other side of the bar where Jaskier was singing and playing among the crowd, flawlessly winking and flirting with every person around.

"You're right,” his voice sounded strained even to his own ears and he had to blame it on the sleepless nights. “Let's go."

  -

  It had been two weeks since they had secured the Jackdows contract and Geralt was still deep in paperwork. He'd taken yet another two-hour video call with Alveaenerle and he was starting to think that maybe Triss was right and the woman was mostly dealing with him for his looks rather than for the sake of legal liaison. 

He heard the elevator doors open and checked the clock. It wouldn’t be the first time he had worked through the whole night, only noticing at 4am when the janitor came in that he had forgotten to go home. Since then, he had promised Ciri he would try to get decent amounts of sleep while she was away at Yen’s and he didn’t like breaking his promises. 

When he looked through the glass wall of his shared office, however, he didn’t see the janitor. Instead, and he checked twice in case it might have been a case of insomnia-induced hallucination, Jaskier was standing in the hall. He seemed hesitant, looking right and left for any indication that he was in the right place until he saw Geralt through the office’s glass walls. 

They blinked at each other, seemingly unable to move until Jaskier slowly raised a hand and waved. Geralt kicked himself and walked out of his office. 

“Hey,” Jaskier said, looking a bit sheepish. "Remember me?"

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, straightforward as ever.

“Uh,” Jaskier said. “The security guy let me in. He must have thought I was a delivery boy or something. I uh, I got your favourite,” he raised a hand holding a paper bag that Geralt had been too distracted to notice. “From across the street? Oh! Your friend Tiff was at the bar. She said you were still at work so I thought you’d like to have dinner maybe? And like, not with me, necessarily, just, you gotta eat right?” His words were starting to run together, and Geralt didn’t see any end in sight. “And so I figured, the place across the street, they had to know your favourite. ‘Big lawyer man with long white hair’ doesn't fit many of their clients' profiles. Anyway, dinner. For you. I could stay too, if you want, I mean I am simply starving-” he emphasized the word and then looked panicked again. “Wait, was that a yes, by the way? You know who I am, right? Otherwise this is going to get so awkward-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted.

“Yes!" He beamed. "That's me. Jaskier."

“I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.”

Jaskier froze for a moment, losing his shine. “We didn’t get to finish that conversation the other night. I thought that maybe...” Balancing his weight from a feet to another, he looked younger in the office light. He didn't finish his sentence, and looked like he was waiting for Geralt to respond.

“I’m working.”

“Right.”

“I’m at work,” Geralt gestured back at his office.

“Yeah, I know, I just thought- I- You're right, this was a stupid idea. Invasive, even. God what am I doing-” he took a frantic step backwards, and then thrust out the paper bag in some sort of peace offering. “Well, you should have this anyway, I mean- you have to eat, right? I said that already. Did I say that already?” He put the paper bag down on the closest cubicle desk then started walking backwards. “Sorry for,” he gestured vaguely, “showing up like that. Uh. It won’t happen again.” 

Jaskier turned around, starting towards the elevators with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and Geralt thought he heard him swearing under his breath something that sounded very much like ‘such a fucking idiot’.

An uneasy feeling filled Geralt’s chest as he watched Jaskier walk away. He didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t know what he wanted or why he wanted anything but he knew he didn't want this.

“Jaskier,” he called and felt so very glad no one else was working late on his floor. 

“Yeah?” Jaskier turned back instantly, his face lit up by a beacon of hope.

“Do you… Do you do this often?” he asked hesitantly and felt stupid about it as soon as he heard himself. There was a beat of Jaskier looking around at the empty place before he walked back towards Geralt slowly.

“Chasing down a guy I talked to for thirty minutes because I just can’t fucking stop thinking about him? No. No, I don’t. First time, actually.”

Geralt watched the musician, noting the soft, hopeful smile forming at the corner of his lips, the closing and opening of his hands at his sides, and the way the office light was reflecting in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Twenty minutes? I need to wrap something up. Then I’m free. For dinner.” Geralt amended.

Jaskier let go of the breath he had been holding and a full smile slowly graced his face again.

“Sure. Take your time. We can heat up the food at my place.”

If twenty minutes had been a promise, Geralt would have broken it. Ten minutes later, he was done with work for the day and on his way to Jaskier’s.

  -

  “So which one are you?" Jaskier asked, leaning over his kitchen counter after discarding the take-away wrappings. "VGB or Morhen?” 

“Neither,”

“Oh. I thought you were.”

“Disappointed?”

Jaskier chuckled. “No. Well, a bit, I mean," he raised a shoulder lazily and faked disappointment, "I thought you were one of those big-shot lawyers.”

“I am. I’m just not a name partner.” 

"So you're a regular partner then?"

“Just barely." 

"Is that a thing?"

"Hmm." Geralt took a whole second to think about it and found himself oddly relaxed with answering the question. “I have a daughter.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice was oddly tight. 

“Yen and I have a deal. She leads the boat on the job side, excels and enjoys herself in the career she’s always wanted and worked so hard for. I pull the hours she needs me to but our focus is our daughter.”

“You and Yen.”

“Yes.”

"Wait, like Triss's dancing on tables Yenna?" Jaskier’s eyes were widening in realisation. 

"Yes."

"Is she Morhen?"

Geralt shook his head. "Vengerberg." 

"And she’s your ex."

"Yes."

“Are you still-”

“Friends, yes.”

Jaskier nodded slowly and seemed to be thinking about something. He put his glass away and leaned against the counter, closer to Geralt. “Do you know what you’re doing here, Geralt?” he asked so low it was almost a whisper. 

Geralt couldn’t help but cast a look at his lips. “Not really.”

Jaskier slowly slipped his hand up Geralt’s forearm and the hair at the back of his neck rose.

“I was thinking maybe I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

Geralt found himself suddenly very much too out of breath to answer.

"Geralt?"

"Yes."

"Yes, as in you're still with me or yes-"

"Both." Geralt interrupted before he had the chance to change his mind. 

Jaskier looked surprised for a second then stood up on his toes to close the small space that was left between them. He pressed his lips against Geralt's; chaste and dry and sweet. When was the last time Geralt had been kissed like that? With care?

Jaskier's lips moved with his and Geralt felt the tip of the other man’s tongue against his lower lip, asking for permission. He granted it without question.

"Geralt?"

Geralt kissed him again and couldn't help the sigh that escaped when Jaskier's teeth grazed against his lips. 

"Hmm?"

They shared another kiss.

"Couch?"

And another.

"Sure."

  They parted only for the short time it took Jaskier to walk around the kitchen island. He led Geralt to the couch, pushing him slightly backwards to make the man sit so he could straddle his lap. Jaskier’s hips were thinner than those of Geralt’s usual partners. His shoulders were larger, his back more muscled, his arms- his whole body was fucking delightful and yet so very different, so very new. 

"Jask?" 

A kiss.

"Yeah?" It was more of a sigh of pleasure against his lips than a whisper.

"Remember when you asked-" Fuck, it was good. "About my-" 

"Sorry, do you need me to stop?"

Something rumbled in Geralt’s chest, his voice almost a growl. 

"No."

His hand found the back of Jaskier's neck and they sort of crashed again into each other. They kissed and kissed again and Geralt just didn't want to stop but things had to be said.

"Expertise," he finally managed.

"What?" Jaskier let go of his mouth and came back again for a peck before he sat back on his ankles to look at Geralt. His lips were red, his hair in disarray, his hand still hot on the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt was fucked.

"Expertise," Geralt said, sitting up a bit straighter, settling his hands on Jaskier’s hips. "The other night. You asked about my area of expertise."

"Uh. Right."

Jaskier had a look on his face like someone had just interrupted his hot make-out session to talk about corporate law. Geralt would know, that had happened to him more times than he would admit.

"This isn't it."

"What?" Jaskier looked bewildered. His face was an open book of unguarded emotions and it made Geralt want to kiss him even more. 

"My area of expertise. This isn’t it."

"Oh." Jaskier answered, distracted by a strand of hair that fell over Geralt's eyes. He plucked the strand up between deft fingers and tucked it behind Geralt’s ear. Then he blinked and backtracked. "Wait, kissing?"

"Men," Geralt said. "Men aren't my areas of expertise."

"Oh,” Jaskier said. His hand was suspended in the air behind Geralt’s ear. “Okay, you- Oh. Okay.” he whispered again, his hand dropping down to Geralt’s shoulder. 

Geralt wasn't sure why Jaskier was the one blushing.

Sexual orientation had never really been a topic of conversation for Geralt growing up. Emotions were already a complex enough subject to tackle, anything that went further than caring for his brothers was not recommended. Exploration was limited. As a young man, he had gone for what society told him were the easiest ways to get sexual release when he needed it (women) and then his life tangled with Yen's and other partners faded out from the realm of his interests. When Ciri had entered their life, his very own life had taken a whole new meaning. There was little that mattered except making his daughter happy. His own personal relationships were more of an afterthought. 

"Well," Jaskier started again. "We don't have to- I mean it's okay. It's good. It's all good, darling. Do you- Do you need a breather? Do you- do you even want to be here?"

"I followed you willingly, didn't I?" Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier chuckled.

“It’s just- What if I mess up and deter you from ever enjoying another penis ever again?" he exaggerated, the dramatic flair evident in every line of his body. Geralt snorted.

"Hey! I have a duty to the penis community and I take it very seriously," Jaskier continued as if Geralt hadn’t brushed the thought off.

"The penis community," Geralt repeated, fake awe dripping in his voice.

"The penis kingdom, actually."

"The penis continent." Geraly offered, helpfully.

"Oh, that reminds me, talking about dicks: Nilfgaard, yay or nay?"

"Argh, shut up," he grabbed Jaskier's face unceremoniously and Jaskier laughed in the kiss. His hand brushed Geralt’s cheek and everything about him seemed to slow down. Jaskier broke apart from him, a smile still on his lips, and looked at Geralt steadily like any doubt and hesitation were forgotten.

"Just tell me what you like, darling,” he said. 

"I like kissing you.” 

"That’s a good start," he replied and granted Geralt’s request.

Jaskier lay his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and the muscles melted under the soft weight of them. He raised onto his knees and pushed Geralt back into the couch. Jaskier was slightly taller kneeling over him, and Geralt found something delightful in having to look up at someone. 

Jaskier leaned in and caught Geralt’s lips between his. His kisses were softer, slower, deeper than a minute before. Like he was taking his time to enjoy every second, to make Geralt enjoy every second. One of Geralt’s hands moved from his hip to his lower back, inviting him closer, and Jaskier slid his hands around Geralt’s neck, arching slightly into the touch. There was an intimacy about it that Geralt hadn’t expected nor experienced in a long time. 

Jaskier pressed his forehead against his at every breath, his hands caressing Geralt’s cheeks, sliding into Geralt’s hair, slowly making him shiver. 

Jaskier’s arms were distracting. The shirt he’d been wearing on that evening at the bar hadn't given away any clue as to the gems that were hidden underneath those sleeves. There was something feral lying deep in Geralt’s belly that was definitely ready to be manhandled.

Geralt found himself sliding his hand under Jaskier’s shirt, feeling the hot skin under his fingers, tracing the muscles along his spine. 

Jaskier quickly got the message and took his shirt off between breathless kisses. He started tugging at the buttons of Geralt's shirt while Geralt’s hands made themselves at home on every inch of skin they could find. He felt goosebumps form on Jaskier’s skin and used the distraction to start laying kisses on his neck, licking and sucking the skin and taking note of the softest noises Jaskier made. The tip of his fingers slid down the hairs of Jaskier’s chest as he nibbled the man’s collarbone, and found one of his nipples on the way. Geralt caressed it tentatively and felt the shiver that went through Jaskier’s whole body when he did. Jaskier’s fingers pulled abruptly at his shirt. 

“Oh god, take your goddamn shirt off, please!” The request was more of a thready gasp than an actual sentence. Geralt laughed at his enthusiasm and finished unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” Jaskier asked as he slid the shirt off Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt hummed approvingly and raised his arms when Jaskier grabbed his undershirt. They kept kissing until he felt Jaskier’s hands slowing down, tensing slightly against his chest until they were barely just touching him. He saw the look on Jaskier’s face when he parted from him and realised why he had stopped. Jaskier’s eyes were fixated on his torso, fingers hovering over one of his many scars. 

“I can put the shirt back on if you want,” he offered and Jaskier’s eyes jumped back to his face.

“What? No, darling, no,” he rushed and grabbed Geralt’s face kindly, kissing him again. “I was just surprised. Is this okay? Can I- can I touch you?”

“Yeah. Of course you can,” he kissed Jaskier softly. “They haven’t hurt in a long time.” 

“Can I ask- I know this isn’t the best of times but-" he bit his lip with hesitation. "Did someone do this to you?” 

“Not one person in particular,” Geralt shrugged it off.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s brow furrowed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed his nose against Jaskier’s. “It’s in the past.” 

"Okay," Jaskier whispered and then, trying to lighten the mood he added, "was it, like, your secret service past?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

Jaskier snorted.

“Just tell me you’re not in a fight club.”

“In a what?” Geralt asked, frowning. 

“A fight club.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he said, seemingly clueless. 

“You know, a fi- oh, you ass!” Jaskier yelped, slapping him lightly on the pec and Geralt laughed, grabbing the back of Jaskier's thighs right below his bottom to make him slip even further into his lap.

“How would you like to take care of my ass?” 

Jaskier almost choked on his own breath and turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Are you- do you mean literally?"

"I'm not a blushing virgin, Jaskier,” Geralt said matter-of-factly. 

"I know, I just mean- well if you've never- I mean are you sure you want to? With me?"

It was a sensible question but Geralt didn't want to think about it for too long. Thinking would mean trying to make sense of things -feelings, desires. It would lead to labelling and wanting to belong and- he just hated words. Words had a tendency to make things real and unmovable. Actions were so, so much better.

"You're the one who knows what he's doing, here,” Geralt said. “I'd rather it be you doing the work."

"Uh," Jaskier said thoughtfully. He probably had a PhD in literature or something based on the improbable number of books and manuscripts lying around in his flat. Geralt had even seen a couple ones in the cereal cupboard which was apparently where Jaskier’s glasses went.

"Alright then. Just. Tell me if something is not working for you, alright?"

"I will. Now can we get back to business?"

"To defeat-"

"If you start singing right now I am getting out of here," he grabbed a handful of the musician’s ass.

"Oi!!" Jaskier complained in the fakest way possible. "Wait, hold on, does that mean you've seen Disney movies- what's your favourite one?"

Geralt raised yet another very serious eyebrow. 

"Do you often discuss topics that make people think about their kids when they're trying to bed you-"

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry," Jaskier laughed and hid his face in Geralt's neck, full of shame. "How much do you hate me right now?" he muffled.

"Hmm," Geralt pondered, slowly sliding his fingers up Jaskier's spine. "You should probably find a way to make me forget about it."

"Hmm," Jaskier imitated, kissing the side of Geralt's neck and slowly making his way up to the man’s ear. "What if I took your pants off?" he whispered.

"Could be a start," Geralt admitted. 

"What if we moved to my bed?"

"I was beginning to wonder if you had one of those."

"I can still fuck you over the kitchen counter if you're disappointed."

Geralt’s pupils dilated as he pictured himself bent over the piece of furniture, holding onto whatever he could while Jaskier pounded him restlessly. 

"Bed. Now." 

  -

  Geralt only got a quick look at the room (more books, more notebooks, cord instruments of all sorts and sizes) before Jaskier grabbed him by the belt and pushed him onto the bed. He followed quickly, straddling him and kissing him senseless until Geralt’s head hit the mattress. 

"Can I t-" Jaskier started and Geralt tried to sit up, cutting him off with a kiss. He reached for his own belt, planning on taking his trousers off before Jaskier pressed against his shoulders and made him lie down again. He slid his fingers between Geralt’s, caressing his knuckles softly. 

"Oh please, give me the honor."

Geralt almost growled with impatience and reached a hand out between Jaskier's legs, palming him through his jeans.

"Oh sweet Edith Eleanor Diana Poulton, you are not playing."

He got Geralt’s belt out of the way and undid his trousers. Geralt’s underwear followed halfway when Jaskier took the trousers off, leaving his ass bare on the sheets and the hem of his briefs so low on his hips it was practically at the base of his cock. He tried taking his briefs off entirely, feeling silly and oddly vulnerable being halfway undressed but Jaskier batted his hands off and kissed him again. He slid a hand through Geralt’s pubic hair and slowly, incredibly slowly, down, and after what felt like a thousand years, finally closed his hand around Geralt’s cock and pulled. 

Geralt pushed the back of his head into the mattress and closed his eyes as if he was at risk of losing sight if he left them open. Jaskier kissed him through the first moan of pleasure and quickly was all over him. Jaskier was kissing and licking and touching and stroking and Geralt was having quite a hard time trying to do much more than let his hand grab onto Jaskier’s hair and do his best not to sound too desperate. He was absolutely failing. 

“Is this good, darling?” Jaskier whispered, kissing his neck up to his jaw and softly biting the skin there as his hand kept stroking him. 

"Hmm," was all Geralt could manage and he felt Jaskier smile against his skin.

"Tell me?"

"Ah,” Geralt’s hands were moving somewhat erratically, trying to hold onto any part of Jaskier that would make him feel anchored and not as if he was going to lose his mind before he got the man’s socks off. “Yes."

"You're so good darling,” Jaskier’s kindness, Geralt vaguely decided, was fucking obscene. “You're doing so good."

Geralt felt himself blush, having no idea how any blood could flow to his face since he was pretty sure all of it was rushing to his dick. He wasn't going to last long at this rate.

"I want- I want to touch you too."

Jaskier let him open his jeans and moaned into his mouth when Geralt finally got his hand into his underwear. 

“Jaskier,” he warned and Jaskier slowed down the working of his own hands. 

“You alright, love?” he whispered, voice broken with pleasure. 

Instead of an answer, Geralt sat up and pulled Jaskier's trousers to get his point across. Jaskier took his hands off him - the loss was fucking unbearable - to finally get rid of all remaining items of clothing and pressed himself against Geralt again, his hand on his neck. Geralt immediately got his arms around his middle to cradle him closer. Jaskier rocked slightly against him, their cocks pressing against each other and Geralt couldn't help but get a hand on both of them.

"Show me?" he croaked hoarsely and silently prayed that Jaskier wouldn’t make him beg for it because he definitely would. Instead Jaskier joined their hands together and guided him, pressing on Geralt's fingers to make him hold his cock tighter, moaning when Geralt's wrist angled exactly how he liked it.

"Oh god, yes. You're so good to me, love," he moaned. 

It felt like forever and it felt like a blink. They rocked and they kissed and they moaned and Jaskier kept breathing sweet nonsense into his neck, praises into his ear, about how good he was and how good he felt and how well Jaskier would take care of him and how much he wanted to make him moan through the night but in the end, what got him over the edge was Jaskier digging his fingers onto the soft flesh of his ass, sliding in to brush against Geralt’s hole, and absolutely, definitely had nothing to do with Jaskier crying out, “Oh love, you’re beautiful!”

Geralt lost a few seconds or maybe a minute or five over which Jaskier had apparently come all over his stomach too. Jaskier was catching his breath, lying with his forehead against Geralt’s chest, trying his best not to lay all his weight over him. Geralt found the back of Jaskier’s neck, his fingers going up through his hair and drawing a comfortable groan from him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing on his arm to lie a few centimeters away, his head propped over Geralt’s shoulder, their legs still intertwined together. Jaskier’s arm stretched over Geralt’s middle and the tingly waves of left-over pleasure washed over them both with every breath, content tiredness slowly taking over. 

A few minutes later Geralt extracted himself from Jaskier’s grasp, not without some difficulty, and convinced himself to clean up. Washing his hands in front of the bathroom mirror, Geralt looked back at Jaskier’s face hovering over his shoulder as Jaskier pressed his chest against his back. Eyes closed, Jaskier asked: “D’you want to stay?”

Vaguely wondering about the last time he felt as comfortable as this with someone and then pushing the thought away, Geralt’s eyes lowered, looking at Jaskier’s arms settled around his body. 

He felt Jaskier’s lips move into a loopy smile against his skin when he answered:

“Hmm.”

[anna-pixie]

safe passge -> the witcher {part two}

I will be uploading this to AO3 soon... I’ve never posted on there before so I’m just figuring it out!

Read part one here

Summary: Geralt deals with having you and Jaskier annoying him on the road. You stop at an inn and make a new friend.

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: None

“So… day three on the road. How is the princess coping?” 

“The princess will murder the bard with his own lute should he decide to keep calling her the princess.”

Jaskier raises his hands in defence and you shoot him a sickly sweet smile, revelling in how easily you can get to him. Your friendship with the bard has developed quickly over the three days you’ve been on the road, it seems as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth - personality wise that is. Geralt, bless his soul, thought he had it rough when he travelled only with Jaskier - now there are two of you. 

“It’s not very becoming of you to threaten a life, princess.” Geralt hums, commenting on the incessant insults thrown between you and Jaskier. 

You send the large man a glare out of the corner of your eye, fighting the smile that threatens to show as he meets your gaze with a smirk of his own. 

No. You have to remind yourself, you are not attracted to the Witcher. The large, scary Witcher who could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Your mind flashes with the inappropriate thought of his large hands around your neck, your life in his hands while he looks at you with those hypnotic eyes. 

Your cheeks flush and your eyes dart around quickly, the horrifying thought that Geralt may be able to read minds as part of his Witcher-ness scares you. 

“Jaskier… psst.” You hiss, trying to subtly get the attention of the bard who is humming a tune to himself as he skips just behind Geralt. 

You’re in a small town surrounded by nothing but forest, making your way to the local inn from where you left the carriage at the edge of the dense greenery. 

“Yes m’lady?”

“Geralt can’t… read minds… can he?”

Jaskier chuckles at your fear, his quizzical gaze pinning you for a moment before he cackles, “Oh! This is golden! Has someone been having some less than innocent thoughts about the big bad Witcher?”

“Shut up, Jaskier!” You squeal, slapping the bard harshly on his upper arm. He winces, sprinting back towards Geralt with cries that you’re attacking him. The white haired man turns his head to face you, his eyebrows raised exasperatedly. You respond with a pout, an innocent gaze his way through your lashes. You only receive a clenched jaw in response before he turns, hitting Jaskier on his arm in the same place you did. 

A chuckle escapes your lips as he wails in pain. Sure, your little slap probably stung a bit - but Geralt did not hold back. He will probably have a bruise there soon. The inn enters your vision, and your sore muscles practically cry out in relief. 

As you enter the establishment, you realise that you probably look quite the sight. First, the lilac adorned bard clutching his arm in pain, followed by the hulking Witcher, swords at the ready behind his back, and then you - in your pretty pink dress with your favourite necklace. 

Certainly a motley crew, you wonder what the patrons are assuming when they see you. Do they guess correctly? That your parents paid the Witcher and his bard to escort you to your new home? Or do they assume wrong? Perhaps they think you’ve been kidnapped, held against your will by the big, scary white wolf.

Geralt doesn’t seem phased by the stares, thudding over to a table in the far corner of the room, lowering himself onto the wooden bench with a groan. Jaskier orders the three of you a round of ale and meat with all the trimmings and a side of potatoes. 

“I’m not hungry.” You mumble as you observe the sloppy food the inn keeper throws before you, “I’ll save it, take it back for the carriage driver.”

“We’re not leaving here until you eat everything on that plate, princess.” Geralt doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, tearing a chunk of meat straight from the bone and chewing harshly. You cringe slightly at his brutish manners. 

“No, thank you.”

“I wasn’t asking, princess.” There’s a new edge to his voice now, a no nonsense tone that non-verbally tells you that you’d better start eating right now, or else. 

“Oh, don’t use your scary voice on her, Geralt. We all know you’re a big softie deep down.” The two men start to bicker amongst themselves and you snicker, reluctantly starting your meal. 

Being raised as a princess, you were expected to be prim and proper at all times. That meant having immensely smaller portions of food to your male counterparts, so having a large meal - the same as the two men - is foreign to you. 

You eat as much as you can, about half of the plate, before you start to feel full. Your eyes light up as you recall passing a beggar on your way to the inn. Deciding then that you’ll spare some of your own coin to buy the carriage driver his own meal, you ask the inn keeper if he can wrap up the remnants of your food in some cloth. 

“I hope you’re saving that for later.” Geralt comments once you’ve ordered another meal for the driver. 

You take a beat to reply, debating whether to tell him the truth, “Of course I am.” You lie, a sickly sweet smile gracing your lips. 

“Hmm.”

A while later, whilst Geralt and Jaskier are having a hushed conversation, you attempt to drink some of your ale. This is another first for you too, never having had a sip of any sort of alcoholic beverage before. 

Deciding that the best option is to go all in, you take a huge gulp of the brown liquid, regretting it instantly as you spit it all back onto the wooden table, choking and gasping as your throat burns.

You exchange an embarrassed, wide eyed look with Geralt and Jaskier, and there is a long moment of silence before they start to laugh. Yes, properly laughing. You’d expected it from Jaskier, but the deep peels of laughter that rumble from the Witcher take you by surprise. 

“Oh! That was just priceless!” Jaskier wails, and you can’t quite tell whether he is pretending to wipe the tear out of his eye or if he is actually crying. 

“Shut up.” You grumble, your face flush with embarrassment. Jaskier’s laughs fade in mere chuckles and Geralt just observes you quietly, a smile still tugging slightly on the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse the question, Geralt, but I don’t quite understand the carriage driver's insistence on sleeping in the carriage. Surely he can find a safe place to leave it for a night?” 

“Princess, his whole livelihood rests on that carriage. If it goes, he’s done for. Not worth the risk for a comfortable night, I’d assume.”

“Oh.” You hate how frequently you’re reminded of the fact that you’re utterly clueless about anything outside of your luxurious lifestyle. You’re pretty sure that this will change during your month on the road, you’ve already experienced so many things you had never even imagined, “May I be excused to deliver his meal to him? I’m sure he’d appreciate some warm food.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer, he just pins you with that annoying stare once more. Yes, annoying, that’s what you’re telling yourself. 

“Of course you can, Y/N, excuse Geralt’s lack of brain cells that stop him from keeping up with a simple conversation.”

The Witcher’s arm darts out and before you even see what has happened, Jaskier is once again gasping in pain. 

“You’re in no place to give such permission, bard,” He sends a side-eyed glare to the bard who grips his arm with a dark look in his eyes, “You’ve got an hour, princess, any longer than that and I’m coming to collect you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” You grin, sending a thankful nod to the innkeeper who hands you the two parcels of wrapped food. 

With one final wave to an apprehensive looking Geralt, you make your way back through the town. Your eyes light up when you realise the beggar is still in the same place, you approach her carefully and your breath stills when you realise she is holding a small baby. 

“Hello there.” Your voice is soft as you approach her, and the woman smiles at you, although her eyes remain guarded. You notice she hugs the child tighter to her chest as you approach, and you can hardly blame her. It’s hard to know who to trust these days. 

“Evening, miss.” Her voice is tired, croaky and worn. She sounds exasperated, and it is probably something to do with your rather… glamorous… attire. It is not customary for people of higher standing to treat beggars well. You’d heard stories of the young lords in your kingdom teasing and taunting the poor beggars. 

“I picked up an extra portion of food in the inn,” You pause, wondering how to phrase this, “I was wondering if you’d like it?” Her eyes seem to light up when you show her the parcel of food, physical proof that you’re not playing a practical joke on her. 

You’re torn as you gaze at the baby, wanting to give the half portion that you saved for the driver to make sure it gets fed. Surely you can explain to Geralt why you didn’t end up going back to the driver? Plus, this baby definitely needs it more. 

“Oh, thank you miss.” The woman cries, her eyes literally tearing up as she inhales, taking in the fact that she is going to have a real meal tonight. She seems in disbelief when you hand her the other wrapped food parcel, telling her that it is for the baby, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please take it.” You smile at her, beginning your walk back to the inn as she begins to cry. You stop, your mind screaming at you not to leave her there, and you turn back to the two with a resigned sigh, “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m staying at the local inn. Could I pay for you to spend the night there?”

The guarded expression returns to her eyes as she observes you, but she looks back down at the food in her hands and seems to realise that you’re not messing with her. She rises slowly, a pained expression on her face as she clutches the baby tightly to her breast. There is a limp in her step and you realise she has probably been sat in the same position for a while. 

She catches up and falls into step beside you, a silence falling over you as you think of what to say.

“What is your name?” You start simple, hoping you can ease her into conversation without scaring her away. 

By the time you reach the inn again, you’re laughing with the woman who you discovered is only two years your senior. Her name is Lettie, and she was kicked out of her home when she got pregnant out of wedlock. The father of the baby didn’t want anything to do with them, and left them to fend for themselves on the street. 

She has a lovely baby girl named Faith, who giggles away as you babble at her. Lettie giggles at the story of Jaskier almost throwing up over your anecdote about the scar on your leg, and you laugh along as you push open the door to the inn. Once again, you’re on the receiving end of judgemental glances from the patrons - but Lettie doesn’t seem phased as she follows you over to the table where Geralt and Jaskier are watching you with wide eyes. 

“When I let you out of my sight for an hour, I didn’t think you’d return with more people, princess.” Geralt grumbles, his harsh gaze fixed on Lettie and Faith, who both observe the Witcher curiously. 

“Princess?” Lettie questions, only just seeming to register the term Geralt used to address you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You blush, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m paying for her board for the night Geralt. I’ve plenty of coin to spare, why not use it for something good?” You ponder, gaining the attention of the innkeeper’s wife, requesting a large room with an adjoining bathroom, “I’d like a few jugs of hot water for a bath to be brought up, please.” You finish, smiling at Lettie whose eyes are teary once more. 

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t even know what to say. This is the most kindness I’ve been shown in a long, long time. It… it means so much to me, you don’t even realise.”

You place a hand on her thin arm and squeeze gently, “Please, it’s a pleasure. Would you like me to watch Faith while you have a bath? I can sit in the adjoining room with her, if you’re weary of leaving her with me.”

She seems to mull over your offer for a while, before finally deciding that she can trust you, taking the room key off you with a smile. 

“Please, take care of her. If she cries, she likes to suck on something - or maybe eat some food.” Lettie kisses her baby on the forehead and hands her over to you. 

Now, you’ve never held a baby before. However, extensive lessons in motherhood from your own mother have prepared you for this moment - you clutch Faith, gently cradling her head in your palm as you rock her slowly. The baby seems at ease with you right away, and Lettie heads towards her room with a relieved sigh. 

“Princess…” Geralt mumbles once more, and you finally look at the two men as you take a seat on the bench, still rocking Faith. 

“Oh, hiiiii there.” Jaskier coos, stumbling around the circumference of the table to sit beside you, fawning over the little baby in your arms. Her wide eyes land on Jaskier and she lets out a shriek of delight when he begins to play peek-a-boo with her. 

Faith reaches towards the bard, signalling that she wants him to hold her. You let out an aww and hand him the baby, finally meeting the gaze of Geralt who looks incredibly annoyed. 

“What are you playing at, princess? We can’t bring them with us.” His tone is firm, no nonsense as he refuses to let you break from his gaze. You sigh, scooting over towards him, trying to ignore the way your mind screams at you to get even closer. 

“I know that, Geralt. I was only going to give her some food and I saw her baby and… I couldn’t just leave them there. I’m going to part with them in the morning, after I give them some coin. I promise.” You look up at the Witcher through your eyelashes, your persuasive look has never failed before. 

He groans, finally removing his gaze from yours and clenching his jaw. 

“One night. We’ll be leaving early in the morning.”

You bite your lip to hide the victorious smile on your face.

*****

Tag list:

@over300books​

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Glamour - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted on my AO3 account.

Geralt is observant. His job calls for it, Jaskier supposes. He’d be a pretty shit Witcher if he was killed by a monster who managed to sneak up behind him in the thickets.

It was probably something ingrained into him during the trails and mutations. Travelling around the Continent together only gave Jaskier an insight into how sharp the Witcher’s instincts really were. He heard things that Jaskier didn’t. In taverns, he would be able to tell what people were talking about at each table: even those who would give them side-eyes and keep their whispers to themselves. The noise always got to him. Jaskier noticed how Geralt could only be in one place for a certain amount of time before the noise grew deafening.

And on most nights, he doesn’t even think that Geralt sleeps. He has every ability to sleep. After a particularly long trek in between towns and cities, or even after a round of lovemaking, Geralt sleeps. But sometimes, noise keeps him awake: the creaking of a floorboard, crows cawing outside, or even the distant hum of conversation floating up to the upstairs rooms of inns.

So Geralt could be one of the most observant people that he’s ever met.

But, gods divine, could he be dense.

Emotional constipation and an incredibly short temper aside, it’s the little things that manage to slip by.

Though, in Geralt’s defence, Jaskier has been wearing a glamour for most of his life. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he isn’t entirely sure when the glamour was placed in the first place. He can remember the first time he saw a mage in his mother’s drawing-room, pouring over some old, leather tome on his lap. He remembers his mother beckoning him over, explaining that the mage was a friend. That Jaskier was ill, apparently. And the mage was very good at making sure that Jaskier would always be healthy and safe.

It wasn’t until he got a bit older, when the glamours started to flicker and fail, did he realise what his mother meant by all of that.

He imagines how the whole thing would have sounded: the Viscountess de Lettenhove had, at some point, fallen into an elf’s bed. The union produced a halfbred bastard – something entirely concealed at Jaskier’s birth, when the Viscountess demanded that the mage be in the room with her, when an army of midwives requested that he stay well out of the business of ladies.

But he understands now.

She just wanted to keep him healthy. And safe. For all that his father knew, Jaskier was his, and that was that. How could he have thought any differently? Especially with the help of the mage who, for all he knew, was only there to monitor the health of his son.

It’s only for his ears. That was the only thing abnormal – though, Jaskier never really liked that word. But he could never find a word that did match how he felt about the entire thing. The faintest arch of the top of his ears: too faint to be belonging to an elf, but enough of an arch to set him apart from human men. Enough of an arch to earn looks.

And he definitely wasn’t the only one who wore glamours. If people actually paid attention and looked, they would be able to see them everywhere.

And it’s not like Geralt hasn’t seen him bare. If anything, he knows the plains of Jaskier’s body better than most. People he had only spent nights with, he didn’t care much for them. They only saw what they were interested in seeing and that was it. Lovers he kept for longer started to scout, but Jaskier never kept them around for long enough to actually map.

Geralt is the only one that holds that kind of information.

And not once did he ever think, or give the inkling of a thought, that Jaskier might have been something else than human.

His ears stayed covered, glamoured to have a rounded arch – a human arch – for most of his life. That was one thing he could hide. Other things were more complicated.

Then Jaskier arrived at the conclusion that Geralt of Rivia was either very bad at acknowledging the passing of time, or he knew what Jaskier was, and made no mention of it.

And Jaskier, knowing Geralt for as long as he has, he’s absolutely convinced that it’s the former.

He met the Witcher when he was starting to claw his way out of his teens. And ageing had kept up well with him; he might have looked like a young eighteen-year-old, but he was eighteen years old nonetheless. And his half-elven blood allowed him to trudge through the years, gaining small little tokens with each year that passes. His skin does start to dull, after a time, and albeit not too noticeably. The faintest of lines scratch at the corners of his eyes and lips. But his blood kept him just out of the reach of whatever claimed other people his age. Or other people that should have been his age. He watched as other people gained white hairs and their muscles starting to slink away. He’s not going to lie and say he didn’t feel a modicum of joy at seeing Valdo Marx squinting at a tome in the middle of Oxenfurt library, adjusting his spectacles, and then huffing when he couldn’t make out anything no matter how close he pulled the book to his face.

Hiding what he was only became complicated when he found himself injured.

Something he can’t hide is how well his body can knit itself back together again. Elf blood is good at extending a life – either through shooing away the effects of time, or making sure that the body it inhabits doesn’t do anything too stupid to kill itself.

He’s never sustained an injury for something like that to be shown. If anything, it’s a very good testament to how well Geralt protects him. The most he’s ever gotten while out on the Path are collections of cuts and bruises – all of them disappearing within a couple of days.

This, though. Jaskier grunts as Geralt lifts him up the last couple of stairs. This could be more difficult.

Then again, it’s the last fucking thing on his mind at the moment.

“Thank you for your help, Witcher!” their contractor calls up the staircase. He’s still covered in rainwater, dripping it on to the floorboards at his feet. Rubbing some manticore blood off of his brow, he offers them both a grateful smile. “I’ll be sure to tell the town about how your deeds here tonight!”

Geralt grunts and takes Jaskier further down the landing, towards their own rented room for the night. As soon as he drags the bard inside, he ushers them both over to the bed. Geralt pulls at the blankets, tossing them down towards the foot of the bed. On the dry mattress, he sets Jaskier down. “Stay here,” he says firmly before wandering over to his bags.

If his lungs didn’t feel like they were caved in, Jaskier would muster up enough air to shout at his Witcher. Where the fuck would I be going? A manticore corpse fell on me. Because of you and your hunting partner not looking where you’re going. Do you know how disgusting that is: a corpse falling on you? Do you know how heavy those fuckers are?

He can’t verbalise it: so staring at the man across the room will have to do. It could have been worse. He’ll give the Witcher that. He could have been pierced by teeth or claws. But gods divine, his right side feels like Roach kicked it. There’s a hefty and deep bruise. He’s sure of it. And possibly a cracked or broken rib.

Or a punctured lung.

Geralt gathers what he needs; a collection of salves and ointments all encased in glass vials and bottles. He sets them at the edge of the bed. As soon as one of the vials is uncapped, Jaskier nose wrinkles. A pungent scent of tea tree coats the roof of his mouth. He turns his head away, staring at the wall at the other side of the room.

Geralt gathers some of the salve in his palm, warming it up a bit, before smearing it along the worst of the bruise. A sharp hiss leaves Jaskier. It might be nothing, but he’s sure that he hears Geralt mutter a soft sorry under his breath.

His blood will knit himself back together again. But it never dulls pain. A design flaw if ever he saw one: living with Geralt is a hazard to his health and wellbeing.

Night fell quickly. Though, winter has long since settled over the Continent, shielding the land from the sun for the past couple of weeks. Any light that does manage to fight its way through the thick, grey, heavy clouds doesn’t last long. The days have grown shorter and the nights stretch out longer. The hunt started when a sun still sat high in the sky. But rainclouds tumbled in, and soon night fell and in all, it has just been a wholly unpleasant day.

With their room only lit by the hearth’s fire and candles sitting on tables, Geralt works mostly in darkness. His eyes aren’t back to their normal gold just yet. Some small trace of black still clings on. Jaskier stares at the wall, holding his breath when Geralt’s hand drifts over a spot that took most of the hit.

Time drifts by. Jaskier blinks when the lip of a glass vial is suddenly set at his lips. “Drink this,” Geralt says gruffly. Jaskier can smell it. Poppy’s milk. It’ll dull the pain, and possibly put him in a coma for the next few days if he takes too much. He lets Geralt tip the vial, judging how much of the potion the bard needs.

Jaskier only tastes a drop of it on his tongue before the vial is gone. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “This stuff is addictive,” Geralt frowns, putting the vial away completely.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I know that,” he sighs, wincing slightly when Geralt prods at the bruise at his side. “Bards are rarely sober. Especially when they’re in college.”

At that, Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “Did you raid your professors’ opium gardens yourself, or?”

A light laugh leaves Jaskier, though he quells it when his lungs start to tighten. “Gods, no. We would have been found out. They had those gardens on lockdown. We...just became very friendly with passing traders.”

Geralt snorts. He works silently, offering the occasional apology whenever Jaskier’s face screws up in pain. It’s been ebbed with the potion, but it still hurts when Geralt presses his fucking fingers into his ribs—

“It’s not broken,” he says after a time. “But it could be cracked.”

“Then stop poking it.”

“Are you like this with physicians?”

“I never see physicians so I wouldn’t know.”

A small frown creases Geralt’s brow. “You don’t see physicians?”

Jaskier’s tongue swells in his mouth. “...No?”

“I can’t say I’ve met a human with such a strong immunity then,” Geralt goes back to his work. There’s a new ointment now; crushed arnica petals, with a strong scent of pine wafting off of it.

You love the Witcher, something in his brain whispers to him. In an otherwise quiet room, he flinches. The thought seems loud enough that it could be heard within the room. But Geralt offers another apology, before smoothing out the last of the salve. You love him. And he loves you. Shouldn’t you tell him?

And it occurs to him, just then, that outside of his mother, a long-since passed away mage, and himself, that no one knows. He’s never told anyone.

Swallowing a lump clawing up his throat, Jaskier rasps. “Maybe it’s because I’m not human.”

Geralt’s hands still over Jaskier’s skin.

He rushes to amend. “Well. I’m half-human. My mother is human.” Jaskier chews the inside of his cheek. “My father...I don’t know who he is. By all accounts, I suppose, Father is my father. He didn’t suspect anything else. But in a biological sense,” why is Geralt staring at him, “Mother told me that he was an elf. But...I don’t know who he is.”

And if the room wasn’t quiet before, it’s certainly quiet now.

“Say something,” Jaskier breathes. “Please. Stop staring at me and say something. Anything.”

And he swears he can see pieces fitting together in Geralt’s brain. It’s a long time before anything resembling a word leaves Geralt’s mouth. “We’ve known each other for so long. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Jaskier lifts a shoulder – as much as he’s able without his ribs hurting. “It never came up, I guess.”

“It never-” Geralt’s mouth opens, but no more words manage to come out of it. The Witcher catches the bridge of his nose between his fingers before sighing heavily. When he’s finally composed himself, he looks back to Jaskier’s body. “So you’ll heal?”

“Quicker than most,” Jaskier nods, “but not as quick as your lot, I imagine.” He hasn’t dashed out the room yet, or jumped out of the window. That’s good.

Geralt hums. His eyes still run over every stretch of exposed skin lain out before him. The bruise really only takes up one side, spreading from the peak of his hip bone to the foot of his ribs. It’s been almost an hour and it’s already beginning to change colour. What was once red and blue is now turning yellow around the edge. His body is starting to knit himself back together again. And with whatever salves Geralt smeared on him, he’s sure that the worst of it will be gone in a few hours.

Jaskier lifts a hand to Geralt’s jaw, skimming his fingers along the ridge of the Witcher’s jawline. “I’ll be fine,” he assures him. “When the sun rises tomorrow, I’ll be right as rain.”

Geralt stares at him blankly for a moment before nodding. “Alright, then.”

It’s not the nicest inn they’ve stayed the night in. But he didn’t expect much for a small trading town on the axis of a crossroads. But the pillows and mattress are soft, and the sheets are clean. And these days, that’s all he ever asks for.

Geralt has every capacity to be gentle with him. He lifts Jaskier just enough to fluff the pillows behind him, and sets him back down again. He gathers the sheets from the foot of the bed, bringing them up to Jaskier’s shoulders. “Do you want the furs too?” he asks, nodding to a collection of pelts.

Jaskier smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind. The nights are getting darker and colder.” So Geralt gathers them, spreading them out across the whole bed, but making sure that they cover Jaskier from chest to toe.

Jaskier stifles a yawn. The poppy’s milk loosens his muscles. If the bed was any softer, he thinks it might sink deeper and drown. Eyelids become heavy, making them difficult to stay awake. He does though, because Geralt is still padding around the room doing menial tasks. He stokes the fire, placing a spark-guard against it. He strips down to his underclothes and sets his armour, shirt, and breeches over the backs of two chairs.

Jaskier must mumble something that resembles a Geralt. Suddenly the scent of the Witcher is all around him. The bed dips by his side and warmth follows. “I’m here,” gentle words mumble against the shell of his ear. When they’ve settled, a peaceful sort of silence blankets over them. Geralt lies on his side, an arm folded underneath his head. His other hand sits in between them both, twitching to reach out but unsure.

“I have a cracked rib,” Jaskier mumbles, rolling his head to look down at Geralt’s hand. “I don’t have the pox.”

And the Witcher reaches out, fingers gentling along the crest of Jaskier’s collarbone. He shuffles closer, and Jaskier only hums with how warm his Witcher is. The last of the winter chill is chased away.

He’s almost asleep when he hears it. “You know what I am,” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of his chest. “And yet you still stay with me. You love me, despite all of that. Why do you think I would be any different with you?”

Jaskier sighs. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I guess even those who are prejudiced against by others can hold prejudices of their own against something else.” He hears Geralt click his tongue, shushing him. Sleep tugs at him. His body is lax and warm, and Geralt knows where to skim fingertips so sleep can creep up on him more quickly.

“Sleep now,” Geralt gentles, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s cheek. He drifts off to sleep like that; a chest suddenly, despite being crushed by a beast, lighter than before.

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Valdo is an Ass and Jaskier Gets Drunk

"Ah Oxenfurt, how I missed you." Geralt grunted at the bard's words. Forced to lean on Jaskier's back as Roach strode through the streets. He'd refused to let Geralt ride the horse with a broken leg annoyed. The white haired man reluctantly agreed but of course eyes stared at the odd duo. The witcher felt ready to crawl into a hole and die about now.

"Please tell me the university is close by."

"What's the rush? Oxenfurt is beautiful this time of year." Jaskier beamed in the sunlight, the breeze on the Pontar River catching his hair as Roach stopped in front of the university. He held a have to help Geralt off but the man didn't take it. Hefting himself of the horse and stumbling into Jaskier's side. The bard opened his mouth but Geralt cut him off.

"Not a word. Healer. Now."

"Fine, fine." Jaskier assured him as they began to walk towards the entrance. Jaskier stopping mid stride when he noticed a man staring at them. He quickly went to turn around, Geralt's leg twisting as he yelped.

"Ow! What the fuck?" Geralt adjusted his weight.

"We can take the other door and-"

"Julian! How good to see you!" The bard hissed through his teeth, the man from earlier who spotted them coming over. He looked about the same age as Jaskier with curly black hair and olive skin. Bright green eyes shining as he smiled at the duo.

"Julian?" Geralt questioned.

"Valdo, so great to see you...bit actually I'm going by Jaskier now."

"Ah, so you decided to keep that silly stage name. I'm impressed it caught on." The backhanded compliment didn't go over Geralt's head. "And who's this large fellow then?"

"Geralt, if you'll excuse us-" Jaskier tried to walk away but the man didn't move. Geralt quirked an eyebrow. This was the man Jaskier wished dead? Seemed kind of annoying but then again, so was Jaskier.

"Geralt? As in The Geralt of Rivia? The white wolf you sing about?" Valdo asked eyeing the man up and down. "My, my, your songs don't do him nearly enough justice. May I ask what happened?" The other bard asked as he noticed Geralt's contorted leg.

"You may not, we're very busy. Bugger off."

"Oh Julian-"

"Jaskier," the bard interrupted, incredibly annoyed.

"You wound me. I thought we were friends." Jaskier ignored the man, leading Geralt around the building. The witcher staring back for a moment.

"Not a fan of him, I take it."

"Not a fan? Geralt that man is the most smug, pompous ass who writes for only the lowest common denominator in order to appeal to the masses. To call him a wastrel would be an insult to wastrels everywhere. And that is putting it lightly."

"Sounds personal."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Can we at least talk about the fact your real name is Julian?"

"Julian is my old name, something I also do not wish to talk about." He sped up and Geralt struggled to keep up without agitating the injured leg.

~~

"Your leg is indeed broken."

"Could've told you that." Geralt snarked at the healer. Now sat on a cot with Jaskier off doing Gods knew what.

"Luckily for you it's only a transverse fracture,'' the man grabbed Geralt's leg, wrapping it in a splint. The witcher biting back a snarl. Don't scare the person fixing your leg... "So it should, combined with your potions heal in about a week's time. Provided you stay off your feet."

"I'm a witcher. That's going to be a little hard."

"I know who and what you are, but I don't care. No hunting monsters, no fighting lords. Judging from your other multiple wounds and bruises, I'd say some bed rest is in order."

"Fine." Geralt relented. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "Jaskier mention where he was going?"

"The viscount mentioned something about the university bar."

"Viscount?"

"You didn't know?"

"I literally just found out he was actually named Julian today."

"His family, they're nobels, if I recall his uncle is the Ferrant de Lettenhove." That raised even more questions. Jaskier came from money. A lot of it. Why the hell had he gone on the road to be a bard? With a witcher nonetheless.

~~

"Another!" Jaskier loudly demanded as the bar tender passed him another drink. It was his third...maybe fourth ale? Now that he was thinking about it, it could've been his fifth. He didn't really care. It was only with this much alcohol in his system did it occur to him that maybe taking Geralt to his old university wasn't the greatest idea. Especially when Valdo Marx was around.

"Oh Julian!" Speak of the devil. The bard turned to see the man, permanent shit eating grin still on his face. "I'm not surprised you're here already, old habits die hard after all."

"It's Jaskier you smug....fuck..." Jaskier slurred out as Valdo raised his hand. Signalling for two drinks.

"You're so funny when you're drunk, makes you honest. I'm surprised your witcher doesn't know more all things considered."

"The fack...do you want?" Jaskier asked. Trying not to fall off his chair in the process of moving.

"Geralt."

"Wha...?"

"I've seen the way you look at him. Hell I'm pretty sure everyone who isn't Geralt has seen the way you look at him." Valdo mused as he took a drink. "Like a lovesick puppy. You'd have to be dense not to notice."

"Hey Grrr....Gralt s not dense..."

"No but you sure are." Valdo adjusted his seat to slide a paper over to Jaskier. A flier for his next performance. Well...Jaskier was 86% sure it was. The alcohol didn't help. "If you don't want to say anything, I'll be more than happy to." Jaskier snorted loudly, doubling over.

"Y'er funny, Geralt wouldn't like someone like you..."

"Want to make a bet on that?" Valdo was grinning. "If I can seduce your witcher by the end of the week, you'll never perform again."

"Whas in it fer me?"

"If you manage to get him to reciprocate your feelings, you'll never see hide nor hair of me again in all of Oxenfurt." The drunken Jaskier made a face when Valdo stuck out his hand. Thinking a moment before taking it.

"Deal!"

[remijaecrowley]

Feed the Hunger

Just a short fic of our favorite bumbling boys and one trickster of a succubus Bard. Song lyrics from “Animal” covered by Chase Holfelder. Listen to it and imagine it being sung in that style by a female and you got my succubus. XD

Geralt grumbled as he had to push his way through the crowded tavern, that Jaskier had BEGGED him to bring him to, to reach the bar, tossing down a few coins and holding up two fingers to the Barkeep for two pints of ale. The barkeep nodded when he saw the Witcher, quickly sliding two large pints to Geralt before scooping the coins off the bar and dropping them in his apron pocket.

Geralt nodded in thanks before turning and muscling his way through the crowd again, holding the mugs high above the heads of the humans that had packed the small tavern house. He didn't get what was so impressive to have this many humans gather for a bard, but he knew his own Bard was thrumming with excitement over getting to hear this particular Trobairitz. The Witcher had to listen to the Bard's excited babbling all the way to Toussaint. While he loved his little songbird, sometimes, he had to fight the urge to strangle the Bard just for a moment of peace and quiet when Jaskier got wound up over something.

The Witcher made his way through the crowd to his Bard, who had taken up residence at a small table as close to the stage as he could get. Geralt watched Jaskier for a moment, before the bard noticed his Witcher was watching him. The Bard's nervous, excited energy made the bard seem to vibrate in his seat. The Witcher rolled his eyes as he slammed a mug in front of the Bard on the table, causing Jaskier to jump, letting out a very undignified squeak.

"Fuck! Geralt! Stop startling me like that, you big burly bastard! Had me thinking one of the locals was trying to take our seats for a second there...and I will fight anyone who tries it....well, more likely yell loudly til they either give up or you come and scruff them." The bard harrumphed at first, though ending his conniption with a grin that made the Witcher roll his eyes again. Geralt hmmm'ed at the Bard as he settled himself in his chair, not liking being so out in the open, much preferring to be in a corner of the room with two sides guarded by walls, so as to make being on guard easier. He definitely did NOT like having his back to the crowd, so the only table he and the Bard could finally agree on where the Bard would have a good view and the Witcher felt it was a bit easier to defend was off to the left of the stage, Geralt able to set his back to a column at least.

Jaskier took a long sip off his Ale, leaning over toward Geralt to murmur," The show should be starting soon. I wonder what this new bard's schtick is? We all have one. Mine is singing songs of the adventures of the White Wolf..."the bard grinning at Geralt, "Others do dancing or whatever. For this bard to be THIS popular, they must have one hell of a...." the Bard's words trailing off as the crowd around them started to cheer as a woman stepped out on the stage.

Both men had seen some surreal beauties in their travels, but this woman even made the magically enhanced beauty of Yennefer pale ever so slightly. Skin that gleamed as if dusted with honey powder, hair that hung to her waist that shone like the darkest rubies, and eyes....well, the eyes were what struck Jaskier hard, having him elbowing the Witcher sharply and his whispered, "Her eyes, Geralt! Her eyes....they are like yours!"

Geralt grunted at the elbow, giving the Bard a glare that would make lesser men quail in fear. All Jaskier did was roll his eyes and whisper, "Yes, yes, scary face. I KNOW, Giralt."

The Songstress laughed softly at the cheering, her laughter like crystal bells ringing through the room. She bowed to her audience and grinned playfully. "Good eve, my darlings! Thank you all for coming to my modest concert. I am your humble Bard, Ilana. May my songs be found pleasing and your hearts...and coin purses, opened!" The crowd chuckled at her comment about coin purses as she nodded to her musicians to start playing. Soon, her voice rang out, weaving a spell over the patrons of happiness and joy as she sang of epic battles won, lovers united, and destiny. The crowd had quieted down as she started singing, unlike when Jaskier would do his little impromptu shows while he and the Witcher were on the road. Jaskier felt a little jealous, but at the same time, he couldn't truly be jealous. He felt too happy to feel jealousy at the moment and he was enjoying this feeling.

Geralt, on the other hand, was frowning. The only frown in the packed tavern and he was frowning because his medallion was vibrating against his chest. The Songstress took note, a small smirk playing on her lips as she finished a song, the crowd cheering happily. She held up a hand to ask for quiet and the audience settled down for her as she spoke,"I see we have a hero in our midst, my darlings. The famed Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf Witcher is here. I think it would be a perfect time for me to sing one of my new songs, in honor of our hero, don't you think?"

The crowd cheered louder at the idea and Geralt's eyes narrowed, a low growl escaped him as he went to make a grab for Jaskier. The fact his medallion was dancing a jig against his chest meant to Songstress wasn't human and was something that could use it's voice to control people.  A siren, or maybe a succubus of some sort, though he wasn't sure and the fact he wasn't sure made him feel uneasy. He wanted to get Jaskier and himself out of there NOW, before she started to sing again.

He tried to make a grab for the bard, but found himself unable to move. a thunderous look crossed the Witcher's face as he struggled to move, but he felt pinned to the seat, the golden cat eyes of the Songstress were on him, as if she was pinning him with her very gaze. He grunted, trying to move, only managing a fidget in his seat. Jaskier was so enraptured with the Songstress, he wasn't even noticing that his friend was trying to get his attention.

The Musicians started playing the next tune , the music soft and slow as Ilana opened her mouth and the first dulcet words dripped from her lips.

Here we go again I kinda wanna be more than friends So take it easy on me I'm afraid you're never satisfied....

The words wiggle into the Witcher's mind, trying to strip him of his years of honed willpower. The words tickled at the thoughts he'd been supressing for a long while now. He couldn't give into those feelings. If he did.....if he did, Jaskier would be hurt possibly and that thought made a feeling he didn't feel very often rear up. Fear.

Ilana kept singing while the Witcher glared at her, a smirk pulling at her lips as she knew her spell was worming it's way into the Witcher, despite his years of training and his mutations, even a Witcher had a hard time fighting a succubus who sang as sweetly as a siren.

Oh, oh I want some more Oh, oh What are you waitin' for? Take a bite of my heart tonight Oh, oh I want some more Oh, oh What are you waitin' for? What are you waitin' for? Say goodbye to my heart tonight

Jaskier glances at Geralt, finally noticing the Witcher hadn't grunted or moved in a bit, noticing now that the Witcher was in a locked eye match with the Songstress singing, as if she was serenading the Witcher. OF COURSE. She wanted a piece of Geralt, but then, he was a terribly handsome man so Jaskier couldn't blame her. At the same time though, a spark of jealously flickered in the Bard's heart as his gaze moved from Witcher to Singer and back again.

The music takes on a stronger beat, more insistent as Ilana sings, her body swaying to the rhythm on her song, her golden eyes never leaving the Witcher's face, the smirk on her lips as she sang growing wider as she saw the Witcher's eyes start to glaze over. Good....her spell was working and soon he would give into his desires, which was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to pounce, maul, devour the one he desired, to release all that tasty, tasty repressed and pent up energy in him. She didn't understand why he would deny himself something he desired, something that would bring him pleasure, but then, her skill set was perfect for this. Tempt, tease, bring her prey to the point of begging for it, then releasing them on their heart's desire, feeding off the energy as the lust was consummated.

Here we are again I feel the chemicals kickin' in It's gettin' heavier I wanna run and hide I wanna run and hide....

Oh, she knew the Witcher wanted to escape. She could feel him resisting. The more they resist, the more delicious the final result. She poured all her power into her words, knowing it would leak over to the rest of the audience and....yeah, there might be a few affairs this evening, or a few new surprise babies to be had, but she wanted to feed off the Witcher. She would make him submit to his desires. She hadn't lost a battle of wills like this before and she didn't plan on it tonight.

.......And I won't be denied by you The animal inside of you!

Jaskier actually growled a little himself at the lyrics, realizing they were aimed at his Witcher and that spark of jealousy was slowly being fanned into a flame. First he had to deal with Yennefer's claim on Geralt and now this...this...this singing hussy was trying to seduce Geralt in front of the whole damn audience with him sitting right next to the Witcher! Though....he had to admit, the words made him a bit tingly...thinking of Geralt...wanting to be more than just his best friend. He'd wanted to be more pretty much since day bloody one with the blasted dense man, but Geralt always kept him at arms length.....unless he was injured, or it was cold, or he needed to shake some sense into the Bard.

The tune dipped low and quiet again as Ilana sang, her voice nearly heart breakingly sweet.

Hush, hush, the world is quiet Hush, hush we both can't fight it It's us that made this mess Why can't you understand? Oh, I won't sleep tonight...

Geralt's eyes shifted from Ilana to the bard next to him. The words echoing through his thoughts, "Hush, hush, we both can't fight it...." Why HAD he been fighting something that he wanted so much that just looking at the bard made his loin ache and his chest tighten? Why was he denying something that they both obviously wanted, just that Geralt was being a stubborn bastard and not wanting to have someone else feeling bound to him. He knew if he gave into this...this want, this longing for the Bard that he had been fighting, Jaskier would be bound to him as tightly if not more so than Yennefer was. That thought terrified the Witcher. He didn't want to bind the human to him but if he gave into his hunger, his desire, he wouldn't let Jaskier go ever again.

The music grows louder, faster, as Ilana's voice rings out, her arms extended out, hands grasping out to the audience, towards Geralt, her words burrowing into the Witcher, making that iron will crack under the assault of her power, her demand that he give into his desires, that he give into her command to give himself over, to be free.

Oh, oh, I want some more Oh, oh, What are you fighting for? Take a bite of my heart tonight. Oh, oh, I want some more! Oh, oh, What are you fighting for! What are you fighting for?

The songstress' eyes slid shut as she felt it. She felt that iron will snap under the demand of "What are you waiting for? What are you fighting for?", a devilish grin stretched across her lips as her golden eyes fell on the Witcher, watching him launch himself up from his chair finally as the audience around him cheered for the song. A smug look graced the singer's face as she watched the Witcher grab his Bard next to him and yank him to his feet. Ohho! This was not what she was expecting at all! The smug look grew into a huge grin as she watched the Witcher manhandle his Bard out of the stage area and muscle him up the stairs.

Ilana took in a deep, deep breath, the grin on her face wouldn't go away now. She could feel the energy flowing over the inn/tavern in thick waves. She was suddenly glad humans couldn't sense lust, desire, and love like she could. There might have been an all out orgy at that point with the energy coming from the room somewhere upstairs where a Witcher finally gave into his heart's desire and his Bard was thinking it was about fucking time!

[between-two-fandoms]

The Lion Roars Destiny

CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Jaskier has spent the better part of the decade avoiding his past. Now, as the Aslan roars he can’t resist the Lion’s call to bring him home.

Notes: Chapter two will not be posted until after Geraskier Week 2020. Also, I’m pretty sure I’ve got everybody in the tag list but if I missed you let me know :)

Tag List: @g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r @buttercuppedwitchers @andyet-here-we-are @thewanderingwritersandco @slectivegeekswithstandards @Jaskier-royale @innocentbi-stander @hannadants123 @joeybateydaily​ @witchersjaskier​

“Sing the song of the Lion’s roar,” an audience member requested. The crowd fell into an uneasy silence, Jaskier looked up surprised. The last time he performed any songs from his time in Narnia was years ago. The person stepped forward to reveal a child, barely the same age as the princess, holding a sword. The patrons grumbled as Jaskier declared his performance over for the evening. Kneeling down he beckoned the child forward. 

“Who told you of that song?” Jaskier asked the boy. The child offered him the blade and he took it, running his thumb over Aslan’s mane engraved in the hilt. 

Memories flooded back to him, fields of emerald grass, dancing trees, the coast littered with colored sea glass and an ocean as far as one could see. The boy pointed to the back door,

“The person said you’d know who he is. He said he couldn’t come inside.” The boy responded, then turned around leaving Jaskier holding Rhindon in the center of the tavern. Jaskier frowned, it wasn’t like his brother to part with the sword. When one receives a gift from Father Christmas, you tend to treat it with the utmost respect. The bard glanced across the room at his witcher, the man seemed to be enthralled in Ciri, who was moving her arms about wildly. No doubt she was recounting her journey she took trying to find Geralt. Borrowing some paper from the bartender Jaskier wrote a short letter which he hoped explained his sudden silence. Sliding the folded letter between his lute strings Jaskier left his beloved instrument behind, making the bartender promise he would deliver it to Geralt. He turned back to Geralt and the princess. The witcher was smiling wider than Jaskier could ever get him to smile. Jaskier knew he didn’t have a hand in Geralt’s destiny, he just hoped the two of them would have a little bit more time together. Turning, the fifth king of Narnia left the witcher and his Child Surprise in destiny’s hands.

“Hello?” Jaskier whispered. Behind the tavern stood four stalls, two of which were occupied. An uneasy feeling began to bubble in the pit of his stomach as he approached them. One held Roach while another held a horse Jaskier hadn’t seen in a very long time. Bypassing Roach’s stall the bard reached his arm forward and Phillip bowed his head. Jaskier ran his left hand down the horse’s nose, “what’s going on Phil?” Jaksier asked the mare. The horse bowed his head in greeting,

“My king. Narnia is in troubled times.” The bard frowned as Phillip’s eyes looked past Jaskier to the treeline. Jaskier turned his head to the trees as he asked, 

“there’s something wrong isn’t there?” Though he had no witcher powers to his name Jaskier could still make out the outlines of four shapes just beyond the treeline. Jaskier dropped his hand then turned to Roach. “If you say anything to him I’ll stop sneaking you sugar cubes.” The bard whispered to Geralt’s horse. Just as he was about to walk towards the trees he paused. It wasn’t really fair of him to leave the witcher so abruptly, and Jaskier didn’t know if they’ll ever reunite. “Got it?” He asked Roach, the horse nickered in response. Adjusting his grip on Rhindon’s handle Jaskier stepped into the dense woods standing before them.

Once he got through the fog Jaskier could see the shapes more clearly, four humans sat on logs surrounding a small fire. There were no tents pitched, at least none Jaskier could see. Three horses were tied to trees surrounding the camp. He crept silently closer to the four people shrouded in hoods.

“Let’s play hide seek!” Lucy requested, as always Jaskier caved to her wish. He began counting as his siblings raced around the Professor’s house trying to find a hiding spot. It was barely one-hundred seconds later when Lucy sprinted down the hallway telling tales of a faun stuck in a land of eternal winter.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts Jaskier expertly swing Rhindon around his wrist. He turned the sword onto the shortest person, she screamed as he pressed the steel to her throat. The others stood up, one drew a sword, while the other had an arrow drawn to their cheek. “Who are you?” Jaskier asked the people, he prayed to Aslan they weren’t his siblings. The four rulers would rather die before they let something  happen to their country. The tallest man stepped between the archer and swordsman, hands up as though he was placating an attacking animal.

“We don’t need any attention brought to us. Give Rhindon to me and we can talk.” Jaskier tensed, then the girl in his arms spoke.

“Julian please, let me go,” she begged. It was enough to make Jaskier loosen his grip just enough for her to slip through his grasp. When she walked to the others she tripped over a log and fell to her knees. As she hit the ground her hood fell off and Jaskier dropped the sword.

“Come on,” Edmund said poking him awake. “Let’s go see if Narnia is real.” Julian blinked the crust out of his eyes then grabbed a candle to follow his baby brother. The two of them crept down the hall, skipping the planks they knew would creak, and entered the room with the wardrobe. The light from their candles was enough for Julian to see the wardrobe’s cover was still lying discarded on the floor amongst the other storage boxes.

“Edmund!” Julian hissed as his brother reached up to twist the doorknob. The door swung open on its own accord, a gust of wind knocked Edmund onto his arse. Julian stared at the wardrobe in disbelief, then followed his little brother. Wind blew out their candles as they stepped into a winter wonderland. Julian laughed with glee then threw a snowball at Edmund’s face, his brother glared back at him. “Oh come on, at least have some fun while we’re here!” Julian goaded. The sound of something breaking through the trees quickly caused Julian to shove Edmund behind him. The sleigh stopped suddenly, pushing them into the snow. Julian exchanged a glance with his brother. Edmund seemed to be enchanted by the intricate designs on the wood grains.

“Lucy?” He asked the girl. She turned around and nodded, then used a drop of her elixir to heal the wounds Jaskier gave her. Jaskier looked back at the others, who now had their hoods pulled down. Peter was young when Jaskier left Narnia, but now… now his eyes were those of a king who saw too much. Edmund’s face was sunken into his skull, a blank expression seemed to be forever etched into it. Susan, as always, looked calm and collected, but Jaskier could see the hurt and worry deep in her eyes. “What happened?” Jaskier asked as Aslan’s roar shook the Darkling Woods.

-------

Geralt cursed when he realized Jaskier wasn’t playing anymore. Ciri must’ve noticed his mood change because she threw up her hood and followed his gaze across the tavern. “Where is he?” Geralt asked Ciri. The princess, of course, didn’t have an answer. His eyes scanned each patron carefully, perhaps his bard changed his shirt. The witcher ordered his Child Surprise to stay in her seat while he walked to the bar counter. “my bard,” Geralt said to the bartender. The man, to his benefit, didn’t look afraid. He simply reached behind the counter and pulled out Jaskier’s lute. Geralt tensed, his bard refused to go anywhere without his instrument. Now that he was able to get a closer look at it, Geralt could feel the gentle hum of magic flowing through the strings.

“That’s all he left, some kid came in and gave him a sword. The bard said you wouldn’t understand so he wrote you a note.” The bartender informed him. Geralt grunted in response, then Ciri pulled at his sleeve,

“Geralt? We should get going.” She spoke softly, and of course she was right. They had already spent three nights in this town so were planning on leaving by the fourth day.

“Hmm…” Geralt said running a hand down the neck of the lute. He noticed the piece of paper folded into the strings. Taking the slip of paper he gave the instrument to Ciri for safekeeping. He slid a finger under the paper’s crease and began to read the letter.

Geralt of Rivia,

You have your child surprise. Soon you’ll be much too busy to track me down when I get into trouble. Something I’ve learned over the years is how to know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. By Aslan’s mane I ask of you to not try to track me, once I reach my destination you won’t be able to.

My family needs me Geralt, they always come first. My home always comes first.

With love,

Jaskier

Something fell to the pit of Geralt’s stomach as he crumpled the letter in his fist. Turning back to the bartender he asked, “Where did my bard go?” The bartender wordlessly pointed to the backdoor leading to the stables. Geralt pulled out a sword as Ciri slung Jaskier’s lute across her back. Then they both walked out the back of the tavern. Once he realized there was no immediate threat the witcher returned his blade to its place on his back. Geralt sniffing at the air he frowned, there used to be two horses in the stables. Geralt walked past Roach, patting her side as he did so. “Who used to be here?” He wondered out loud. To his surprise Ciri bent down and began to dig through the mud where the second horse used to stand.

“Geralt, look,” she said pulling up a medallion covered in dirt and grime. Ciri rubbed it against her cloak, cleaning it off. When she did the moonlight sky caused the silver to shimmer. The medallion itself was ruby with details of silver and gold. In the center of it all was the image of a lion proudly roaring as its mane fell down its back. Near the top of the coin Geralt could just make out an engraving.

For Narnia and for Aslan. 

Geralt watched Ciri’s eyes lit up in excitement when she read it. “Narnia is a land of freedom and magic!” Ciri exclaimed, “grandmother used to tell me stories about it.” Geralt took the medallion from her and ran a thumb over the lion’s shape. He frowned,

“But why is the coin here?” Geralt asked out loud. He turned to Roach, his trusty steed seemed to be apprehensive about something. “Roach, what is it?” He asked running a calming hand down her mane. The mare neighed then nudged Jaskier’s lute with her nose, then she pointed her head in the direction of the Darkling Woods. Geralt looked where his horse was then swore when the sound of a lion’s cry could be heard in the distance.

“Fuck,” he cursed. Suddenly there was a swirling portal in front of them and Yennefer stepped through it. Geralt tensed, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood for a fight.

“Enough Geralt, you think louder than Jaskier sings,” she said. Geralt grunted, but still kept a safe distance between her and Ciri. “I need your help…” she said slowly then she turned her attention to the Child Surprise.

“Yennefer, no questions asked,” Geralt grumbled. Yennefer’s focus turned back to Geralt’s before she said,

“One of my sisters came back to life.” Ciri spoke up from behind him,

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asked, and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. To his surprise; however, the mage shook her head.

“Not this one,” she said, “the evils of Nilfgaard are nothing compared to the powers of the White Witch.” Geralt grunted then helped Ciri mount Roach. Once she was secured he followed suit, climbing on behind her. As they traveled away Yennefer shouted, “I know where your bard is!” Geralt stopped Roach then turned around. The mage looked desperate as she pleaded, “please. If you help me you can have your bard back.” Geralt narrowed his eyes,

“How did you know Jaskier was missing?” The mage seemed to have an inner debate before answering.

“Because Geralt of Rivia. Every decent mage knows what Aslan’s roar means.” Yennefer formed a new portal then stepped through it, disappearing in a wave of magic. Ciri took a hesitant step forward, then followed Yennefer. Geralt turned to Roach then ordered,

“Stay here.” The witcher stepped into the portal tripped into a frozen wasteland brimming with magic.

A woman dressed like a queen stepped out of the sleigh. Julian quickly scampered to his feet and bowed, luckily Edmund followed his lead. Something about the woman in white felt off to Julian, but Edmund was easily entranced by her magical powers and ability to summon Turkish Delight out of thin air. “Are you children of Adam?” She asked them, Julian frowned. Edmund was the one who answered,

“We’re humans if that’s what you mean.” Julian poked Edmund in his side then took over.

“Your Highness, we must be taking leave.” He said trying to get his brother away from the woman. The Snow Queen chuckled,

“Humans, you never learn to appreciate the nice things in life.” The sled reached the peaks of the mountains to reveal a beautiful castle of ice. Perhaps a night or two wouldn’t hurt, Julian thought as his thoughts slowly became muddled and fuzzy.