#still endlessly inspired by tw3

[wolf-and-bard]

Dead or Destitute

- a geraskier fic (warnings for blood, mild gore, swear words)

"What the fuck?" Geralt snarled at Jaskier who had just opened the door, wearing an amiable smile and the most ridiculous robe of silver-broquaded burgundy that flared out at the sleeves and the bottom with frilly cuffs. It was buttoned closed save for the top three which fell open to reveal a glorious patch of chest hair. Jaskier's lips looked wine-stained, his hair was tousled, but when he saw Geralt the haze of light intoxication lifted into a brilliant grin. A grin that went straight into Geralt's heart. Fuck. "Geralt. Didn't expect you to come calling, how'd you know I was around?"

"I didn't." "What? Then why are you here?" "Uh..." Geralt cocked his head. Sniffed. Yes, definitely red wine, but only half a glass. Jaskier wore a new perfume too, rose scented. He was partial to almost all flower scents whereas Geralt couldn't stand them. He preferred Jaskier's natural odour. "I'm looking for the Viscount de Lettenhove? Some Duchess from Novigrad sent me because apparently he owes her a large sum of money. You know this man?" Obviously, Jaskier knew this man. If the state of his appearance was anything to go by, he had probably been thoroughly engaged with this man before Geralt had knocked. Which caused an uneasy twinge Geralt pointedly ignored. So, Jaskier was courting trouble once more, nothing new here. "Sorry, what? Sent you? Geralt, are you playing debt collector?" Jaskier asked, stepping closer. The smile was persistent, stuck to his lips as he brushed a spot of Roach hair from Geralt's chestplate. The undertone of that statement, however, was accusatory which made Geralt defensive. "It's not like I enjoy it, but I've been going through a drought and it's like the monsters are hiding or something. Needed to feed myself." "Shit, that bad?" Jaskier crossed his arms, eyes raking up and down Geralt's body to look for signs of destitution. To the outside world, Geralt knew he looked like a regular old Witcher, but Jaskier might just be able to tell the smaller signs of his dry streak. "I will manage." He always did. "So, where is this man? Viscount. Whatever." "He's standing before you." "What... you?" "Surprise? Honestly, I had always assumed that you knew." Knew that Jaskier was secretly nobility? Geralt wrecked his brain for conversational fragments he might have overlooked, information he had simply forgotten, and came up short. "I didn't." "Well, now you do. Oh, but this is fun. Say, Sir Witcher," Jaskier licked his lips and peered up at Geralt from under thick lashes, the blue of his eyes stark in the waning light of day. Geralt furrowed his brow. "Are you entirely sure that I have to pay you back in coin?" Jaskier winked and something boiled over in Geralt's chest, bubbled up from out of nowhere. Gods, this man was infuriating. "Is this what you do when you owe people? Suck their cocks to get them off your back?" Geralt didn't give two fucks how that sounded. Jaskier might not be gifted with enhanced perception, but even he could comprehend jealousy when it was so blatantly put before him. As it was, Geralt's voice was drenched in it. Jaskier let out a humorless laugh, harshly contrasting his earlier mirth, and put his hands to his hips. "That's the road you wanna take with this? Truly? I had meant it as a jest, Geralt. In case you hadn't surmised from the fact that am a travelling bard, usually I'm not here when tax lawyers and debt collectors come calling and it's not like I constantly owe anyway. Besides, I can suck on whatever cock I like to." Technically, sure. It was just that Geralt wanted it to be his and only his. He couldn't very well say that, so he went for the second-best emotion he felt in regards to Jaskier pulling out sexual favours. "I just don't want you to whore yourself out, someone could hurt you," he said and was rather proud of how earnest that came out. "I'm not, I wasn't. I was just being flirtatious," Jaskier sighed, anger deflating. "Why would you be flirtatious with me?" "Why ever? Now that is a question I will only answer when I've had at least a bottle of Lambert's home-brewed vodka." "What?" "Never you mind. Come in, I may be dead broke, but I can still offer you a cup of tea." Jaskier stepped aside to let Geralt into a square foyer/living area which had a skylight and several settees and couches scattered around it. Three doors lead away from it as well as a winding staircase that disappeared behind a velvet curtain. The middle of the room was dominated by a table with half a dozen chairs, its light surface covered in parchments and dirty dishware. Jaskier's lute case sat next to the door, his traveling wardrobe was lain out over a dark purple couch. As if he had just arrived. Or wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. "Sit, please," Jaskier said and gestured towards a back corner, the only couch without stuff on it. "Make yourself a home, I shall be right back. Chamomile, is it?" Geralt nodded absentmindedly and sat. This wasn't at all what he had expected. Neither from Jaskier nor from some Viscount. It was  a nice house, definitely excessive compared to a commoner's lodging, but it wasn't grand. It was....cosy. Jaskier returned with two mugs, plain, one chipped, and sat next to Geralt, close enough that their shoulders bumped together. "Did you wash off the perfume?" "Uh, yes. I know you don't much care for it, messes with your senses and all." Jaskier shrugged and sipped on his tea, then cursed and put it down, rubbing his lower lip. Geralt wanted to kiss it better, astounded by Jaskier's perceptiveness. Fuck. In terms of doing his job, this was going sideways. "How'd you accumulate so much debt anyway? You break an ancient relic or something?" "Ha-ha. Actually, no. This state is entirely due to my great compassion and sense of selflessness. See, I have this friend who was a gambling problem. Asked me to help out and I couldn't say no," Jaskier explained. "Are you the friend?" "No, Geralt, I'm not, but thanks for believing in me..." Jaskier mock-pouted and Geralt laughed, but quickly sobered up when he remembered how insistent his contractor had been. Either the money or the Viscount's head. Geralt would not behead Jaskier, or anyone for that matter. He had planned on a simple Axii strategy. Now... well. "You could have come to me," Geralt said softly. He emptied his tea in two drags to hide how silly he felt. Why would Jaskier have come to him? And even had he wanted to, how would he have found him? His mouth ran away with it. "We could have sorted it out, we still can." "That is very sweet of you, dear, but you literally just told me you only took this job because your short on coin yourself. Anything else, sure, yes, you will always be my first address when I'm in too deep. This is something I have to get myself out of. I could-" "No," Geralt interrupted, slamming his mug down onto the table. Tea sloshed over the rim of Jaskier's. "No. We find some contracts. Wasn't there a plague in Vizima? Sure to be loads of Ghouls and Graviers around. Besides, cities are jack-full with crowds for you to play. We could save up, there's still time." "There really isn't." "Jask," Geralt pleaded, and for what? Truth be told, there was only one simple way out of this. "The Duchess, what did she tell you to do if I couldn't pay up?" Jaskier asked, worrying his lower lip which was entirely too distracting. "Bring her your head." Jaskier gulped audibly. "Well, guess I will have to fake my own death then..." "No," Geralt said. On an impulse, he took Jaskier's hand between his own and pressed his forehead to Jaskier's knuckles. "Give me three days. If I'm not back by then, you run." "Geralt, what are you planning?" "Do you trust me?" "With all my heart," Jaskier replied without missing a beat. A dusting of pink clung to his cheeks when Geralt let go of his hand and stood. "Three days," he repeated. He promised himself to make it in half that time. Two days later saw Geralt back in Jaskier's house, exhausted from sleep deprivation and the hunt that lay behind him. He held his trophy aloft for Jaskier to see. The bard stood a few feet away from Geralt, back in his standard arrangement of doublet and shirt, all a faded, dusty violet. "Geralt, is that a head," Jaskier whispered, wide-eyed. Something clammy and cold wafted over from him, but was promptly replaced with little bursts of adrenaline that melted on Geralt's tongue when he inhaled them subtly. He grunted and dropped the head onto the table where it splattered the parchment collection and dirty silverware with blood. "Fuck me..."  Jaskier said, staring at it. The long blond curls were matted with grime, the once regal cheeks sunken in. Here was one Duchess past her zenith. "Are you not pleased?" Geralt asked and cocked his head. "This solves your problem." "It does, in a rather drastic fashion." Jaskier seemed to struggle with himself, mouthing words Geralt couldn't make out. Then, his shoulders dropped and he crossed the distance between them, put his palms flat against Geralt's chest. Tucked his face against Geralt's neck and Geralt grew very still. Careful to not give Jaskier cause to pull away. "But I thought you only killed monsters." The words came out shaky and when Geralt noticed that, he also picked up on the slightest tremor that hushed through Jaskier's body. What was going on? Had it been the wrong move after all? Geralt huffed in frustration, unable to read Jaskier after all the time they had spent together, and brought his hands up to cup the bard's shoulderblades. Jaskier shuffled closer. "Shouldn't have hired a Witcher," Geralt said. It' was a weak retort, didn't make all that much sense. The crystalline truth was that he had no ethical explanation for this, no code of conduct to refer back to. He had had more than ulterior motives for this one and, fuck, but it had been worth it. Even if Jaskier despised him for it, even if that made him the monster. He had done it to save a loved one from certain persecution, possible death. A loved one. Oh shit. "Suppose so..." Jaskier trailed off, nuzzled Geralt's neck and that was a weird feeling, created a tingle that made it hard for Geralt to swallow. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He dared to splay his hands over Jaskier's back. "Jask?" "Yeah?" "Are you okay?" he murmured, hiding his smile in Jaskier's hair. "I'm conflicted," Jaskier admitted. "How?" "Uh... just thinking that this shouldn't turn me on as much as it does." "Oh." Jaskier peeled back a little to catch Geralt's gaze and they both burst into silly giggles. Those faded quickly, however, when Jaskier bumped his nose against Geralt's and his breath caught in his throat. Geralt tilted his head forward and dared to claim a kiss. Then two. Then a million, all at once. They broke apart for another stupid burst of laughter. Reaching behind himself, Jaskier brushed  the accumulated junk off the table, head incluced, and hopped on it, drawing Geralt between his legs. "My knight in shining armour," he sighed and kissed the corner of Geralt's mouth. "My beautiful princess," Geralt shot back. He had meant for it to come across as sarcastic, but it sounded more like a sweet declaration of surrender. "Thank you, love." "You're welcome." Geralt leaned down to kiss Jaskier properly, framing his face with both hands. They tangled up, got lost in each other, resurfaced only when Jaskier grew breathless. "Geralt?" "Hmm?" "We're still broke." Ah, fuck. Well. That was a concern for another day.