06 | 'The Witcher and his Bard' by @philouwrites
Winning entry of Project Love Affair contest: Written by philouwrites
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One last gurgle. The beast was dead. An eerie silence settled over the pine forest but Geralt welcomed it like a warm blanket. It had been a tough fight.
He used his sleeve to brush the beast's filth from his forehead and peered up to find his bearings. A hint of dawn peeked through the treetops. A day and a night. That was how long it had taken him to slay the Toad Prince.
Adrenaline still rampant in his system, he knew to better make good use of it and dash for a swift return to the village before fatigue got a chance to set in. He pulled his silver blade from the monster's throat and closed its puffy eyes. The Toad Prince fought well. He deserved to rest in peace now.
There were times, especially at moments like these, when his hands still reeked of death, that the Witcher wondered if he would ever be at peace. If such a thing was in the cards for him. The Mother knew he longed for it. Would the unease of what he was and what he had to do ever stop twisting his gut? Would it ever not weigh on his soul?
He snorted at his own thoughts. Witchers have no soul. He should stop whining and find his horse, dammit, but before reaching Roach, he stumbled over yet another unexpected obstacle.
Jaskier?
Geralt blinked, only to confirm that his eyes hadn't betrayed him the first time. In a pile of rotting leaves, on the damp forest soil lay his bard, sound asleep in a fetal position.
"Bard, what are you doing here? I told you to return to the village ..." He counted in his head and blinked again. "over twenty hours ago." And urged him to remain at the inn half a day before that. "But who would write your song then?" The bard had quipped. As if those songs weren't half made up most of the time anyway.
Jaskier responded with nothing but a snore.
In all other circumstances, Geralt would've prodded Jaskier with the tip of his boot and barked something at him, or maybe not even that. He would've left him to his own devices. There had been a time that he would've hoped the talkative nuisance wouldn't manage to catch up with him again, that he would be rid of the endless chatter and merriment, but those days were long behind him. He would never admit it but he had grown rather fond of the bard's sultry voice and disarming candor.
Moreover, the man was utterly beautiful.
He took another moment to drink in the spectacular sight that was Jaskier Pankratz. Wavy blonde to brown hair curled up behind his perfect ears. His skin was smooth and Geralt imagined, velvety soft to touch. With his eyes closed, Jaskier's eyelashes feathered out to rest on his rosy cheekbones.
Rosy fucking cheekbones.
Geralt sighed. The way Jaskier's lean body was curled up like a fox in its den, showcasing his perfectly round and firm butt. Hmm.
The fact was that Jaskier Pankratz was tailored to sleep in a prince's bed and from the top of his head, Geralt could name about a dozen of princes and princesses willing to offer the bard a spot in theirs at the drop of a hat, but he had chosen to follow a Witcher around instead. Chosen to travel rough terrain, forsake a life of luxury, and this night ... not even sleep in a bed, but in a hazardous, barren forest. So alarmingly vulnerable. And all that to sing his praise. Wow.
Moved, Geralt crouched down and scooped up the bard, cradling him against his chest. "Wha ... whut." Jaskier's lashes fanned up angelically, offering a short glimpse of his bright blue eyes, so short that Geralt couldn't tell whether Jaskier had registered him at all. Then, the bard snuggled up into the folds of Geralt's jacket, his face pressed dangerously close to Geralt's heart and fell back into a deep slumber.
There was no way Geralt could get into the saddle or get Jaskier on top of Roach without waking him up, so he gestured for the horse to follow, and carried Jaskier down the mountain.
The frill of morning orange on the horizon and the unsettling heat of the man in his arms kept Geralt's blood pumping and his legs going, despite his body already being dragged through hell and back by the Toad.
He asked the innkeeper to draw a bath while he tucked Jaskier into bed. Not a prince's bed ... alas, but the room was warm and the sheets were clean. He untied and removed Jaskier's boots and folded his legs gently under the covers, made sure the pillow supported his neck, and brushed a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. When he caught the innkeeper staring at them with a baffled look, he growled deeply.
"Of course. Bath's ready, sir. All nice and hot." The innkeeper bowed out of the room and all was quiet once more. All but the beating of Gerald's heart.
How precious, how glorious ... to have Jaskier so close to him. How ... he didn't even know all the words for what went on in his body and brain while looking at sleeping Jaskier. Being able to breathe him in, to stroke his hair. He only knew his heart ached and his palms were sweaty and he ...
He needed some distance and get into that fucking tub. He needed to rub the day from his body and hope this restlessness would dissolve with it.
He lathered, scrubbed, and soaked. He sank his head underwater until a frantic scream pulled him back out. It was Jaskier's voice and the panic in it sent Geralt's heart racing. He was up on his feet in under a second.
"Jaz! Are you alright?"
The bard had jumped from his bed and faced him, wide-eyed. Slowly, the tension seeped from Jaskier's shoulders and he whispered, "thank the Mother, you're alright." It took Geralt another second to register that Jaskier had been calling his name, that at the same time he had asked Jaskier whether he was alright, Jaskier had asked him the exact same thing. Jaskier had been worrying over him. Huh.
"You ... uh ... you." Jaskier blushed as his gaze roamed Geralt's dripping, naked body. "All in one piece, I see. Everything still there. That's good, that ..." He shoved his hands down his pockets and dropped his gaze to his socks.
They had seen each other naked before. Why was it so awkward now? Why-Geralt swallowed-was it so riveting? The sudden heat flaring up in his core signaled things to get real awkward really soon, so he lowered himself back into the water. If only he could think of something sensible to say, but the sudden lack of oxygen in his brain forced him to content himself with a gruff, "Hmm."
"There's ... you've got ..." Jaskier approached the tub and reached for the Witcher's hair. "Soap," he said, "I can rinse it off for you."
There was a jug of clean water beside the tub and both men reached for it simultaneously. "I can rinse my own hair," Geralt croaked, his breath hitching at the accidental touch of their fingers, at the jolt of lightning striking him near-dead.
With a gentle sort of determination, Jaskier peeled his fingers from the jug. "But I want to do it." He wiped some stray strands of the Witcher's whites with the palm of his hand. "Tilt your head. A little, please?"
He did as Jaskier asked and watched the jug go up.
"Close your eyes!"
It felt like some sort of surrender but sweet surrender it was. The water on his scalp was cool, and Jaskier's minstrel fingertips playing his hair were heaven and hell all wrapped into one.
"I'm sorry," Jaskier whispered, "I'm sorry I fell asleep."
The apology was unexpected. Unnecessary. Geralt could only imagine Jaskier's exhaustion after climbing the mountain, the difficult search for the beast, and then eventually a twenty-hour wait. "You've had a long day. Everybody would've fallen asleep, Jaz."
Had he called his bard, Jaz? Again? How the ever-loving fuck was his bard messing with his head? A weird cocktail of panic and anger rose from his core. "What were you even doing there? You shouldn't have been there. I told you ..."
"I know what you told me, Geralt. I don't care."
The jug clattered as Jaskier slammed it down. They stared into each other's eyes. Such fierceness. How had they gotten from tender to fierce in a blink?
"I do." Geralt toned his voice down, because he did ... care. "You could've gotten hurt."
Jaskier shook his head. "Yeah, and so could you. You could've gotten ... dammit Geralt, you were up against the Toad Prince, you could've died." Tears welled up in Jaskier's eyes.
"Jaz?"
"You have no idea what it's like for me! Oh I know, I couldn't have prevented it if it had actually come to that. I'm just ... " He gestured at his slender, beautiful physique. "I'm just ... me. But dammit Geralt, I will not have you die alone. You cannot stop me from being there. You cannot stop me from ..." He choked up on a sob.
"Jaz, I'm not dying, I won't ..."
"Even Witchers get slain. You can't promise me that."
"I never knew you cared."
"Well ... yeah ... you're pretty dense about a lot of things, Geralt." He wiped his face with the back of his hand and got up.
Being what he was, Geralt had always assumed that nobody would care when his time would come, if it ever came. He had been dead sure that nobody cared enough to lay a Witcher to rest, that nobody would close his eyes to grant him the same peace he had granted the Toad Prince, but he slowly gathered that Jaskier would. That before singing his praise, Jaskier would weep for him.
He couldn't stand the thought of Jaskier weeping.
A desire to stay alive for Jaskier overtook him, and then a desire to simply be with ... Jaskier. There was peace in that thought.
"Jaz?"
Jaskier was at the other side of the room already, sorting out clothes with angry, jerky movements. "Jaz?" No response.
Geralt stepped out of the tub and toweled himself half dry before coming up behind Jaskier. "Bard." He molded his chest to Jaskier's back and wrapped his arms around him, pulled him tight. "Your hair reeks like you've been sleeping in a swamp. Let me wash it for you."
Jaz buried his face in Geralt's armpit. "I'd like that."
"Hmm."
Geralt would like it too.
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