Archive of Our Own

The boy had been following him for weeks now.

Every day they would walk, miles and miles of walking. It was a normalcy for Geralt, one he hardly thought about. On the first day, he had expected to hear complaints. The bard was, at that time, an annoyance so great that Geralt was convinced he would simply run out of air from talking so much and pass out at the side of the road. He had also expected that the bard would start to complain an hour into their trek about needing to rest. Instead, it was Roach who started to pull off to the side of the road, nickering softly as a small meadow of sweet grass tempted her.

The bard had peppered him with questions, and the sheer amount of them, and the speed at which they came out, had Geralt’s head spinning. When Geralt asked the bard if his feet were sore, the bard had the audacity to laugh, long and loud.

“Oh Geralt, you must take me for a dandy and a fool!” He smiled, fingering his new lute with reverence. “I have been on the road since spring! I have long come to terms with the need for both fashionably appropriate traveling attire, as well as functionality. These boots, while they seem to be not much, are point in fact very well made. They are well broken in, well taken care of, and my feet are fairly happy in them.”

Geralt didn’t say that he thought that the bard was indeed a dandy and a fool, because it would likely serve no purpose. However, he did look at the bard a little more carefully.

He had learned the bard was from Oxenfurt. He was traveling the continent working on a dissertation. He was in his final year of general education at the heralded institution, and he planned to earn his doctorate in musical history by focusing on traveling buskers, and the long history of those who moved from place-to-place sharing news and music with the world. In other words, he had been traveling for a few months before he had thrust himself beside Geralt like a bur.

What had first had seemed a terrible idea to Geralt, simply because he had misjudged the bard’s disposition, had turned into a curiosity. Every day, they were both up in the early morning hours, and every day the bard would help Geralt pack up camp. The bard knew his way around a campsite showing a practiced ease and competence, even though for the first few days he leaned rather heavily on Geralt’s hospitality.

The first town he reached, he debuted his new song, while Geralt turned to clearing the local grave yard of a grave hag. It apparently was a hit, even more so when Geralt returned with the grave hag’s hand, and the woven and bloody braid she had displayed on her head. The bard, in turn, had used the money to both pay for a bath for them both, and supply himself with a bedroll.

Geralt had attached the bedroll beside his on Roach’s back.

As the weeks went on, the bard’s initial onslaught of words had also tempered somewhat. He was still talkative, still demanded Geralt tell him all about the monster hunts he had been on, but he also would have hours of being nearly completely silent, the scent of contentedness or focus coming off him in soft waves.

Everything would have worked out well, but the bard, whom Geralt eventually learned would rather be called Jaskier then his given name, demanded that he wanted to see Geralt in action. Geralt thought it was best if he showed Jaskier straight away what a witcher was. Geralt knew there was a risk to showing the bard as when he hunted he often took potions which changed his appearance and build. It was better to expose the young man to this sooner, rather than later. If the bard decided to run from him now, it was several weeks of mild annoyance, and little else. It would be a good idea to cut the cord now, before Geralt got too used to companionship on the road. After all, a witcher wasn’t supposed to get attached, and Geralt was firmly of the opinion that he would be okay if the bard left him now.

The town they stopped at was called Greenbriar, and the noticeboard had a hail for a witcher. Jaskier was chatting excitedly as he read the notice over Geralt’s shoulder, peppering him with questions about the potential contract that had Geralt growling at him. Jaskier took it as annoyance, but the contract was vague, and the questions that Jaskier was peppering him with, were the very questions running through the witcher’s head. It would have been fine, but a hunt was a serious matter, and with all the bard’s excited prattle, Geralt found his mind unable to focus on the task at hand.

The contract led them to the modest estate of the local baron who greeted Geralt with a professionalism that, while not uncommon, was welcome. The King of Rivia had granted him a large forest and set of fields which had laid barren to add to his barony. They had laid fallow and unused for so long that pests had moved in. The primary pest, in this case, were giant centipedes as well as a few feral archespore. The baron had scouted the land, and had offered ten silver per head, and he expected that there were at least ten of the centipedes, and three of the archespores. He stated that there was leeway in costs, if it turned out to be a more serious infestation, but that his upper limit was three hundred silver for everything. Geralt agreed.

Preparing Jaskier for this fight was simple. The archespore had to grow roots to move, and if they moved too many times, they would go into a dormant state. The centipedes were ground creatures, and wouldn’t seek anything in a tree. He told the bard to watch carefully, stay put, and not make a sound. He told Roach to stay put as well, and the horse nickered as Geralt began to pace around the perimeter of the tree.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked. He was perched in a high bow which had enough branches that the bard actually looked quite comfortable.

“Gonna mark the area.” Geralt stated automatically. “Both of these creatures rely heavily on scent, it will add an extra deterrent.”

“You don’t have to do this for me Geralt, I promise, honestly and truly, if I were to be eaten by a monster at this point, I would die a happy man for having been included on such an adventure!” He crowed, and Geralt could hear the tell tale rumbling of the centipedes underground in the distance.

“Not for you.” Geralt grumbled, pulling himself out of his patch leather armor. “Roach can’t climb trees with any sort of consistency, though she has tried, multiple times.”

He heard the light laugh, and the scribble of graphite against the paper journal the bard carried with him everywhere.

Geralt grumbled to himself as he stepped backwards, pushed, and sprayed a bush with piss. He was focused on his task. Step, spray, move. It was familiar, and yet he had never done it in front of anyone. He looked up to Jaskier, who’s blue eyes were pointedly trying to look elsewhere. The bard’s cheeks were flushed, and he was fanning himself. It was rather hot, and Geralt supposed that even with the shade of the tree he was perched in, Jaskier was probably warm.

He finished up his task, and then went to Roach who nickered softly as Geralt retrieved his small box of decoctions. He expected to be peppered with questions, but Jaskier’s eyes were intense and focused beyond Geralt to the field.

“Geralt… there is movement…” His voice was a nervous warble, barely above a whisper. “Geralt…”

“I see…” Geralt didn’t, his vantage wasn’t as good as the bards. He quickly took his potions, pocketed an insectoid oil, and stepped into the long grass.

He took thunderbolt, and the whole world narrowed down to his hunt.

The fight was a typical one. The Baron had the number of archespores dead on, and for that Geralt was thankful. He managed to cut the hearts of the plants out and light their seeds aflame. The Centipedes were more difficult. They had been under the field for some time, but had obviously run afoul of the archespore. Geralt had to draw them out. He pulled out a hammer and iron stake from his bag. He knew from experience that the large creatures could not tolerate the noise, and so they would be drawn to it. He placed the stake in the ground and began to hammer it. The sharp noise echoed throughout the fields. Within twenty strikes, the first creature sprung from the ground, snarling in pain. The creatures heard low and high tones. The low of footsteps, and the high calls of their own species. A human voice did not attract it. So, when Jaskier began to scream bloody murder about one coming up from behind Geralt, Geralt was actually thankful. It saved him from a slowing injury.

The fight went on for a time, and Geralt had wound up killing about twenty of the creatures. Only three were full sized. The rest were from clutches and had yet to mature fully.

He found one of their entrance tunnels and crawled inside it to the egg chamber, where he lit the small ones who had yet to leave the nest, as well as the eggs on fire. He gathered up some of the charred chitinous shells from the eggs, and then returned to the surface to grab his trophies.

The whole way back, Jaskier was babbling, chatting a million words a minute about the fight.

“I can’t believe how fast you moved!” He was crowing, walking on the opposite side of Roach who now carried a load of shells and legs in such thickness she looked more like a pack mule. “Your little trick with the piss worked too!”

Geralt’s eyes flashed, and he looked overtop of Roach’s neck. Jaskier didn’t see his gaze, instead he was talking animatedly a flush carried across his cheeks.

“What do you mean?” It came out as a nasty growl, and Geralt hated his voice because he saw Jaskier flinch from it.

“Three of them, Geralt!” Jaskier spun in a circle. “Three of them circled the tree but came no closer than the area you marked! One of them was the one who tried at your back. I am telling you, you could make more from selling your piss then you could from contracts! A monster deterrent that actually works!”

Geralt snarled and led Roach forward, embarrassment flooding him. Jaskier’s back had been turned and he was still prattling. It took a moment for him to realize he had been left behind.

“Geralt! Wait, where are you going!” He stumbled to catch up, and Geralt ground his teeth.

The baron was good on his word and wasn’t shocked to find out about the nest. He paid Geralt two hundred and fifty crowns for his service. Ten per head, and twenty more for elimination of the nest.

It was like that for a while, Jaskier accompanying Geralt on his hunts, big and small, and Geralt begrudgingly showing him what being a witcher was.

The bard began to grow on him, like a fungus. He found he looked forward to his annoying prattle after a battle, feeling both shamed and secretly preening for the praise that Jaskier gave him. Geralt was somewhat unable to parse the emotions that he felt. He had no words for them, so he began to make his own. He was also unable to express the emotions that he himself felt. He learned that Jaskier was a keen study, and he could glean meaning from Geralt’s grunts, nods, and looks just as easily as if he spoke. Some of the nervousness he felt when they first began to travel eased because Jaskier only demanded he speak about his hunts and his experiences on the path.

However, as Geralt’s wealth of experience suggests, it doesn’t last.

---

They were at a tavern, still riding high from the centipede contract, and several smaller ones which had Geralt’s purse fuller than it has ever been in high summer. It was well past ten bells in the evening, and the sun was only just setting. Jaskier was debuting a new song, one he wasn’t sure about. Geralt knew it was about him, but Jaskier told the ballad from the guise of an adventurer. Using one of their smaller hunts to frame a picture of sacrifice and glory. The audience was stock still and silent as Jaskier weaved the tale with his mouth and lute in turn. It was detailed, heart rending, and adventurous.

When the tale ended, the audience stayed silent, causing Jaskier to nervously stammer holding his lute like an awkward child.

“What happened next?” The simple question had Jaskier’s mouth working like a fish out of water. He made a motion to explain when a loud slam started the whole of the tavern. The smell of blood, thick and cloying had Geralt standing in an instant.

“Please sir you have to help me!” the man had something in his hand, he was sobbing. The whole tavern now stank of fear. Geralt looked to the man’s hand, and realized he held the arm of a child. “She just took her… the hag of the cairns!”

Geralt nodded, and grabbed his silver sword, which had been sheathed and leaning against his thigh.

“Lock your doors, burn that arm amongst willow and ash.” Geralt demanded, and the sniveling man nodded dumbly. Geralt was moving when Jaskier’s voice carried behind him.

“Excuse me good folk…”

Geralt had no time to hesitate, the second he was out of the tavern he was following the scent of fresh blood.

“Geralt! I am coming! I…”

“If you follow, I am not responsible for you.” Geralt snarled without looking back, focused. “You will die this night, Jaskier, should you follow.”

There wasn’t any sort of hesitation as Jaskier sprinted to catch up.

“Just do your thing and I’ll be…”

“This isn’t a game, Jaskier!” Geralt seethed, seeing the broken entrance gate to the old cemetery. “This is what being a witcher is. A moment’s notice…”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence to keep myself out of trouble.” The bard scoffed, breathless. “I’ll have you know that I am well versed in the art of defense, why my fencing instructor…”

Geralt’s hand was over the bards mouth, and he pushed him into a pillar that had seen better days.

“Be silent and listen…” Geralt cocked his ear.

There was a sweet-sounding musical hum coming from one of the dolmans. Followed by a pitiful wail of a child in distress and fear. Jaskier’s eyes got wide, as did Geralt’s. Geralt removed his hand.

“I smell fire, Geralt.” Jaskier whispered. “I…”

Geralt shot him a look, and then walked silently into the cemetery.

“See, child, no more.” The strange hissing voice hit Geralt’s ears, and he felt the heat of Jaskier a few paces behind him. “A pretty bow, keeps the blood where it needs to be. You wait here… just a moment longer… we shall have you in the bath soon.”

Geralt found the Dolman, which was an entrance to an old burial mound. Geralt saw the child, who was pale and sobbing, tucked into a corner. The girls tunic was covered in blood, and the hag had tied off her missing arm with a tourniquet made from human hair. The grave hag was humming, her dead eyes crinkling with mirth. She was old, very old. Her skeletal form was crawling out of her skin. Her skin hung strangely and her exposed body was rife with loose fatty flaps where Geralt could see maggots writhing and dropping to the floor.

Geralt tapped his sword against the pillar of the dolman, and the grave hag looked up, squinting and fire blind. She moved and tossed a log under the cauldron which had begun to heat, but had yet to boil. Geralt tapped his sword again, and made a low whistling noise through his teeth. The grave hag tossed her spoon into the water, and snarled.

“Not ready! Not warm… interlopers! Fools!” She hissed and the child sobbed loudly. “Need warm… need…”

“I do believe she is over here!” Jaskier called out, somewhere behind him. “Yes… that…”

The grave hag snarled and tore at her hair, making a gurgling grinding sound as she started to spin and pace.

“Not ready… not ready!” She slobbered and stuck her hand into the cauldron. “No not ready!”

“Smell fire… She is going to cook the lass!” Jaskier’s voice took on another cadence, deep and reedy.

The grave hag screeched and whipped to the child.

“So sweet, so beautiful.” She hissed through drooling teeth. “You wait… you need a bath… oh yes… warm and comforting… Do not move… move and you die.”

The child was wide-eyed and clutching at the stump of her arm.

Geralt danced back, hiding in the shadows of the dolman as Jaskier made a racket above. The grave hag took the impromptu bait, and Geralt didn’t have time to worry.

He sliced at her, and she snarled.

It seemed as though she was smarter than she appeared.

She was quick, and she fought dirty. Twice Geralt was blinded by loose dirt. Twice he nearly had his heart ripped out by overlong claws. He had no ability to stop when he saw a blue streak head into the Cairn. Just as quickly Jaskier darted out, the child in his arms.

The grave hag saw it.

She screamed and then batted at Geralt blindly. The move was clumsy, desperate, and Geralt had not been expecting it. He slid across the ground with a huff, and pulled himself up, only to watch Jaskier fling the child over the edge of the gate. The scream that followed hurt Geralt’s ears, and a sudden unexpected panic welled in his throat as he saw the hag lunge for Jaskier.

“Oh my, such a beautiful lady…” Jaskier’s words were high pitched and stuttering, but the grave hag stopped her lunge. Geralt groaned and stumbled upright. He felt the back of his head and realized he had knocked it in his skid.

“You jestttttt.” The hissed her hands working in the air, as she moved closer. “You fear me…”

“My lady, I only fear that which stirs in my heart.” Jaskier closed the distance, and Geralt watched horrified. “Your hair reminds me of the beauty that the Spanish moss provides in the lanes leading to the chantry in Cidaris. Your skin dances with the moons light, beautiful and luminous. And your tongue… oh the things you could do with that tongue…”

Jaskier caught Geralt’s eye and made a panicked motion with his head. The grave hag moved to turn, but Jaskier stroked her face, and the creatures eyes widened.

“I would love for you to eat me up my love…” Jaskier’s voice was still shaking, but had taken a husky tongue. “That my body could go to sustain a beauty as timeless as yourself, why… it would be an honor.”

The grave hag gurgled and gave Jaskier what Geralt could only be assumed was a shy look.

The distraction was enough. Geralt swung. Her head was then rolling across the ground, and her body twitched and fell backwards.

“I… think I am going to be sick…” Jaskier turned away and was heaving. The sound of sick hitting the ground and the wretched gagging noises had Geralt growling.

“You could have gotten killed!” Geralt snapped as Jaskier leaned up wiping his hand across his mouth. “What the fuck were you thinking!”

“I’ll have you know I am not… urk…” Jaskier couldn’t finish the sentence before he had fallen down to his knees and was throwing up again.

Geralt sneered at him, angry. This anger though, this was new. This wasn’t annoyance, this wasn’t anything he was familiar with. He looked to Jaskier and wanted to throttle him, he wanted to throttle him, tie him up, and keep him safe. Safe… safe…

“The girl… Geralt… get the… urp.. girl…” Jaskier panted between heaves.

Geralt was startled. He was staring, a new feeling burning in his chest as he looked to Jaskier. He had no idea what it was, but it hurt, it was strange, and he didn’t like it. He growled low in his throat, stomping past the bard, and seeking out the girl.

She had wedged herself neatly between a fallen piece of a wall and a gravestone.

“Come little one.” Geralt held out his hand. “You are safe now…”

The little hand took his, and Geralt’s tumultuous mind calmed at the touch.

“I’ll have you know,” Jaskier had regained his footing even though he smelled of sick. “I am not some weak waif who needs protecting. I managed, with great aplomb I may add, to travel quite well on the path I chose.”

Geralt growled low and he snarled.

“And I most certainly will not stand for your growling, not now.” Jaskier pulled himself up to his full height. “I provided the perfect distraction, at much expense! Two crowns worth of food and a crown of ale now lives in it’s final resting place, and you Geralt, would have been… you’re bleeding.”

Geralt grunted, but Jaskier was suddenly next to him and the child as they walked back to the village.

“Geralt, you were hurt!” He reached out to touch Geralt’s head, but Geralt hit his hand away.

“I am fine!” Geralt roared, and the child holding his hand whimpered. “Leave me be, Bard.”

“Oh yes, leave him be he says.” Jaskier mumbled, and the girl giggled a little. “And how is your arm, my lady?”

The girl looked distraught, and the tears began anew.

Geralt spun and picked up the girl.

“Perhaps if you thought before you opened your mouth you wouldn’t have professors agreeing to send you as far away from Oxenfurt as you could be sent for the season.” The blow is low, but Geralt is hurting for the small girl in his arms, which reminds him so much of the young he delt with at the keep so long ago. Jaskier’s smell changes, and Geralt can tell he is wounded.

He doesn’t care, he is a witcher.

The town sees them coming, and sees the package in his arms, and they come out in droves. The girl is reunited with her father, and both are weeping, and soon, both are taken by the alderman to the healers hut, a local hedge mage whose talents were humble, but who’s medical knowledge was fierce.

The alderman insisted on a trip to the bath’s on the house, and Geralt insisted that they go through the graveyard, and burn the old corpses that were there along with the grave hag. The whole time Jaskier was singing Geralt’s praises to anyone who would listen.

When they finally made it to the bath house, Geralt was exhausted. He was exhausted, and angry, yet Jaskier had seemingly forgot his earlier outburst. Geralt was trying to dissect what was going on in his head, when Jaskier, draped only in a towel came over to Geralt. Geralt’s mouth went dry as he watched Jaskier move. He could see very little, but every so often he could see the twitch of the bard’s dick through the towel.

“Let me see to your head.” The words caught him off guard. He was sitting on a bench, attempting to break a knot in his pants which had been causing him some minor problems.

“What do you know of wounds?” Geralt bit out.

“Probably about as much as you know about music.” Jaskier snapped back. “But unlike with music, where I am fairly certain you couldn’t carry a tune if it were handed to you, I can at least see the back of your head.”

The logic was sound, and Geralt grunted. The bard somehow read his grunt, again, and his expression softened as he approached the witcher. When Jaskier was close enough Geralt couldn’t help but take in the man’s scent. It was an automatic reaction, something he did without thinking. He opened his mouth a little, to allow the scent into the sensitive organ near the back of his soft palate. This close, he could smell Jaskier’s mood and how he was fairing. He was tired, no, not tired, he was exhausted. There was a slightly bitter tinge to his scent which signaled annoyance, and there was the slightly older scent which still clung to him of fear. There was also something there behind everything else.

“You make that face a lot.” Jaskier commented offhandedly, as he began to pick through the bloodied strands of Geralt’s hair. “It reminds me of my mothers cat, who would make the same face after cleaning her bum. Do I smell so badly?”

Geralt felt his neck and the tips of his ears heat up. It was closer to the truth then he wanted to admit. Of course, Geralt then had to take in Jaskier’s scent again, to see if he actually liked it or not. It was male, masculine, young and virile. It was spicy, musky, and held the promise of maturity yet to be gained. He smelled like peak health, but he also smelled different somehow.

Just as Geralt was going to open his mouth to speak, Jaskier’s hands cupped Geralt’s cheeks from behind.

“Oh! Your skin is tingling my fingers!” Jaskier exclaimed in surprise. “Here, keep your head tilted so I can see in this miserable light.”

Geralt’s whole world was upended by the innocent touch. His back stiffened and his mouth was open. He was panting, if he were being honest with himself, but he was panting because suddenly, all that mattered was Jaskier’s scent. His whole world was flooded by it, by the young bard’s scent, which carried with it so much information. Geralt’s mind was addled, his muscles tense and taught. The scent was getting stronger, settling. The bard’s scent had a layer of satisfaction in it now as he withdrew his hands, and began to pick through Geralt’s hair once again. Geralt was huffing it like a drug. Jaskier, of course mistook his panting for pain.

“It’s okay, Geralt, you are bruised, but it seems like the cut has well and truly scabbed.” Jaskier patted him on the shoulder, his bare shoulder, which seared with the bard’s touch. “Come on then, let’s get to it, as much as I would like to soak and enjoy this, I do believe if I tarry to long you will have to fish me out of the tub with a net.”

Geralt could feel him moving, getting ready to move his hand away. He snarled and grabbed it, causing the bard to yelp. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had Jaskier’s hand, which had been touching his shoulder only a moment ago, in front of his nose. He breathed deeply, and something deep inside him yawned awake. Jaskier had his scent on his palm. Their scent’s were intertwining. He growled and it was a possessive thing.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice had become small, and his scent shifted again. Now it was full of fear, but not fear. Something lesser then fear but powerful none the less. Geralt turned and stood up. His body acting on it’s own. He didn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. Instead, he used it as leverage to back the bard into a wall.

“Geralt, I don’t know what’s gotten into you… perhaps that hit on your head was… ahhh!” Whatever the bard was going to say was lost in a surprised note as Geralt’s nose hit the young man’s throat, and he inhaled deeply.

“You smell fine.” Geralt rumbled, and then he pulled back. His body was screaming at him to do something, anything. But the bard didn’t know what he was getting into. Geralt, if he were being honest with himself, didn’t know what he was getting into either. Humans were fickle, and Jaskier? He seemed to be one of the ficklest of the bunch. Right now, the bard was staring up at him, his eyes wide, and his scent not settling on any one thing. He was an outsider, a traveler in Geralt’s world quite literally. He knew nothing of witchers and witchering other then what the faculty at his college allowed to be published.

Geralt couldn’t hope for anything more. He couldn’t demand anything more. It would have to be enough to have the bards company.

“I smell fine, he says?” Jaskier’s voice had taken on its usual edge of indignance, the same edge he gets when Geralt critiques his music, or his cooking, or the way he makes noise by striking his heal on the ground as he walks. “I’ll have you know, I smell of road, graves, and of an undead woman with a tongue too long for her own good, Geralt. And somehow, I smell of Roach. You are quite obviously not dying, if you are able to tease me so harshly. Get in the bloody bath, Geralt, and wash the refuse out of your hair.”

Like that, it’s nearly back to normal. It’s nearly back to normal, but Geralt notices, as he is washing his hair and preparing to soak in one of the tubs provided at the public bath house, that Jaskier’s smell has finally settled a little, but a new note is coming through. That of arousal.

He pretends not to look, but he sees Jaskier’s cock anyway. He can’t tell if it’s half hard, or if he is just gifted. Geralt decided to gather his resolve and knew that he best soak and put it out of his mind.

Another week passed, another small contract, and this time Jaskier stayed behind to sing at the tavern. When Geralt returned, he had expected to be ignored, or stared at, but instead, Jaskier had been singing his praises apparently, because there were a few nods, and a glass raised in his direction when he entered. Geralt felt off balance and retreated to his room.

An hour later, Jaskier retreated to his own room, and Geralt could hear the soft muffled moans of one of the local women. He felt annoyed, and more than aroused at the thought of Jaskier wooing someone, but it wasn’t his place to comment on it. Instead, he used his first night alone in weeks to spend himself tired, and fall asleep to the soft cries and satisfied sounds of two lovers spending a single night of bliss together.

“So, we are heading to Ellander?” Jaskier asked Geralt for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Yes.” Geralt ground out, walking beside roach, who was sporting a bandaged flank.

“To see the priestesses of Melitele, who you insist will see to your horse?” Jaskier looked at him dubiously, plonking a flat note on his lute and wincing.

“Yes, Jaskier, they will see to Roach.” Geralt ground out through his teeth.

“And how long exactly will that take?” Jaskier plonked another note and seemed pleased with the sound.

“Why? Tiring of my company already?” Geralt snapped, his heart clenching for reasons he couldn’t even fathom.

“There is actually a beer festival in Ellander which I saw advertised in Flotsam as we passed.” Jaskier seemed to brighten, which had Geralt furrowing his brows. “The women of the temple are said to brew some of the finest beers in the middle north. Along with said festival, which we so happen to be approaching with perfect timing, there is a bardic competition. While you see to your horse in the temple, I am going to enter the competition, it will take a week.”

Geralt frowned, but he wasn’t sure how long it would be to patch Roach up.

“Fine.” Geralt huffed.

“I didn’t need your permission.” Jaskier shot back, seemingly ignoring Geralt’s current state of unease. “Point in fact, I may be traveling with you, but I also have things I would like to see to on my journey. However, as you are my current muse, it wouldn’t do for me to lose you so soon in our adventure. I would ask only that you wait for me Geralt. Should I be longer than the time I allot, I will send word to you, and we can meet up elsewhere along the road.”

“Do what you wish.” Geralt sighed, and it was long suffering. Jaskier took note of it and frowned. He didn’t say anything, and soon he was prattling onwards again.

Geralt was getting ready to set out to hunt for the night’s dinner. Hunting, and night were relative at this point, because it was still high summer, and though the sun had started to set a little earlier each day, and rise a little later, it still very much was bright out when they made camp. Geralt began to mark the trees around the camp, and Jaskier looked up, his cheeks aflame.

“What are you doing?” He sounded indignant again, a state of being that Jaskier was nearly constantly in.

“Hmm, what does it look like I am doing?” He let his stream go a little longer on this one, simply because he had to piss.

“There are no monsters here, you said it yourself!” Jaskier was turned away from him, his face scrunched up.

“Doesn’t mean that there aren’t wolves, or bears, or any other animal that may come pilfer our packs.” Geralt resumed his walk spraying every so often. “Why does it bother you? You have a prick of your own, surely you have watered the flowers a time or two.”

“It stinks, Geralt.” Jaskier fanned his nose dramatically. “I never knew what that smell was, until that hunt, and now I can’t get it out of my nose for the life of me.”

“You never complained before.” Geralt raised a brow as he completed the circle, and then let go against a large oak. It felt great to empty himself and he sighed a little.

“Well, I had no idea what it was!” Jaskier insisted. Geralt cast a look over his shoulder. Jaskier had his nose up in the air and was frowning as he sniffed the air.

“I am going to hunt, bard.” Geralt finished up and shook himself off before tucking himself back into his pants. “If you need to make a latrine for your sensitive sensibilities, now’s your chance. Or you could piss here, doesn’t matter to me.”

Jaskier stood up and stretched his back out.

“I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia, I am not a heathen.” He stuck his nose up in the air snootily. “I for one do not want to be smelling your piss, let alone my own piss! So, I bid you farewell, at least for a few moments.”

Jaskier grabbed some paper cloth that they shared, and absconded into the woods. It wasn’t far enough away really, because Geralt could hear the bard digging, and then the sound of water and the rude noise of bowel. Geralt shook his head, and began to set up his bedroll how he liked it. When Jaskier returned, he seemed much more relaxed, and he waved Geralt off and began to gather wood for the fire.

As soon as the witcher was out of sight he instantly made a line to where Jaskier had relieved himself earlier.

Since that night, where Jaskier had asked him If he had smelled good, Geralt had been keeping track of his many scents. He could tell, almost instantly, that Jaskier hadn’t been getting enough roughage, and he had been neglecting drinking water, instead opting for watered wine. The smell of iron permeated his urine and bowel, and Geralt frowned, as they had been relying heavily on deer and wild mutton for the past week or so. His humors were off. They weren’t close enough to water to fish, and Geralt had been keeping his eye out for fowl, but found nothing other then skinny squabs which would have done nothing to slack their appetites.

Geralt set off into the forest, wondering if there were any tortoises.

In the end, Geralt didn’t find any tortoises, what he found, at least in his opinion was much better. When he came back into the clearing, a new scent had joined the fray, but he was too proud of his acquisition to note that Jaskier had masturbated while he was away.

“Oh?” Jaskier stood up, and then recoiled. “Really, Geralt? Snakes?! Can you even eat those?”

Geralt pursed his lips. He had really thought he did right this time around, but he had forgotten, Jaskier wasn’t a witcher. He was a human, and from the sound of it, one who could acquire his own food.

“Dunno, let’s find out.” Geralt drawled. He had also gotten several other things, some wild leeks, and a couple of root vegetables that were edible. “If you want to find your own food, forest is that way.”

“Oh, that dry wit of yours.” Jaskier’s cheeks colored. “How come when I actually want you to speak of something, you just grunt at me, and when I could really do without the sarcastic comments, you find a years worth of words?”

“Again, the forest is that way.” Geralt motioned outward, and stripped the guts from the snakes and tossed them into the fire.

“And what, prey tell, does snake taste like?” Jaskier looked at Geralt as he began to stuff the cavity full of herbs they had collected for cooking.

“Snake?” Geralt tilted his head. The look Jaskier gave him could have frozen the Ismena in its tracks. “It tastes, well, bland without herbs.”

“Like chicken?” Jaskier sat up looking a touch more excited.

“Hmmm.” Geralt turned the carcass over in his hands. “More like fish, but not the strong red fleshed trout or salmon, rather a smelt.”

“Oh! I love smelt.” Jaskier was excited now, and his scent flooded the small clearing with anticipation. “A few summers back I was introduced to it. My cousin, Ferrent, he is in Cidaris, and…”

Geralt listened idly as he prepared the snakes, and took out a cook pot.

He was content to cook and listen, but Jaskier’s words began to register, and he frowned.

“… You see, the countess, she would very much like to be free of courtly life, she was my one saving grace while I attempted to keep my head afloat in my fathers court.” Jaskier said, playing a light tune on his lute. “Ah what a woman, and she is a woman Geralt, not the common…”

“You are a lordling.” Geralt looked to Jaskier for a moment before returning to his cooking.

“And you are a witcher.” Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, have you not been listening to a single word I said this whole time?”

Geralt felt the tips of his ears heat, and shame wash over him.

“Geralt of Rivia, in these past months I have done my utmost to be a good barker and friend for you.” Jaskier was standing now indignant. “The least you could do is…”

“Of Rivia is a Red Herring.” Geralt looked up to Jaskier, and Jaskier stopped dead in the middle of his rant. “I only have one name. Of Rivia makes people think I reside there. It’s a way to keep people off my trail. People like you, a runaway lordling seeking glory by what? Pretending to be common? Mingling with the peasantry? Plan to collect me for your menagerie. See what makes me tick?”

Jaskier had paled, his blue eyes going wide.

“It’s a common thing, now that we are rare.” Geralt growled low in his throat, half wanting to throw Jaskier’s snake into the flames and leave him stranded in the middle of the woods. “I see it now, you play the fool, and I am the fool who follows it. Greater men then you have tried this ploy…”

“I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, viscount de Lettenhove.” Jaskier stood up proudly. “I am not a wastrel, or slumming it, I am quite literally on assignment to attempt to write my dissertation in the bardic arts. I am not a runaway, I have a very loving family who are extremely supportive of my educational endeavors. But what kind of bard has a family that cares for them hmm? What lord or lady in their right minds would let a first son travel the continent alone for a school assignment, when they could just pay the school off, and I would get whatever I wanted tacked to the end of my name? I had nothing, Geralt, nothing of consequence. I was a middling bard with a fantastic voice but no tales to write about which would be my own. Why do you think I have been following you? Why do you think I have fought so hard to remain happy, to follow you even when you try to leave me behind? This is my story, Geralt, this is the one thing I get to have before I am swept away back into the land of my father, to take over when he no longer is able to. I do not want to collect you, I am a viscount, a lowly lord. I have landholdings, castles, but they are my fathers, and his fathers. I want for once in my life, to have something all of my own, something I have done for myself, by myself. I got into Oxenfurt on my own merit, I used my alias on my entrance exams, and had my cousin Ferrent forge the necessary documents so that I could attend university anonymously.”

Geralt stared him down slowly spinning the snakes.

“I am the only son of Lettenhove, my father is a wise man, far wiser than I could ever hope to be, I am an only child, who wanted for nothing.” Jaskier threw his hands down, and was looking to Geralt with a forlorn expression. “I am not a collector, I am not anything. I am a man surely, and one with an upbringing that makes me naive in a way, but I have also been surviving on my own since I began college. I got a scholarship on merit, not on who I know. I have earned this, I have earned being able to walk the continent with you. I walked for months without you, and it’s just happenstance I found you at that run down tavern, because honestly, I had run as far away from the university as I could manage to try to find something, anything that was inspirational. I found you, and I had hoped against hope that whatever rumors I had heard about witchers were untrue, because to think otherwise would be too awful. That, Geralt is why I am here. Being here? Having this conversation as you burn snake carcasses for me to eat? This is the life I want to live, this is the life I dreamed of when we would pass fields and I would see buskers traveling the roads. I would not see you in a menagerie, or some zoo for some rich mage to poke and prod at, I would see you here, with me.”

Geralt felt his whole world twisting around him, but Jaskier wasn’t done.

“But I also have my limit’s Geralt.” He stated, his lip trembling and distress leaking through his scent. “I am not a witcher, I can’t just ignore my feelings. And I have been, oh I have been indeed. Why? Because if I graced you with how I truly am, you would have been rid of me within a day. I hesitated to ask to go to the competition, because I am afraid you will leave me behind, I am afraid I will lose this. And I do not want to, but I also have done my utmost to try to ease you into the idea of a traveling companion. I don’t know what else I can do, and I don’t know why I am failing because you can’t say anything!”

“I can’t?” Geralt swallowed thickly, an audible click heard above the fire crackle.

There is a bitter laugh and Jaskier runs his hands through his hair which is limp with the humidity.

“I am a learned man, Geralt.” Jaskier chuckles bitterly. “I know the signs of indoctrination. My cousin, the one I was speaking of earlier, is a royal instigator in Cidaris. He was worried that I was naive, and that someone would come after me, even with my airtight alibi at the school. He taught me to look for signs of people who have been indoctrinated to causes, and you my friend, are the poster boy for it.”

“I am not your friend.” Geralt glared at him, but something prickled the back of his mind. Fear.

“There, that!” Jaskier pointed at Geralt. “That right there, it’s a conditioned response. I can tell you right now where it came from, some teacher of yours sat you down, and told you that a friendship meant death, meant pain, meant you were straying from the path you vowed to take. You say it quickly, like a lie you have told yourself over and over again. It’s automatic, it doesn’t involve thought, it simply is, and will be. But you are fooling yourself, if you think you are not my friend, and that I am not yours. A traveling companion for business purposes, does not expect to share in his compatriots earnings. A friend will pay a friends way simply because they want to. A traveling companion wouldn’t hunt or share rations, they would keep what they caught, charge the other a price, and it would be a fair trade. Not once have you asked me to repay you. You have shared rooms with me, ale with me, and food with me. And I have done the same for you when I earn coins at the taverns we stop at.”

“Jaskier, I just don’t…” Geralt tried, removing one of the snakes which was cooked through from the spit.

“You don’t what? Feel?” Jaskier stomped over to him. “That is bullshit too, and you know it. You can’t speak of what you feel because you are conditioned not to. You don’t have whole words of descriptions of things because your world centers around monsters and grief, and you have to be stoic in the face of life lost. I get it, that’s what soldiers have to do. But you have tells, ones I am learning as time goes on. The first thing I learned to read was your eyes. You speak with them, with the tenseness in the lines of your eyes, with how when you get angry, you lose your hold on yourself and they narrow into slits. How your brows furrow, how they lift. Then I got your hums and grunts, a language all your own, likely due to the fact that true communication was never fostered between you and your compatriots.”

Jaskier stopped, standing in front of Geralt. Geralt growled, his whole being sent into disarray.

“Let’s eat.” Jaskier stated, and Geralt’s growl stopped in his throat. “It will do us no good to argue on empty stomachs and I, for one, am going to see this through.”

“I don’t want to argue.” Geralt growled low, but even he could hear the hurt coming through his voice.

“It is too late for that, my friend.” Jaskier poked him on the shoulder hard enough that it actually hurt. “Finish up, we will eat, in silence I promise you, and then we will continue.”

Geralt normally craved silence. He craved it because it allowed him to think, to process, and to understand. But right now, he didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to process, and he didn’t want to understand. He felt laid bare, he felt seen, and he didn’t know how to process it. He watched Jaskier, who grunted happily as he ate, finding the taste of the snake satisfactory, even though he was picking bones from his teeth. Geralt didn’t bother removing the bones. He ate every piece of the snake he could. The crunch beneath his teeth, and the taste of herbs, settled him somewhat. They also ate on the herbs and vegetables Geralt and Jaskier both were able to scrounge.

Jaskier finished up his meal, and the smell of his hunger abated, and it turned instead to nervousness.

“Geralt, you need to learn to talk to others.” Jaskier started, tossing his stick and his bones into the fire.

“No, I want to hear it from your lips, what you think I feel.”

Jaskier bristled and turned to Geralt, his face set in a frown.

“Is that to be it?” Jaskier all but snarled. “Fine, Geralt. I think up until the moment you met me, you felt nothing. You felt deadened. You went through the world in a haze, the same routine, year in and year out. You felt unwanted, unliked, and like a necessary evil. You are trying not to get close to me, because of what happened in Blaviken, which now, knowing you, and your actions, has been painted in a different light for me. The princess who you killed in that town, she was special to you. But not for a long time, a short brilliantly burning flame, and you thought, that perhaps you would be enough for her. You saw yourself in her, an outsider, a freak, and you laid yourself bare. But her motives were not clandestine, and you couldn’t fathom someone not taking an opportunity to escape, and to find peace. You loved her, and you caused her death.”

Geralt couldn’t keep his features from twisting as pain he had thought he had buried seared through him. How the fuck did Jaskier know this?

“Before her, there were others, flings really, but nothing solid.” Jaskier was looking to the fire. “With her it was different. With her, you were despoiled, and you took the burden of her death on yourself. When you took it upon yourself, you then had proof that your clan was right, love hurt, being attached hurt. You vowed to not get attached, but it’s not in your nature. So, you have been warring against yourself. And then I came along. I wouldn’t take no for an answer, I kept up, I helped, and I cared for you. You didn’t understand why I did it, even when you tried your damnest to be inaccessible. And something shifted, something more recent than you care to admit. You were doing an admirable job putting me at arm’s length, but then, something changed. Something I think is unconscious on your part. You wanted to protect me. But it was different then the others, and you didn’t understand why.”

Geralt flinched from Jaskier’s gaze as his eyes turned to meet Geralt’s.

“Instead, you chose not to think about it, you chose to ignore it, the warning signs.” Jaskier smiled ruefully. “I think you realized it, far more recently, what your subconscious knew all along. You want me here, you want to be my friend. You want, Geralt, and you have no idea how to handle it because every time you have wanted in the past it has been taken from you. You are scared, I can see it in your eyes, in the way your muscles are bunched up and ready to move. And I think that is another reason you are afraid. You have shown me what a witcher is. You have shown me the side of you that is not human, more so than any other person you have come across. You have let me see you hunt, you have let me see how you handle your potions and how you keep monsters at bay from the camp. How many humans have seen that?”

Geralt’s heart is rabbiting in his chest. He can feel blood pulsing beneath his skin. His reaction to his fight or flight response is to hold his ground, which he does, his eyes not leaving Jaskier’s now. He feels his body reacting, he takes in Jaskier’s scent, which is different yet again, afraid but…

“Not many.” The words come unbidden from his throat, and Jaskier’s face transforms.

He is smiling. It’s soft and sad, but it also holds something akin to hope. Hope? For what? For Geralt? Geralt is hurting, he is confused, and he suddenly feels lonelier than he has ever felt in his life. He looks to Jaskier, and sees his blue eyes, which speak of a life well lived, of a family that cares, of a place to belong, and Geralt yearned for those things. He sees the man’s capillaries open up, and the smell that had haunted the campsite since he returned thickens. He looks back up to the bard’s eyes, blue flawed aquamarines, which catch the firelight and sparkle.

“I am going to do something stupid.” Jaskier licks his lips, and Geralt follows the movement. His mind is slow, it is aching, wounded, open and raw. He is shaking, and Jaskier, he smells so good. He smells of the herbs they had cut, the food they had eaten. He smells of musk, male, but he smells of spice as well. He breathes him in, and Jaskier surges forward.

Geralt is unprepared, and their teeth clack together, and he overbalances. He falls back, thankfully away from the fire, and Jaskier follows suit. The bard is determined to see this through though, and with a determined look, sprawled over top of Geralt, he leans in and kissed him.

It started in Geralt’s neck, the thyroid glands. He knows this because he has studied this reaction in himself before, but never has it felt more powerful then now. It tingles, races up his head, and he feels the capillaries he normally keeps at bay unless it is stiflingly hot out, open up to instinct. He feels the flush swipe across his neck, cheeks, ears nose and forehead, and it makes his skin tingle. It traveled down his spine, branching out to the tips of his fingers, and to his toes. The last place to get the message, ironically, is his cock. Once it gets the message, it stiffens painfully, and leaves Geralt dizzy with the blood rushing to the new place. It happens in the span of a second, less perhaps, but Geralt feels it all the same.

Jaskier’s lips are on his, his body is moving against Geralt’s. There are hands, they have grabbed Geralt’s face, entangled in his hair. Geralt’s mouth opened and the taste of Jaskier flooded him. He is overwhelmed but in the best of ways. The part of himself he has kept hidden purrs to life with a languid stretch. It roars when Jaskier makes a delicious sound deep in the back of his throat, and the bards hips arch forward pressing their cocks together through fabric and leather.

It’s only in moments such as these, when a whore has Geralt’s cock, when he is being touched, that the witcher’s mutations take a back seat. He is vulnerable like this, arching, begging for more with his body. He reaches up, and grab’s Jaskier’s hips, and then shifts him, rolling his own hips up to great him. At this Jaskier pulls away sharply. He is arched over Geralt, his eyes closed, his teeth biting into kiss swollen lips.

“Jaskier…” It’s not a growl, not this. Finally in this moment Geralt’s voice listens to him.

Jaskier’s eyes snap open, and he looks down at Geralt. He looks frightened, and his scent, thick with arousal is tinged with fear again.

“I… Geralt… I….” He looks like he is going to cry, he looks so sad, like a painting.

“Please,” Geralt breathes it out as a whisper, wrenching his eyes closed, preparing for rejection.

He doesn’t expect the lips on his again. He startles so badly he knocks his head painfully against the ground. But the momentary pain is outweighed by the fervor in which Jaskier kisses him. The bard isn’t a blushing virgin, he is virile, confident. The moment Geralt gave him permission, he takes over. It’s a dance Geralt isn’t quite as familiar with, so he allows the bard his wanderings. He feels teeth on his throat and his back arches, a broken whine marred by his broken throat sifting through the heavy air. He is so lost, so shattered feeling, that when his shirt comes up, he barely registers it.

“Shift Geralt, I am not doing this on the dirt that’s filled with snake bones.”

Geralt feels the weight leave him, and he looks around, he finds his bedroll through a haze of lust, and crawls over to it, his pants pinching his cock painfully with each movement. When he looks back up, Jaskier has stripped himself. The witcher’s mouth dries at the sight of him. The bard is sweat damp, his hair limp on his forehead, and his body hair is matted with it. It was hot, and the sun was finally setting. It bathes Jaskier in a glow which makes him seem ethereal. In a single instant Geralt knew what he wanted. He looked at Jaskier’s cock, which was leaking thin strings of pre onto the ground, flooding the area with his scent. Jaskier was strong, stronger than he let on. His thighs and calves are a thing of beauty, the hard line of his stomach begging to be worshiped. Geralt wanted him, wants the bard to claim him. His knees go weak for it, for the touch of the bard’s sweat damped skin.

Jaskier was watching him, his blue eyes shadowed by lust as Geralt slipped his pants off. Geralt struggled for a moment, his boots an afterthought. Jaskier lost patience, and with only one leg free Geralt turned, arched his back, and then peeked at Jaskier from behind his arm.

Jaskier looked as if he has been struck.

“What a gift you are to me.” Jaskier’s voice was husky, and full of lust. His fingers, long and lute callused flexed. There was only a moment of hesitation before Jaskier grabbed at the bottle of olive oil they had used for cooking, and was bending down.

Geralt arched further as Jaskier pressed into him, his fingers experienced, his goal driving him forward. There was no pain, there never was any if the witcher wanted it this badly. Jaskier noticed, and he purred.

“Fuck, look at how your hole wants to suck all of my fingers right inside you.” Jaskier purred, and Geralt choked on a moan, his cock throbbing. “Oh, and sensitive, I am afraid Geralt, I will not be at my best. I want you too badly, and the picture you paint has me nearly spending now.”

Geralt knew, Geralt could smell it.

“Fuck me, hard, fast… need it… fuck Jask… please!” Geralt moved back into the bard’s fingers.

“a-a… solid plan…. Just…”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s cock press against him, and his resolve shattered. He arced up on all fours, and pressed against the heat of the cock resting against his furl. The initial pop is followed immediately by a searing pleasure as Geralt angles himself perfectly. Jaskier’s cock brushed against the witcher’s prostate firmly with each thrust. With that press comes another pressure, one he had forgotten about till this moment. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered.

“I am going to fuck you so hard you will be useless for days.” Jaskier purred, and then his blunted human teeth dug into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt is distracted enough by the bite that he almost doesn’t notice as Jaskier’s hips begin to sway.

The pleasure is instantly searing and overwhelming. The sweat slick skin against Geralt’s back makes him tingle. His body is on fire, and he groans a little as Jaskier’s teeth release.

“I want to hear you, I want you to let go…” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hips and the speed he moved catches Geralt off guard.

Geralt’s voice catches, and it started out as a gasp. Then it turned into short little groans, punctuated with each rushed thrust of the bards cock. Geralt was hanging onto every shred of self-control he could muster, but the pleasure was overwhelming him. He didn’t want Jaskier to think him a fool. Geralt wanted this, he wanted the bard. He wants there to be more of this. Jaskier changed his angle, just a small amount, and the dam broke. Geralt’s voice called out, it’s reedy, high, perhaps close to what his voice could have been. It hurt’s his throat, but he can’t stop the sound now that it’s started. He calls out, hissing through his teeth and keening like a whore paid. Jaskier’s own voice joins his, sweet nothings falling from his lips.

“You are so good, Geralt, so beautiful.” Jaskier’s voice was near his ear. “Oh fuck, you’re such a good boy taking me like this.”

The witcher’s breath stilled, and then his world turned blinding. Jaskier had bit his ear, and Geralt’s balls drew up painfully. The force of his orgasm had him mewling.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck!” He whined as he finally cums, his seed splattering between his legs and thighs with the rough movements Jaskier was making behind him.

He was overwhelmed, the pleasure not stopping. Jaskier pounded into him, his fingers digging furrows into his hips. The bard’s hands were strong, stronger then Geralt anticipated. His movements aided by miles upon miles of walking, day in and day out. Jaskier shifted the angle again, going deeper, long past the point of caring about Geralt’s pleasure and chasing his own. Geralt was overwhelmed, his cock still hard, bobbing freely between his legs. The pleasure peaked again.

“Oh fuck!” the exclamation turned into a low keen as he lost control, and his body released that which he had been holding too long.

The spray of piss splattered across every surface Geralt was nearby. It doused the bedroll and Geralt’s thighs as the witchers cock and body are jostled by the force of Jaskier’s thrusts. There was no stopping it. Jaskier felt Geralt clenching, and saw the witcher reaching for his cock.

“You’re pissing?” Jaskier was just as surprised as Geralt for a single moment.  Then the bard’s body began to burn up and his cock pulsed buried deep within Geralt. “Fuck, yes, fucking the piss right out of you.”

There was a sharp tug at his hair and Geralt arched up.

“That’s right, fucked you so good you lost control.” Jaskier grunted as Geralt hissed and whined through his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… Geralt!”

Geralt’s hair was released, and Jaskier’s hand scrambled for the witcher’s still piss leaking cock. Geralt glanced down to watch the bard’s hand get coated in piss, and the witchers body was lit aflame with arousal once again. The bard’s movements turn long, softer, but his muscles were tensing.

Jaskier called out in pleasure, and Geralt felt a cool pulse of fluid on his battered innards. The feel of it, the strong slow powerful movements, and the hand on his pissing cock was too much. Geralt choked with the feeling, his whole body bowed forward as the force of his second orgasm pushed through, and the stream coming from his dick turned cloudy. He isn’t sure how long he cums, he only knows that his body was aflame with a pleasure which had him shaking. Jaskier was still rolling his hips softly enjoying the oversensitivity of his cock in Geralt’s ass.

“Oh, you are so good, fuck, just… let it all out Geralt, it’s ok… I have you.” The words registered as Geralt’s mind snaped back to reality, only for the witcher to realize he was still pissing. The stream had slowed, but a soft movement over the slit of his dick made Geralt jerk.

Jaskier was still holding him. Jaskier was holding him, and his finger was tracing through the slow trickle of piss that Geralt just couldn’t stop. The witcher chanced a look over his shoulder, shame and embarrassment flooding him, but what he saw made his heart skip a beat. Jaskier’s face was flushed, his hair was stuck to his forehead in messy chaos. His eyes were closed, and he was rolling his hips softly, even as his dick softened within the heat of Geralt’s innards. The bard had bitten his lip bloody, and he was panting.

“Fuck, Geralt, you are so fucking beautiful.” He said, and the breathless reverence has Geralt believing him. “So warm… fuck… I want to go again. I want to take you apart piece by piece, and make you whole again.”

Geralt felt shame creep up his spine. The witcher was still shaking, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure, even as at last, the stream tapers off. He felt full and empty at the same time. The last of his strength gave out and his shaking body collapsed onto his piss ruined bedroll. Jaskier made a surprised noise and collapsed beside him, panting harshly, and turning his body towards Geralt’s. The watched in mild horror as the hand which had just been playing with him as he pissed, reached up and slicked the bard’s sweat damp hair back. He smelled like Geralt. He smelled like he has been claimed, like he is Geralt’s to keep.

Geralt had never in his life experienced something so intense. He is no stranger to whores, and no stranger to sex. But this, this was different. He can’t think of why, but something swells in his chest, even as he moves to get something, anything to clean them up with.

“No no… don’t” Jaskier’s arm landed clumsily on his, and Geralt realized that Jaskier is falling unconscious. “No monster will come anywhere near here tonight. Sleep…. Geralt. Sleep.”

He is out, and Geralt feels his mind empty. He looks across the way, at Jaskier, who is half sprawled on his soiled bedroll. He smells of Geralt, smells of sex, satisfaction, and something elusive, he smells claimed, even though it was he who claimed Geralt that night.

The last thought Geralt had before slipping unconscious was one of satisfaction, of peace. Jaskier was his, and anyone who could smell him couldn’t deny it.

The City of Ellander was full to the brim with people who had made their annual pilgrimage to sample the tastes of the local brewery, headed by the sisters at Melitele’s temple. Barkers bark, buskers busk, and Jaskier has the biggest smile on his face as they approach the town square.

“Just look at it Geralt! Isn’t it grand!” Jaskier spun around, bumping into an older man who gaves him a side eye before shuffling off with his nearly spilled beer held close to his chest. “My god! The people! The food! Oh, how I have missed you civilization!”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

The truth is, Geralt is uneasy. The morning after they had fucked, Jaskier had stumbled around like a drunk man, before finally righting himself around to walk to the small muddy creek to wash himself. He did so in a sleepy haze, mumbling under his breath about being far too long without baths. The problem was, Geralt could smell he was aroused, and he could hear Jaskier breathing more heavily than he had before, but he didn’t move to seek Geralt out, other then to offer the witcher a bar of soap.

Once they were clean, Geralt declared his bedroll a loss. Jaskier had attempted to fight him on it, saying that some soap and a dry would make it good as new. However, with Roach struggling to carry the small load she had, and Geralt wanting to hide his shame, Geralt wound up just leaving it where it lay, and they set off to hopefully make Ellander in a day’s time.

It took two, and by the end of it, both Jaskier and Geralt were deeply worried for Roach. The worry kept Geralt from sleeping, and Jaskier had left him be, other then to give Geralt a soft reassuring pat on his shoulder. Geralt was confused, worried, and he didn’t want to think about what had happened the night before, but he did anyway, and while Jaskier slept, Geralt spent himself into the flames of the fire three times just so he could fall into an uneasy meditation.

Now they were here, Geralt felt guilt creeping up on him. Watching Jaskier spin and flounce and smelling the excitement on him made Geralt equal parts happy, and afraid, but afraid of what?

“I suppose this is where we part for now.” Jaskier turned to look at him, right as the horror Geralt felt broke through his armor. Jaskier’s face fell and he was beside Geralt in an instant. “Geralt what’s wrong?”

Geralt bit his cheek inside his mouth, and steeled himself.

“Feel strange, don’t want to leave you here.” The admission cost him more then he anticipated, and he felt suddenly exhausted.

“Geralt, Roach is hurt, and I am in my element here.” Jaskier patted him on his arm again, a friendly gesture. “You need to see to her, and I will hopefully wow the masses to the point where we shall ride out the rest of the summer in comfort and glory, you’ll see Geralt.”

At the mention of “we” Geralt felt some of his tension leave him, but not all of it.

“Keep yourself out of trouble.” Geralt growled low, and Jaskier smiled slyly.

“I make no promises.” His voice was cheeky, and he cocked his hip. Geralt felt something surge through him, and he stepped up to the bard whose expression fell, his eyes widening.

“I mean it.” Geralt growled. It elicited a nod from the bard, who’s eyes had turned serious and stony. “And Jaskier?”

“What is it?” The bard’s voice was timid now, quiet.

Geralt grabbed him, and for the first time in memory, he kissed someone because he wanted to. He felt Jaskier jump in surprise, but then the bard leaned into him. Geralt pulled away and Jaskier was blushing fiercely.

“For luck.” Geralt smiled. Jaskier looked like he had been given sweet meats for yule.

He turned around, leading Roach outside of town. Had he turned, he would have seen the bard, with a hand over his mouth, and tears running down his cheeks.

“I thought I would find you here.” The voice of Nenneke washed over Geralt, and Geralt felt himself smiling, even as he stopped to feel along the soft tiny buds of lavender.

“I thought you would be enjoying the festivities.” Geralt murmured as he listened to her shuffle over to the bench near where he was bent over.

“Another year? Another festival.” She waved her hand, sitting and groaning a little as she did so. “There is only so much beer you can drink as a head priestess.”

“You mean none?”

“And rightly so.” She smiled, and Geralt turned to her. “I find it far more intriguing that you showed up here a day ago, with your injured horse, and didn’t seek me out. Instead, I find you pilfering my garden, and sneaking around here with your tail tucked between your legs.”

He chuckled softly, and her brown eyes crinkled in a warm smile.

“Needed time to think some things over.” Geralt said, his smile faltering as he turned back to the lavender and picked some of the strongest smelling strands of it.

“Thinking now are we?” She sounded amused. “Usually, you show up on my doorstep bleeding, and the only explanation I get is an empty headed ‘I don’t know how the Kikimora managed to rip my arse in half.’ You are not injured, and your Roach, she is well on the mend. Iola and the other girls have prayed to Melitele for her wellbeing, and Iola? She is new, but she is powerful. Melitele speaks through her like no other I have seen in years.”

Geralt snorted.

“You mean you used a poultice, and she is now being spoiled at the hands of the initiates.”

“You know my rules, Geralt.” She tossed a pebble at him, hitting him square in the head. “You are in the temple of Melitele, and she watches over you just as she watches over all those who had never known a mothers love.”

Geralt stood up.

“And what does she say about me, Mother Nenneke.” He turned to her, and her face soured.

“Blast that name, and Melitele bless you, for all she says about you is that you are a lost cause, with ill manners, who cannot for the life of you respect your elders.” She scoffed. “You are petulant Geralt, and you have yet to greet me properly.”

Geralt smiled then and swooped over to the bench drawing the woman into his arms.

“I missed you, Nenneke.” Geralt murmured clutching the older woman to him.

“Oh, my sweet White Wolf, I have missed you as well.” She patted his back and petted his hair. Geralt breathed in her scent. She was warm, calm, and beautiful. He tensed up, and suddenly didn’t want to let her go. “Oh, there really is something bothering you. Take all the time you need, Geralt.”

Her words, few as they were, were a balm to his soul. He had no idea how long he sat there with her held in his arms. It could have been seconds, or weeks. All he knew is that this woman was important to him, and that he wanted more then anything for her to be proud of him. When he pulled away, Nenneke looked up to him, her eyes bright with curiosity and the wisdom of age. He knew she could be patient, and he knew she wouldn’t force him to speak. In the end, it was that quiet patience that won, as Geralt began to formulate the words he needed to say.

“I have been traveling with someone this year.” Geralt stated, and Nenneke’s eyes lit up in curiosity. “He is in Ellander now, busking. It started out, well, he came to me in a bar asking me to judge his music. I couldn’t make hide nor hare of him, so I tried to leave. He followed me, straight into trouble. Had a contract, a devil had been harrying Lower Posada, it turns out it was a starved sylvan who was working hand in hand with Filavandrel. We were captured, he and I, and when we were let go eventually, he was gifted a lute for the one he lost, and he insisted he travel with me.”

“And you just let him?” Nenneke’s eyes widened. “Does Vesemir know?”

Geralt shook his head miserably.

“Geralt, you have never in all your long years, traveled with anyone.” She stated. “And I can see, that he is who troubles you now.”

“It’s… nice… traveling with someone.” Geralt stated and Nenneke’s expression softened. “At first, he was like a tick stuck in the spot between your shoulder blades. He was annoying, itching, and utterly infuriating. I don’t know what changed, or when it started to change, but I found, against my better judgement, that I was… well I was lonely, and having someone on the road made being out here more tolerable.”

“He treats you well?” She asked, noting his change in tone.

“Better then I deserve.” Geralt shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I tried to scare him off. I wasn’t kind, nor was I approachable. He talks, Nenneke, like he has to pour every word in his brain out or it would back up and his head would explode. He sings, he composes. He is talented. He is brilliant, and I don’t understand what he sees in me. He says I am his muse. He is a student, young, just experiencing the world for the first time really. I had taken him for being naive, at first, but he is scrappy. He traveled from Oxenfurt to Lower Posada on assignment for his school. I misjudged him, and he kept up.”

“And what, pray tell, is this dashing young man’s name?” Nenneke asked. “What does he look like? What does he like to eat?”

“His name is Jaskier.” Nenneke’s brow furrowed, but Geralt missed it. “He is tall, nearly equal to me. He hides his strength in the cut of his clothes, appearing small, but he is strong. His eyes are blue, and his hair is brown. He is flawless, and as harry as a goat. He will eat anything, but he has a fondness for fish, and for honey.”

“Jaskier, as in the prodigy from Oxenfurt? Master of the seven Liberal arts, and youngest graduate into the music doctorial program they have ever had?” Nenneke spoke evenly, but it was like Geralt had been slapped in the face. “I know of this young man. His reputation precedes him, and Mignolet had hoped to woo him here for the competition.”

“Well, he did, and he has.” Geralt looked to her his brows furrowing. “You don’t approve?”

“I know only of his reputation, and his music, played by others.” She made a face. “He composed Fishmonger’s Daughter, and it has haunted even our walls from time to time. My concern is not for him, but rather for you. What is bothering you so, if you enjoy his company?”

Geralt turned away from her the words tumbling from his mouth like stones down a mountain.

“He isn’t safe with me.” Geralt blurted out, anger and fear coiling around him. “I have tried to tell him that, but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t listen, and then he helps! He helps me! He charmed a grave hag long enough that I could sneak up on her. He, after knowing me for less then a day, was willing to throw his life away for me. He is a cad, a womanizer, and he is bawdy and loud. But every time I look at him, it’s like the sun has come out after a winter storm. He travels with me because he needs inspiration for his stories, and I fear it, Nenneke.”

“You fear his loss.” Nenneke supplied placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Every time I look at him, something happens.” Geralt shut his eyes, as the feeling swelled within him. “My chest tightens, and my heart it races. I want to see him smile, and I can never find the words to make him do it. I want him safe, taken care of. The path is no place for him. He is soft beautiful, it will ruin him.”

Nenneke sat in silence as Geralt’s distress reached a peak.

“What happened recently, which has sent you into this state?” Nenneke asked.

“I lost control, and I slept with him.” Geralt looked at his hands.

“I know you too well, Geralt, I know you didn’t hurt him.” Nenneke patted him on the shoulder. “I know Vesemir would argue otherwise, but it is healthy to seek the comforts of the flesh if it’s willing on both parts. The teachings of Melitele encourage healthy sexual relations. You didn’t lose control, Geralt, you made a decision. You made a decision, and it is one that was based on mutual want.”

Geralt frowned, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his ears seemed to be buzzing with noise that wasn’t there.

“Geralt, you witchers are a very broken bunch.” Nenneke said, and Geralt looked up to her, his expression vulnerable. “You were taught things about life, which no person should be taught. You have heard me speak on it before, to Vesemir, and to your brothers. What do you know of love, Geralt?”

Geralt felt anger spark inside him, and Nenneke smiled ruefully. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nenneke raised her hand.

“I am not asking you to parrot your lessons, and what you have told yourself for years to try to keep your sanity intact.” She said softly. “I am asking, what you know about love, Geralt.”

Geralt felt his heart clench.

“I don’t know anything.”

“You love your horse.” Nenneke smiled, and Geralt’s brows furrowed. “It’s obvious in the way you care for her. You didn’t simply kill her or sell her because she was injured, and most men would. Instead, you brought her here, to be cared for. You spoil her, you talk to her.”

“I don’t want to sleep with her.” Geralt growled.

“That is the funny thing about love, Geralt.” Nenneke chuckled. “There are many types, blanketed under one term. A botanist loves his flowers, a musician loves his instrument of choice, we love foods, we love the comfort of a soft bed and a dry place to sleep. You love your brothers. I love my initiates, and my priestesses. A husband loves his wife.”

“What does love feel like?” The question seemed to break Nenneke’s heart. Her eyes teared up, and she moved forward embracing Geralt. Geralt’s chest tightens, and his eyes began to burn.

“What do you feel right now, Geralt?”

“I feel confused, angry.” The witcher growled out clinging to the smaller woman. “There is this feeling, in my chest, in my throat. It’s tight. It hurts. When I think of him, all I can see is how he could die. How I could fuck up. He is annoying, persistent…”

“And talented, and good looking.”

“He makes me angry, he makes me want things I shouldn’t have.” Geralt pulled back and he was shaking.

“And why do you think you shouldn’t have them? Forgive an old woman for her confusion, but why shouldn’t you want to be loved, to love someone. Even if it turns out that the physical part of your relationship was just a stopping point on a long dry road. Why do you think you are unworthy of love?”

“I am not human, Nenneke!” It came out as a pained whine. “What human could take a single sniff of someone, know their mood, know where they have been, know when they masturbated last.”

“Crass words, but those are not reasons, they are differences.” She said frowning. “Love, Geralt, is accepting someone for who they are… what they are. Our whole world is falling apart because once upon a time, an elf loved a human, and people sought to take that away. People are allowed to love who they want to, and for any reason. You say the bard is annoying, yet you look on fondly as you do so. That is love, Geralt. That fondness, that exasperation. Here is a question, are you willing to let him continue traveling with you?”

“I couldn’t stop him.” Geralt shook his head.

“But would you if you had the ability to do so?” Nenneke asked.

“I… I would have to. I couldn’t put him in danger.” Geralt looked to her. “But I wouldn’t want to.”

“Would you want to leave him behind if he seeks another lover?” Nenneke asked.

“No, and you understand the reasonings why.” Geralt stated. “I can’t expect someone to be faithful to me, when I myself have to seek others along the path, as necessary.”

“Then it seems to me, that we have to rectify this safety problem.” Nenneke smiled.

“He doesn’t want to stay behind.” Geralt gave a frustrated growl. “He is a distraction.”

“Surely there is a way for him to watch, and be out of harm’s way.” Nenneke frowned. “The more dangerous contracts you can insist, but for smaller ones…”

Geralt blinked, and an idea began to form in his mind.

“I think I may know something we can do.” Geralt stood up. “Do you have any chamomile?”

“Yes, in the main garden.” Geralt offered Nenneke his hand, and she took it gratefully. “Come, Geralt, lets see if we can’t figure out a way for you to keep your friend safe.”

“He isn’t my friend.” Geralt blurted automatically, then he paused, a small uplift coming to his lips. “He is more.”

The city was bustling, and Geralt had found out from no less then six people, that the bardic competition was going to be in it’s finale tonight. There was much buzz around it because tonight was original music. The previous nights had been love songs, tavern favorites, and religious antiquity, the latter of which, if one looked closely, was just tavern favorites rewrapped in a package that would please the local clergy. It took Geralt a few tries to navigate to where the stages were, the market was in full swing. He was accosted to buy flowers for his love, a cup which both protected his assets, as well as his coin, as well as some snake oil, quite literally, which was supposed to enhance his stamina.

The one thing he did buy, which he did only because the child looked hungry, was a single branch of pussywillow. He had just made that purchase when he spotted the big announcement board which had the competitors listed from the competition and their current standing.

Geralt looked at the board, and found Jaskier’s name.

He drew his cloak around himself, as he wove his way alongside the crowd, which was surging towards the stage. Someone handed him a beer, a Kriek. Geralt hummed in appreciation as the sweet-sour taste of cherry hit his tongue, and cooled his mouth. When he finally settled far enough on the outskirts of the crowd that he could step away if necessary, and close enough to the stage to see it clearly, he began to listen to the crowd.

There was much talk of the competitors, and friendly betting was happening all around. There were several names popping up. But three seemed to be the center of attention. A female named Essie, a male named Master Marx, which Geralt thought sounded pretentious, and Jaskier himself. All three of them, apparently, were attending Oxenfurt. And apparently all three of them had made many of the other, non-classically trained competitors sour. Essie, she was traveling with her tutor, as she was only in her first year of schooling. Master Marx was apparently a favorite. Everyone kept saying he had the voice of an angel. And then there was Jaskier. The crowd was mixed on him. On one hand, many said that he had a way of commandeering songs and making them truly his own. But on the other, they said that his bravado was off-putting. Geralt could see both points, as he had heard Jaskier tweaking old tavern songs with his own lyrics, parodying them with great relish and not a few giggles.

The lineup was going to be from the lowest competitors in the competition, to the highest. It was a clever way to keep the crowd interested, and the beer flowing.

When the Barker hopped up on stage, she was accompanied by a little girl dressed in a jester’s costume. The crowd was smitten with her, and the little blond girl with bright blue eyes, who couldn’t be more then four.

She was the first one. She had a custom lute, made for her small fingers. It was roughshod, but it worked. Geralt watched as the little girl was helped onto the stool. The Barker helped her tune her lute, and then she turned to the crowd.

The song was one only a four-year-old could make. The chords were simple, offkey sometimes, but the lyrics, and how at one point the young girl had gotten lost in the song, and repeated a chorus a few times too many, wooed the crowd. When she was done, she got a standing ovation, which made her blush, and hide behind the barker’s skirts. Her name was Priscilla, and Geralt thought it a strange name.

The next came the actual competition. It meandered from boring, to off key, to overlong, and then over short. True to the competition’s nature, the music got better and better, and by the time they reached the middle of the competition Geralt had to admit that there was actual talent here. For a moment the crowd had turned angry, when a young bardling sang a song painting Ellander in a bad light. He had to be pulled off stage, and the barker had to apologize, as they didn’t prescreen any of the songs. But then, He heard the name Essie, and his ears perked.

The girl who walked onto the stage was young. Younger then Geralt expected. She couldn’t have been much into her teen years, yet she walked across the stage with confidence. Her hair was dark gold, and long and loose. This set some of the men to whistling at her, but she paid them no mind. She had deep blue eyes, which scanned the crowd.

When she began to sing, Geralt got chills. She was singing a song of her own make, about a mermaid who had fallen in love with an elf. It was haunting, and her voice was deep, rich, and strong. She wove the tail aptly, and only fumbled twice, getting one chord off key, and her voice stumbled over a few words in the second verse. The crowd was riveted, and Geralt could honestly see why she was a favorite of the competition. The song ended on a bittersweet note, as the mermaid gave up her love for the elf so he could have a family on the shore, and in doing so, her own life faded away into the waters.

There were tears in the eyes of the crowd as they thundered their applause. Women and men alike wept, and it was only when the crowd erupted that Essie showed the slightest bit of nervousness. She exhaled shakily, and her skin was pale and sweaty, but she turned to the crowd and smiled brilliantly. When she exited the stage, the barker called up the next competitor. His actual name was Valdo, and Geralt thought that unfortunate.

When he took to the stage, Geralt studied him. He was a slight man, perhaps a year younger the Jaskier. He was short, and he was striking. He had one blue eye, and one hazel eye, and he was also a showman. He smiled at the crowd, his voice soft and melodic on it’s own. He bowed softly, and gave his introduction setting the stage for the tale he was going to sing about.

He was very technically apt, and Geralt had to admit, his voice, nearly a falsetto, was very pleasing. He didn’t miss a note, and his playing skills, of which he had a symphonia, were absolutely perfect. But that was the problem. His song was safe, it was one which the crowd would latch on to because of the universalness of the lyrics. It was a touch too slow to rile the crowd, but not slow enough for the emotion of the piece, if there was any, to shine through. It was, in a word, bland. Like boiled oats.

The crowd however, appreciated it. There was a resounding applause, and many comments on his technical skills, and the quality of his voice. And, since Geralt was being honest with himself at that moment, he really did deserve to be in the top three. Geralt was just biased.

Valdo left the stage and people were still cheering, some were even chanting his name. The barker had to quiet them all down.

“And now, a voice that is becoming well known throughout these lands, Jaskier!”

Geralt’s heart stopped when Jaskier appeared on the steps, and then he instantly groaned, as Jaskier lost his footing and tripped up the last step. The crowd giggled, and Geralt could hear and smell women looking to him, and swooning.

“My my! They must warn a fellow before lifting the stage upon his entrance!” Jaskier smiled winningly and laughed, and the crowed absolutely howled with laughter alongside him. Jaskier pulled out his lute, which had several people murmuring, and he sauntered to the very edge of the stage. Unlike Essie and Valdo, he completely ignored the stool in the center of the stage.

“Oh, ho! Such a lively crowd we have tonight, and, as luck would have it, they saved the best, for last.” He smiled again, and plucked a trilling note on his lute, and the crowd began to quiet, murmuring.

“The tale I tell this night, is one of bravery, and battle.” Jaskier’s face grew serious. And he began to speak, his fingers threading along the lute, and adding emphasis to his words.

“It was dark when I arrived, Under cover of the stars

The town was tense, full of fire and crossbars.

The tavern was dingy, slimy and seedy

The tavern proprietor was begging, and needy.

The people were sick, angry and starving

“The edge of the world” wasn’t worth my last farthing.

The tender bemoaned that they needed some help

Their food had been cursed by a curly horned whelp.

I tried to bring joy, beauty and music

But the mood was so tense, I loosened my guzik

The quiet of the room gave way to strange voices

And I honestly was regretting my poor life choices.

Sleep only came when the cock crowed it’s first

The crowd when I played, thought my music the worst.

I was starving, saddened, angered and defeated

My coin purse spit moths, my charity depleted.

Not caring any more for the state of my self

I turned from the crowd and under the shelf,

I spotted a man dressed in black, silent and brooding

He was angry and tense, bad humors exuding.

I asked him what he thought of my musical style

He said “Fuck off bard” made to leave without a smile.

It was then that I learned who this man really was

A witcher in the flesh, my mind was abuzz.

I figured out who he was, his hair snow white.

Geralt of Rivia, and I had guessed right.

He turned to leave, annoyed with my presence,

When the tavern proprietor tempted him with a contract in essence.

And that my friends is where my tale begins,

As the witcher began his hunt, well away from the inns.”

The crowd was glued to him, in a way they hadn’t been for Master Marx, and Essie.

He began to play the first notes, and Geralt cursed silently as Jaskier trickled the notes like honey. It built up, and then he began to sing toss a coin, the song he had been working on since they had left lower Posada. The song he was trying to sing at every tavern they stopped at. The song, that Geralt begrudgingly admitted, had at least a few extra coins tossed his way, even if they were just a few coppers here and there.

The way he sang it this time, was different. He was dancing across the stage, making motions and sweeps with his lute, and singing to the crowd who were rapt. When he made the pun about the sylvan not being bleat, the crowd was caught off guard, and laughter and cheering began just as Jaskier launched into the main chorus. The song was designed to let that first chorus sink in, but unlike most songs, when the second verse began, it began strong, daring, and Jaskier had gained a seriousness to his face, which had the crowd wide eyed. He played the crowd like he did his lute, adjusting the song on the fly to pull emotions out of them. Geralt could smell the stress and tension and the hope and fear which rippled through their scents, and then as the story reached it’s conclusion, he launched into the chorus, and it is here, that Geralt knew that Jaskier was a true master of his craft.

The words were so simple, and the pause near the beginning of the first round of the verse, had burned the lyrics into the minds of the crowd. Within the second line, the crowd was belting the chorus right alongside Jaskier, who’s face had split into a grin. It was then, as people looked around at one another, their elation reaching it’s peak, that a few noticed Geralt.

“Oh shit, that’s him… it’s the truth then!”

“Is that him? Geralt? His eyes… so strange…”

“It’s him mummy it’s him! The man in the song!”

Geralt pulled away, into the shadows as the crowd roared around him, the lyrics coming from every voice. When the song ended, Jaskier was breathing hard, his cheeks rosy, his blue eyes sparkling in the stage light. The crowd was besotted, cheering, whistling. Hats were thrown, people were jostled, and it was clear that of all the competitors tonight, Jaskier had given the crowd what it wanted.

“Thank you! Thank you all!” Jaskier beamed and the barker was beside him, smiling sultry, and leading him to the eves where the other competitors lay in wait.

The judges then came up on stage, and deliberated quietly amongst themselves as the crowd began to poorly mimic Jaskier’s song in their excitement. They eventually turned, and announced the top five.

Essie had been fifth, and she looked very excited about it. She smiled winningly, and took the ribbon from the head judge who spoke in low tones, but she beamed and blushed, and then went to the edge of the stage where she waved the ribbon and the crowd Cheered for her.

The next two were bards that were more technically accurate then Essie, and both of them were locals. They smiled proudly as the crowd chanted their names and joked with them a little.

Geralt looked to Jaskier, who was fingering his lute, his eyes awash with nervousness. Then he looked to master Marx who was smiling dully.

When the judges announced Second place, he was surprised, honestly, because Master Marx, who had been the most technically accurate bard in the competition had taken second.

Excitement bloomed through Geralt, as Jaskier’s eyes widened, and a grin that had to hurt the poor bards cheeks stretched across his face. He watched with pride, and only the smallest bit of annoyance, as Jaskier approached the judges who were beaming. They congratulated him, and placed a medal around his neck which shown in gold, and they promised a prize purse to be delivered to his lodgings, and thanked him.

Jaskier in turn thanked the crowd, and the crowd demanded an encore.

Geralt smiled, as Jaskier grinned and began to play once more.

“You’re lucky you are here now, Master Witcher.” The grizzled old bar tender drawled, as Geralt seated himself at the empty bar. “In an hour or two, it’s going to be all I can do to keep up with the rabblerousing drunks that will come stumbling in here. The inn is full up, but you are welcome to some vittles, and a cold ale.”

“I’ll take both.” Geralt murmured, and removed the hood of his cloak. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Not enough kindness in the world for those who suffer your lot, Master Witcher.” He smiled showing missing teeth. “You brought Mother Nenneke the dragon’s root which helped the soothsayers find my lost pup. Eh Dingle?”

There was a groan and a loud fart from a very lazy looking dog, who was sprawled out behind the bar. It was followed by a low thumping as the dog wagged his tail lazily.

“Right lot of wind that one has.” The Bartender said fondly. “Settle in, witcher, it will only be a moment.”

Geralt ate some fresh roast duck, which honestly was cooked beyond perfection. The skin was crispy, and the vegetables alongside it were fresh and vibrant. The ale was good, not watered down, and it was cold. It chased some of the heat of the day away.

Geralt was writing in his journal when voices began to drift in, and footsteps were heard outside.

The doors slammed open, and Jaskier, surrounded by a crowd of happy drunk hangers on burst through the door.

“And he returns! The champion!” Jaskier was beaming at the bartender. Then his eyes flashed to Geralt.

“Geralt! Oh, Geralt you missed it!” He charged over to him, and slammed into him, wrapping his arms around Geralt in a hug, which Geralt tentatively returned, feeling the eyes and the now silent voices of the crowd which had been following Jaskier heavily.

“I saw, was there for the whole competition.” Geralt mumbled, and Jaskier drew back in surprise.

“Really?”

“That Essie is going to be one to watch.” Geralt smirked, and Jaskier’s eyes widened before his mouth split into a grin.

“Oh, you saw it! You really came! How was it!”

“Loud.” Geralt snorted.

“This is him?” One of the men from the now silent and stunned crowd looked to Geralt. “It wasn’t just a tale?”

Jaskier scoffed, and then brushed Geralt off and straightened his cloak.

“Of course, it isn’t, I told you, I am traveling with him.” Jaskier stated. “He has agreed, though reluctantly in turns, to tolerate my presence as it were.”

“A real witcher?” Another voice, gasped.

“Yes, yes! We have established this.” Jaskier waved his hand and turned to the unamused barkeep. “Vittles dear sir, and a cold ale so I can rest this weary throat! Come on Geralt, to a low table, I wish to sit properly.”

Geralt followed him as the crowd began to shuffle in, staring at the two of them for a moment, before they realized that the bar was now empty, and they scrambled for places and began to make orders.

Jaskier greeted several people who came to offer him congratulations, and asked some small questions, but eventually they were left alone, and Jaskier dove into his food.

“Just look at him.” Jaskier was on his second ale, and he was scowling into the crowd where Valdo Marx had taken up a post, and was laughing lightly. “Bloody git, follows me around like a lost puppy.”

“What he do to you, besides outclass you technically.” Geralt grinned as Jaskier looked up to him, genuinely affronted.

“He is without a doubt, the most insufferable prick you shall ever put your eyes on, Geralt, mark my words.” Jaskier hissed out sloshing his ale around and spilling it partially on the dirtied floor. “He is from Cidaris, and I swear Ferrant sent him to spy on me.”

Valdo smiled, and laughed as a woman he was with told some sort of joke. His eyes crinkled, and his smile was genuine.

“He looks an okay sort, for a bard.” Geralt hummed and took a sip of his own ale.

“You do not understand the amount of suffering I go through when I see him, Geralt.” Jaskier had leaned forward. “He bloody well thinks he shits gold, and he is the gods gift to the music program, never mind I have tutored him for going on two years now? Three? I want to wring his scrawny little neck.”

Geralt chuckled and watched as Valdo disengaged from the crowd and began to walk to their table.

“Just when I think I am rid of him he manages to…”

“Pardon the interruption.” Valdo said sheepishly, his cheeks rosy with drink. Jaskier jumps out of his chair, and this time he does loose control of his ale, which splashes against the wall. “I Just wanted to come over and congratulate you Professor Jaskier.”

“Professor?” Geralt cocked a brow smirking.

“Ah Valdo, my most brilliant student.” Jaskier grit his teeth and smiled up to him. “I am glad to see you are spending your summer wisely.”

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” Valdo said, and then cleared his throat. “Your performance was a brilliant piece. I just wanted to say that. I was moved, and it was very catchy. I think I will have the song stuck in my ears for days. And the way you made it playable? I do believe it will be sung in taverns centuries from now. At the very least it will rival Fishmongers Daughter.”

Jaskier nodded, but his knuckles were turning white along his tankard.

“And you must be the witcher.” Valdo turned and nodded to Geralt softly. “Thank you for keeping him safe, we were all worried when he took off in the spring. There was a betting pool actually, one which I am likely to win handily.”

“What was the bet?” Geralt felt his hackles rise a little.

“He would either come back threadbare and defeated, or he would come back proud and decorated.” Valdo laughed, and again, it was genuine. “With you beside him it could go either way I am sure, but I am hoping you get him back in one piece.”

Geralt grunted, and looked to Jaskier, who was chewing on his lip.

“In any case, it was if not a pleasure, then an education to see you in the flesh, Master Geralt.” Valdo bowed gracefully. “And Professor Julian, I look forward to hearing more stories in creative compositions.”

“Safe travels Valdo.” Jaskier stated through a clenched teeth smile.

As soon as the other troubadour turned to the bar taking up a post, and talking to an older Gentleman and lady, Jaskier sighed, and the tension left him.

“He was genuinely nice.” Geralt stated unimpressed.

“And that’s just it!” Jaskier gestured wildly, nearly hitting one of the serving men as he passed with arms full of what smelled like smoked salmon and soft cheese. “How many genuinely nice people do you know?”

“You are asking the wrong person.” Geralt looks at Valdo again. The other bard is smiling, laughing.

“I am asking the right person.” Jaskier states firmly. “How many truly nice people do you know?”

“One.” Geralt states, looking at Jaskier evenly. “You.”

“See and that’s my point… I…” Jaskier stopped mid rant, and looked to Geralt. His eyes welled with tears.

“You think I’m nice…” He stammered as Geralt stood up, his ears heating.

“Come on, too much excitement for you today.” Geralt hauls him up, and Jaskier is unsteady on his feet.

“Did you hear that!” Jaskier wipes at his eyes and stumbles into someone. “He think’s I am nice.”

“You’re a drunk cad, winner o’the competition or not.” The man whose lapels he had grabbed pushed him back and Geralt caught him.

“Come on you lush.” Geralt mumbled as Jaskier grabbed his arm to steady himself. “Where is your room.”

Jaskier stumbled down the hallway to a staircase.

They were on the third floor, and when they pushed through the door Geralt frowned.

“This is your room?” Geralt asked.

“It is,” Jaskier frowned. “Did you mean what you said down there? You think I am nice?”

Geralt’s ears heated again. And he grunted.

“I am not nice.” Jaskier sniffed. “I am a horrible cad.”

“Come on, Jask, let’s get you dressed for bed.”

Geralt helped him, and he realized how much of Jaskier’s current state wasn’t the ale, but rather how tired he was.

“When did you sleep last?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier looked up to him blearily.

“Felt wrong, here without you.” He murmured. “Slept last night, but didn’t sleep well. Will you stay with me?”

Geralt hesitated for a moment, then looked to the bed.

“It can’t be helped.” He growled, and Jaskier wiped at his eyes again.

“You did well, by the way.” Geralt said as Jaskier pulled himself on top of the sheets. It was too hot to sleep under the covers.

“I am glad you saw me.” Jaskier smiled again, and a tear escaped down his cheek as he settled into the pillow. “I was worried you would leave me behind.”

“Not if I can help it.” Geralt growled low. “Sleep, bard.”

Jaskier shifted once, and then he was out, his breathing even and his heart slowed.

Geralt sat listening to the crowd below them. It had gotten louder and another bard, possibly Valdo, was playing a tune of some sort. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered to Geralt at this moment other than the view of the bard sleeping peacefully.

Geralt stood up, debating if he was going to sleep, or to meditate. The rug in front of the empty hearth looked inviting, but the toll of talking to Nenneke, and worrying about everything from Roach to Jaskier had Geralt yawning.

He quickly stripped himself to his braies, his armor was still at the temple. He had told Nenneke he would be returning likely in the morning. When he crawled onto the bed, he sighed. It was clean, it had been recently restuffed with what smelled like down and clean flax. But the thing that it smelled like more than anything, was Jaskier. Geralt laid down beside the bard, looking at him as he slept. Without knowing what he was doing, he reached out and cupped the bard’s cheek. Jaskier sighed and nuzzled into it, but made no other movements.

His skin was soft, oily from the heat, and warm. That feeling in Geralt’s chest and neck came back, and he sighed.

He withdrew his hand and in a matter of moment’s he was asleep.

“Ah I shall remember the visit to the temple of Melitele fondly for the rest of my days.” Jaskier was walking beside Geralt and Roach, who had perked up since being under the care of the priestesses. “The wisdom of Nenneke, the beauty of the mute Iola. All the lovely little initiates with their frocks and…”

“You don’t have to lie about it.” Geralt grumbled, the air had grown humid and heavy, the frogs and cicadas were croaking a song, and the birds panted from the branches which graced the road.

“Geralt, I can tell you one thing about myself, and that is I love music.” He stated plucking a sour note on his lute. “And I can tell you another, that song? Every word I wrote in it was true. People laugh at it. They think it parody, but now that my own eyes have seen the main temple the priestesses call home, every last word of it is true. I have never in my life felt so wrong footed. Nor, since I left my fathers court, had I ever been looked at like a show pony rather then a humble bard.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“And never in my life, has anyone ever looked at me like Mother Nenneke did.” Jaskier shuddered. “Are you sure she is a woman?”

“No.” Geralt said honestly, as she had been around when he was just a child, nearly a century ago.

“I will only forgive them of their foul treatment of me, because they treated Roach and you right.” Jaskier declared, and Roach, annoyed with the bards chaotic movements, moved to nip him.

Jaskier continued to rant for a while, and Geralt found himself smiling.

What happened at the temple was Nenneke calling the bard out on several things. Geralt knew she meant well, but Jaskier had been indignant about it. Him being indignant, ment that he went to pout. Where he chose to pout was at the meditation fountain, where he had a run-in with Iola first. The mute soothsayer was not a pushover, and so when Jaskier had begun to flirt with her mercilessly, when she should have been meditating, she had enough of his games.

It had wound up with Geralt and Nenneke walking in as Jaskier was thrown against a wall of ivy, with Iola behind him pinning him to the wall.

It never dawned on Jaskier that Melitele’s temple, and Melitele herself represented the power of women. Iola was a soothsayer and a mute, but she communed to Melitele, through sexual acts. Nenneke had been angry, but told Iola to give him a reading.

It had led to Jaskier standing in the middle of the meditation fountain, soaking wet. Iola had laughed at him, silently, when he couldn’t get erect. Geralt had laughed too, because Jaskier, who had been a braggart about his prowess, had nothing to show for it other then a very limp dick, and a soaking wet person. He had attempted to back away to save his dignity, when he tripped over his lowered pants, and went headfirst into the fountain.

It was, in a word, a disaster. But it had been so comical, that Geralt had been having trouble holding back teasing the bard. Nenneke pulled Geralt aside, when they went to leave, and had told him that the bard would be a handful, and that she wished him luck. What she meant was Jaskier was a lost cause, and Geralt was an idiot. He took it for the approval it was, and they had left out shortly thereafter.

As the day grew warmer still, and the clouds began to build, Geralt knew they would need to seek shelter. They were heading south, towards Maribor. The festival had yielded several leads for Geralt for work. The first of which, was in Carerras, where apparently a monster had taken up residence near a dam. It used to be, just about every village he passed had work, but nowadays it was slim pickings.

Geralt felt the wind shift, and frowned.

“We have to find shelter.” He announced, which stopped Jaskier in his tracks.

“Is it going to be bad?” Jaskier asked, looking through the sunlit fields to the fluffy clouds which were quickly arching up into the sky.

“We have an hour, that shelf?” Geralt pointed to the largest of the clouds. “It looks like the anvil of a blacksmith. It acts like one too, taking the energy of the storm and pushing it out. We need to find a cave, Roach can’t be out in this.”

“What do I need to do?” Jaskier asked, the first small whiff of fear hitting his scent.

“Stay silent, and walk silently if you can.” Geralt stated. “I need to listen for changes in the land.”

Jaskier looked at him dubiously, then he looked back to the clouds.

“Better pack up my friend here.” Jaskier patted his lute, and grabbed it’s case from Roach’s back. Once the lute case had been strapped to Jaskier’s back, they began to walk again.

Geralt listened to the breeze as it began to ruffle the leaves of the trees softly. The leaves themselves had turned and had gone limp. A sure sign that what was coming was not going to be pleasant.

A half hour passed, the wind had picked up a little, and the sound of distant thunder hit their ears. Jaskier was walking tensely, the fear smell gripping tighter to him. He looked around, and stopped, frowning.

“Geralt, up that hill, what is that?”

Geralt turned, and he frowned.

“Looks like a cabin.”

“Should we see if it’s occupied?” Jaskier asked hopefully. “Perhaps they wouldn’t mind a couple of weary travelers from the road indulging in their hospitality.”

Geralt grunted and led Roach off the main road.

The cabin was a wash. It had looked fine from the road, but the roof had collapsed, and one of the walls was creaking in the light wind. Jaskier tried not to feel crestfallen when the wind shifted again, and a low moaning whistle met their ears. Geralt perked up immediately.

“This way.” Geralt grumbled, and Jaskier snorted.

“He hears the moan of the dead, and he has us walk towards it.” Jaskier pouted.

A few minutes later, Geralt had found the entrance to an old mine, which had been overgrown with hanging moss. It had been cleared out, only a few boxes left. Geralt let Roach go, so she could eat for a little while, before the storm hit.

“Well, this is… dreary.” Jaskier looked around, squinting into the dark.

“I see some old torches.” Geralt stated, and left Jaskier standing.

There was a noise, and the woosh of flames. Geralt lit up in stark relief in the brightness of the torch.

“Well at least we won’t have to light a full fire.” Jaskier sighed, and used a rag to wipe his forehead.

“Help me set up camp, we won’t be able to move from here till the mid morning.” Geralt stated firmly.

Jaskier immediately darted outside to find good firewood and kindling, and Geralt brought in the saddlebags and their bedrolls. When Jaskier returned with a good bit of it, Geralt had already set up everything. His new bedroll had been set beside Jaskier’s.

When Jaskier set down the wood, Geralt went out to make sure that the entrance wouldn’t cave in on them, and he was pleased to find that the rock the entrance had been blasted into was sound and sturdy.

Jaskier came out to join him, the sky was clouding over, and the thunder was now much louder. Every so often a flash in the distance would make Jaskier flinch.

It was after one of the flashes that Roach laid her ears back, and went into the cave on her own, whinnying nervously. Geralt’s eyes hardened.

“It’s coming.” Geralt pointed to the small valley nestled between the hills.

Jaskier stepped forward to look, and saw the rain line. Then he heard the oncoming wind and watched the trees a few miles away suddenly bend violently.

“Get to the entrance, this is going to be bad.” Geralt was pushing Jaskier, and Jaskier went willingly, watching and now hearing the roar which was coming from the valley. Lightning flashed, and then the wind hit the entrance of the cave so violently Jaskier was knocked off his feet, and the hair tie was ripped from Geralt’s hair. The sound was deafening, and the tops of the trees outside the mine were cracking.

“Holy shit, Geralt what…”

“Straight-line winds.” Geralt snarled. “This isn’t a normal storm. It’s not meant for us, but a druid is likely trying to flood the Ina.”

“Well, I suppose there is nothing to do but wait.” Jaskier shrugged and turned back.

“You can play your music.” Geralt murmured, his voice echoing a little.

“Oh!” Jaskier looked around the room, and then he cackled. “Oh, I shall, Geralt, just you wait!”

Within seconds, the sound of Jaskier’s lute overpowered the wind and rain.

Within minutes, he had settled on a set of haunting highwayman songs, his voice echoing through the cave.

Geralt set up the pot, and began to put some vegetables and some cured meat into it, and then dumped some water from a skin in it.

Within moments they had a stew simmering, while Jaskier sang and played, his eyes and voice miles from where they were.

Geralt waited for a break in the songs.

“Hey, I have something for you.” Geralt said, reaching into the saddlebag.

“Something for me?” Jaskier looked at him confused.

Geralt nodded. Geralt handed the tincture over to Jaskier.

“Monster repellent, so I don’t have to keep pissing around the campsites.” Geralt smiled ruefully, and Jaskier blushed.

“You know I truly didn’t mind that, even though I complained.” Jaskier murmured, and then popped the cork on it. “What is it?”

He took a sniff, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“I ah… concentrated my urine.” Geralt felt his ears heat. “Nenneke helped me come up with a scent that wouldn’t bother me, and could mask the more… unpleasant part of it. She said the concentrate was no different than a castoreum, and she said that it should help even better than normal.”

“Your… urine?” Geralt frowned as Jaskier’s cheeks reddened, and the scent of early arousal began.

“As I said.” Geralt nodded.

Jaskier took a tentative sniff of it, and his eyes widened. He quickly capped it and took a deep breath.

“That is by far one of the most complex scents I have ever had the pleasure of smelling.” Jaskier seemed rather breathless. “Are you sure that’s piss?”

“I am sure.” Geralt’s nose wrinkled. “I know what my own piss smells like Jaskier.”

“Well, thank you.” Jaskier said, and it was a small thing, which carried a blush. “I have never been flattered to be pissed on before, but here we are.”

Geralt laughed, and Jaskier did too, but it was a strange laugh, a strained laugh, and the smell of arousal didn’t go away. With the storm howling outside, and the stew an hour or so from being edible Geralt decided he would test this new feeling inside him out a little. He looked at Jaskier, who was fingering his lute again, his eyes looking at the fire distracted. The witcher felt predatory. His prey was distracted. Geralt slowly shifted out of Jaskier’s peripheral vision, and snuck up behind him. Jaskier sighed, his expression becoming pensive.

“You seem distracted.” Geralt breathed into Jaskier’s ear. The Bard stiffened and a momentary slap of fear scent hit. “Hmmmm, I wonder what monsters lurk in caves.”

He could feel Jaskier’s body temperature spike, and watched the hairs on the bards neck stand on end.

“And just what would a monster like of little ol’ me?” Jaskier hadn’t moved except to put his lute down.

“Perhaps he only wants a taste.” Geralt growled low in his throat, and began to lick at the long-exposed neck of the bard. The reaction was spellbinding. Jaskier hissed as Geralt licked and then bit down softly, letting his fangs pinch Jaskier’s skin without breaking or bruising. “Perhaps he wants more. The scent of your want, the feel of your skin…

Geralt moved into him, and let his hardened cock trapped in his riding leathers push into Jaskier’s back. Then he shifted his hand around Jaskier’s front, and palmed at his cock.

“Foul beast.” Jaskier breathed and then moaned as Geralt pressed his hand down grinding it against Jaskier’s erection. “Fuck, Geralt… don’t tease me sooo.”

Geralt had him spun around and pinned in an instant. He made sure to lay him well clear of his lute, and then his mouth was upon the bards. Jaskier opened immediately to him, and the want flooded through Geralt. He kissed Jaskier viciously, pulling at his lips with his teeth, and licking around his mouth. Jaskier’s tongue stuck out chasing him, and Geralt pulled back enough to see the bard, his eyes blown nearly black and his tongue lolled out like a dog in heat.

“Clothes, Jaskier, now.” Geralt growled and sat up, tugging at his armor. Jaskier’s eyes grew wide and he scrambled to untie his breaches.

Geralt had his armor off in record time. Jaskier had only managed to get a single leg out of his pants by the time Geralt had managed to be stripped down to just his leathers. The sight of Jaskier struggling, had Geralt grinning, and he reached over to his belt pouch and grabbed the oil. He had gotten it from the temple, while Jaskier had been making a fool of himself.

Jaskier cursed, and then tried for his shirt, but Geralt was there.

“Taking too long.” Geralt growled, freeing his cock. He was on top of Jaskier again, this time rucking up his shirt and kissing along his exposed stomach.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck!” Geralt grinned as Jaskier writhed, and then he sucked Jaskier’s nipple into his mouth.

The bard screamed, and somewhere near the entrance of the cave, Roach whinnied at the sound. Jaskier had arched up, and his cock was pushing thick silky strands of cum all along his furred belly.

“Ahhh!” Jaskier gasped as Geralt let go, growling low in his throat.

The witcher moved down his belly, and began to lick at the spend.

Fuck, he tasted so good! The taste of Jaskier’s seed on his tongue was ambrosia. It was the very scent of the bards arousal concentrated. He licked and sucked every bit of it from him, and enjoyed the taste of sweat and unwashed body beneath it.

He buried his face in Jaskier’s shorthairs, and then licked alongside his twitching cock, which was attempting to soften.

“Oh fuck, more, please Geralt, please!” Jaskier cried out as Geralt sucked him down. In it’s half hard state it still hit the back of Geralt’s throat, and that made Geralt purr.

“Oh, oh! Your mouth! So, fucking… ahhh!” Jaskier’s cock began to fill quickly again.

Geralt growled around it as Jaskier’s hips began to move. He pulled away with a rude sounding pop, and Jaskier’s head hit the ground and he groaned low in his throat.

“You are going to kill me with that mouth of yours.” Jaskier panted.

“I am, I need you Jaskier.” Geralt growled, opening the bottle, and coating the fingers of one hand liberally. “If you say stop, I will, but… I need you. I am riled. I am a monster, and I won’t be able to fight it unless you say stop. Even then I…. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Jaskier looked at him, and the haze of arousal lifted for a moment.

“Geralt, I will say this once.” Jaskier’s eyes had hardened. “I want this, I want you… I…”

Geralt’s mouth was on his again, and the bard arched up against him. Geralt pulled away from him just far enough that he could feel the brush of the bard’s lips on his.

“If it’s too much, tell me.” Geralt moved his oil coated fingers between Jaskier’s thighs.

He pressed along the tightened furl there, feeling out the muscle, and slicking the outer surface. He pressed a little to get the feel of the muscle, and when he felt Jaskier bare down, he pushed in. He didn’t have to push far before he hooked his finger, and Jaskier fluttered against him, his breath pushing out over Geralt’s lips.

“Oh fuck.” Jaskier rolled his hips as Great slid a single digit barely inside and pressed and rubbed against the swollen nub just behind Jaskier’s entrance. “Damnit! How are you so good at this… ahhh!”

Geralt kissed him again, and used the distraction to put his second finger in, this time going deeper. He pushed to his knuckles, and then pressed on Jaskier’s perineum, massaging him from the outside as well as within. He pulled away and was purring.

“Relax…”

“Oh, you tell me to relax now…” Jaskier rolled his hips as Geralt moved his fingers to urge the ring of muscle to loosen further. “Fuck I want you in me, I want to feel that massive throbbing member tearing me apart. Fuck, do you know how hard it was to not throw you over and ride you the first time?”

“One more, you are almost ready.” Geralt growled and moved to nip at Jaskier’s neck and collarbone.

“I am more experienced than you think!” Jaskier snarled and bucked as Geralt nipped his collarbone. “Two was plenty!”

Geralt snarled at the idea of someone else taking him. He wasn’t jealous by nature, but the mention of it in the middle of the act itself made Geralt’s cock pulse, and the need to claim the bard as his take front and center.

“You are mine.” Geralt growled, and moved up. He grabbed some more oil, and slicked his cock with it. He grabbed his cock, and grabbed Jaskier’s hip with his hand. “You are mine!”

He snarled as he guided himself into Jaskier’s slick asshole. It was tight, warm, and sinful. Jaskier cried out as Geralt took his other hand away, still slicked with oil, and grabbed his other hip, holding Jaskier up as if he weighed nothing.

“Oh, fuck oh fuck!” Geralt could feel Jaskier sucking him in. The bards ass was greedy, and his whole body shuddered. “Fuck Geralt, how…. How much more?”

Geralt snarled and pushed forward a little, then pulled back. The slick oil pooled around his cock a little, and then he pushed forward again. “You’ll take it all.”

“Fuck yes… Fuck! Keep it going! Fuck!” Jaskier rolled his hips as Geralt drew out again a little, and pushed forward even more. The slow thrust had Jaskier leaking precum into his bellybutton, his dick having filled out fully. It was red and pulsing against his stomach. Geralt withdrew a final time, and this time he pushed all the way in.

“Geralt… Oh fuck… Geralt look!” Jaskier’s hand had flown up to his belly, and he pressed down.

Geralt’s vision went hazy as he looked down and realized he could see the bulge where his cock pressed into Jaskier’s insides.

Geralt’s control broke.

He roared, and Jaskier’s hands scrambled to the dirt of the floor. Geralt’s eyes were glued to the bulge of his cock swelling Jaskier’s stomach as he thrust at a punishing pace. He had never paid attention to it before, but now that he had seen it. It made him growl and snarl. He gripped Jaskier’s hips and fucked into him. Jaskier’s scent was full of lust and adrenaline. There was no pain, there was no panic. It was the best thing Geralt could have imagined.

“I want to watch you cum, over and over again on my cock.” Geralt snarled, slamming into Jaskier. “Take hold of yourself, I want to feel it!”

“Oh, fuck. Oh!!!!” Jaskier’s babbling had turned into nothing but reedy whines and wanton moans as he grabbed ahold of his cock and began to fuck into it with every thrust Geralt made.

Geralt was lost in the haze of it. Hypnotized by the hand moving along Jaskier’s cock as his belly bulged with each thrust. He was stuck in a miasma of scents, his lips pulled back and snarling as he let himself become drunk off the smell of sex and want. He watched hungrily as Jaskier’s balls drew up, and felt his doing the same. Then he felt Jaskier begin to tighten, his stomach muscles clenching, and his hand speeding up.

“Sing for me.” Geralt snarled.

“Ahhh ahhh!!!!!” Jaskier’s whole body arched, and his legs clung to Geralt’s back. He was cumming, again in long large bursts of pearly white. The smell, the feel, and the sight had Geralt roaring as he thrust in twice more.

The orgasm hit hard, and his whole world seemed to still. His hearing stopped, his breathing stopped, and only the scent of cum and the feel of Jaskier tensing around him broke through. Pleasure bit into him, causing his hips to move in abortive Jerks as he flooded Jaskier’s inside with his seed.

“You are mine.” Geralt snarled suddenly, and bit into Jaskier’s throat. He tasted blood, but Jaskier’s scent just flickered for a moment with pain, and then he was keening again.

“Fuck I am yours… fuck! Ahhh!”

Geralt sucked at him, and licked at the wound for a moment, before his arousal, hardly sated by one orgasm began to wrap it’s pointed fist around him.

“More, Geralt, more!” Jaskier panted, and Geralt moved.

The next hour was spent with Jaskier keening in overstimulation, tears of pleasure running down his cheeks. The scent of pain began to sneak in past his third orgasm, but alongside it came fresh waves of arousal.

Geralt was beyond words when Jaskier grabbed him and flipped their positions. Jaskier was lust drunk, his body a vessel for Geralt’s pleasure. He leaned back and began to ride Geralt, bouncing off his cock like he was made for it. It was only then that Geralt realized that Jaskier was keeping up with him. A human was keeping up with him, and he was wanting more! Geralt whined and keened as Jaskier thrust, his hips moving wildly, his hands pinching his nipples.

Geralt looked up at him, awestruck, and it was like he was witnessing a god. Jaskier was making high noises of pleasure and breathy ah’s

“Fuck! Geralt! One more… just one! Fuck! Come on!” Jaskier’s movements began to get frantic, and Geralt hissed, one hand digging into Jaskier’s tensing thigh, and the other moving to fist Jaskier’s weeping cock.

“Oh fuck! Oh yes! Like that! Ahhh!”

Jaskier slammed himself down on Geralt, screaming out his orgasm. The sight of Jaskier losing control, the sight of him looming over him, and the feel of his muscles milking Geralt from the inside had Geralt’s balls drawing up a final time.

The fire of orgasm sliding through his body had him feeling disconnected. All he knew in the world in this moment was pleasure. His mind was quieting, the beast inside him shuddering. Geralt keened, a noise he would deny making to his dying breath. Jaskier looked down at him, his eyes hazy, and determined.

Geralt stroked the bard as he flooded him, pulse after pulse slopping around his cock, and squirting from Jaskier’s hole.

“Oh fuck… Geralt… Geralt!!!”

Geralt moved as Jaskier’s whole body started to shake. He had the bard in his arms just as Jaskier’s body flew into orgasm. He was shaking, his whole-body arching, and he was drooling, tears running down his cheeks. He screamed out his pleasure as Geralt fisted his cock, milking him through it.

“Oh, fuck Geralt… fuck… I love you!”

Jaskier suddenly stilled, even though his muscles were still trembling. The words echoed through Geralt’s head, and his chest began to clench. In his mind, his masters were screaming at him, telling him of the dangers of love, and how witchers didn’t get it.

“Geralt… I… I didn’t” Jaskier sobs, and Geralt looks to him. Jaskier is hurting. His love is hurting. He encircles the bard with his arms as Jaskier tries to pull away.

“I… I think I love you too…” Geralt breathes against Jaskier’s ear, his own body beginning to shake.

The scent that Geralt hadn’t understood begins to flood around him. It was chasing away the miasma of sex and leaving something much warmer in it’s wake. It finally clicked when Jaskier’s arms clung to Geralt, and he buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder and hair.

“I love you!” Jaskier sobbed. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Geralt felt his eyes stinging, and the feeling in his chest, which had been clenching, and painful, burst open.

He was smelling love.

Love had a scent.

Jaskier’s hips began to move even as he sobbed, and Geralt began to purr.

“I love you Jaskier…” Geralt buried his face into Jaskier’s neck and reached one of his arms between them to stroke Jaskier’s cock. “Fuck, I… I didn’t know… I didn’t know what it felt like.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Jaskier sobbed and his body shuddered. “Fuck, you are so hurt, so angry at the world. No one understands you, no one could see what I saw.”

Geralt’s whole body was raw and vulnerable as instinct drove him to move his hips in slow circles.

“But I did!” Jaskier leans away. “I fucking did you bastard. I love you. I have loved you from the moment I saw you in the tavern. I loved you more when you begged them to let me go. And more still when you came to watch me play. Fuck, I would give everything up just to be with you. I want to give you everything. I want to give you, my soul!”

“I am sorry for not understanding sooner.” Geralt soothed him, and pulled him close, resting their foreheads together. “Fuck, everything about you is perfect. Your voice, your tenacity. You are one of the bravest humans I have ever met, and you didn’t let me push you away. I could get lost in your eyes for hours. I feel safe when you play your lute softly at night when we camp. You feel… you feel like home to me Jaskier. You make me feel like there is a place in this world for me, like I am no longer outside it. Fuck, I love you. But it’s more then that, it feels… it hurts. But it is the best fucking hurt I have ever felt.”

“Kiss me!” Jaskier demands, and Geralt lurches forward.

The kiss this time is different. It is desperate, and full to the brim with a feeling of completion that Geralt didn’t know existed. Their mouths work together in tandem, and their bodies slowly move against each other, drawing out the pleasure in a way Geralt had never experienced before. When their speed increased and they can no longer hold the kiss, they rested their heads together, panting, rolling against one another. Geralt’s hand slowly worked Jaskier’s cock as Jaskier grips at his neck and shoulder.

The build is slow, beautiful. This time when Geralt felt himself getting ready to cum, the feeling started in his groin and traveled outwards to every part of his body. His skin tingled, his breath shuddered. He felt like his heart opened up, and Jaskier’s eyes are on him. Watching as Geralt falls apart beneath him, buried in the slick spend soaked heat of Jaskier’s innards. When the first solid pulse of cum shoots from Geralt’s cock, Jaskier’s eyes roll, and Geralt feel’s the bard’s cock pulsing under his hand. The cum dribbles out lazily as Jaskier grinds down moaning low in pleasure.

“I love you.” He whispered, and it is all Geralt can do to hold him.

When they shakily separate, it’s with smiles, and not a bit of pain. Both of them are tired, emotionally, and physically.

The smell of the stew had Geralt ravenous.

The taste of it is glorious on his tongue.

He is plastered next to Jaskier, their shoulders touching.

Jaskier was strangely quiet as they ate, and every so often a tear found it’s way down the bard’s cheek. Once they are done, they sit in the silence, listening to the sound of the storm outside, and watching the flashes of lightning light up the entrance to the cave. Jaskier is still sniffling, and tears keep coming.

“Geralt?” He looked up to Geralt tentatively. “I want you to sleep with me, I want you to hold me.”

Geralt’s heart breaks a little.

“Alright, Jaskier.” He growled, and Jaskier sniffed again.

When they settle for the night, and Geralt wraps himself around the bard, Jaskier begins to weep again. Geralt thinks he understands why. The burning feeling in his chest has returned, and so as the sting in his eyes. His breaths are shaky. There are memories, dulled by age and trauma, which bubble up. He clings to Jaskier harder as the feelings overwhelm him.

“I love you Jaskier.” Geralt murmured into the bard’s hair. “I love you.”

Jaskier sobbed into his chest.

Sleep comes to them both without warning, the calming black taking away the tears of the bard, and allowing the tears of the witcher to flow.

It had been two months, and fall had hit, though it was just the beginnings. It was still hot, still humid, and now the cloying smell of the trees getting ready to turn added to the scent of the world at large.

Strength had come to Geralt with the admission of love to the bard. A strength Geralt never knew he possessed. Each day he woke up, and he knew, no matter what happened, he would have a place. His mind was calm, and the words of ignorant peasants and villages rolled off his skin like water. None of their words mattered any longer, because the only one he wanted to matter to, was still very much smitten with him.

Jaskier seemed to have calmed. All the nervous energy he had was the result of apparently holding a crush on Geralt for months, and fearing what would happen if he had admitted to it. In its place stood a man who is confident, verbose, and knows what he wants. Jaskier’s songs grow stronger, his confidence is bolstered. He composes two new songs in a month. One, a bawdy tavern tune called “Kerikian Ale”, which he breaks out at the seedier taverns he sings at, joining his lusty repertoire of “Fishmonger’s Daughter” and “Maid from Vicovaro”.

Kerackian Ale is a cheeky song about a virgin lass who goes to seek out the pleasures of the flesh and finds it, and then regrets it. It’s just vague enough to not be so obscene that he is kicked from taverns, and the wordplay is phenomenal. It’s Geralt’s favorite song of all of them.

But something is amiss.

Geralt will go hunting in the evenings when they camp, or come back to the room after a supply run, and find that Jaskier has spent himself while he is away. It’s not concerning per say. But Geralt finds himself more and more curious.

Geralt was on a hunt. It’s a creature the witcher has only encountered very rarely, and from the size of the contract, which has been put out by the lord of the county, Geralt knows it’s serious. Liczyrzepa at one point had been considered guardians of the forest. They were rumored to be men who were hermits who made a pact with a leshy. The reality was, they were hybrid creatures, and they were not guardians of anything. A leshy could be a guardian of a forest, as long as it wasn’t rabid. A Liczyrzepa was a cunning hunter who called the young and lonely to the woods with a sweet voice.

Jaskier actually knew of the risks of this monster, and decided to hang back of his own violation.

It suited Geralt just fine.

It took him nearly three days to track the beast. And another full day to lay out the trap. He couldn’t rush this one, as the creatures were smart. He needed to outsmart it, and that meant taking his time. Their human like intelligence, meant that they were prone to human folly.

The creature was listless, and Geralt only understood why when it returned to it’s layer.

It’s offspring had died.

From the smell of the corpse which the creature had brought out of the cave, it had been poisoned by cave mushrooms.

The Liczyrzepa had been hunting, had been away long enough that it’s babe had gotten hungry enough to eat poison. Geralt didn’t feel bad about what he was set to do. The creature had killed several human men, three elves, two dwarves, and a fairly rich halfling who happened to be one of the continent’s best jewelers. And he had eaten them while they had been alive still. They had watched as their innards were strewn about.

One had made it back to town and had died only after he had told the local alderman what he had seen, and had left a crude drawing. The thing had plenty of game, which they normally would eat, but something was off about the creature, as Geralt watched it move. It’s movements were Jerky, erratic.  

But now he needed to spring the trap.

He whistled, and the creatures ears perked and it’s horned head turned towards him.

Roach moved into the creatures line of sight. And reared up, whinnying.

The creature turned, it’s eyes dilated, and it’s wings unfurled.

It shot across the clearing so quickly had Geralt not had his mutations, there would have been no hope of saving his horse. The second it moved, Geralt let go of the net. There was a screech and the smell of burning flesh, feathers and fur. He charged forwards without hesitation as the creature howled.

Geralt struck it before it had time to lash out.

It was only several more moments of the creature bleeding out and thrashing weakly before Geralt heard it’s heart stop. It was then that he could get a truly good look at the creature. What he saw gave him pause. One of the creature’s antlers had grown strangely, and had pierced the back of the creatures skull. It was a rare thing, but Geralt had seen it in deer and elk before. He studied the creature, sniffing it, tasting it’s flesh. There was no disease about it, it was healthy other then the horn which had split it’s skull. No wonder it wasn’t up to hunting deer.

After packing up his items, he set about dissecting the creatures corpse. He gathered everything on a large a-frame which he attached to Roach. He knew he would get good prices on the feathers, for they made excellent quills, and he would fetch a good price for the head, possibly from the lord, who may want such an oddity on his wall.

When he arrived back to the city, he was met by the lord and his guard.

Sure enough, the lord was willing to pay nearly two hundred crowns more for the head. Geralt left the lord, and went into the city proper to sell the rest. The quills he sold to several vendors, all of which paid him five crowns per feather. The last feather he traded for a new writing quill for Jaskier, and several bottles of his favorite ink. The liver and claws he sold to a local mage of good standing. The reproductive parts he sold to a mage which insisted to his clients, would help them in bed. And finally, the pelt he sold to the tannery.

He walked away with a full purse and went straight to the farrier to get Roach reshoed.

Leaving Roach there, with instructions to return, Geralt went to the inn where he had left Jaskier.

When he walked to the end of the hall, to the room they had rented, he heard something, and paused. It was quiet, but familiar.

“Oh fuck… oh Geralt.” Geralt’s face heated. He opened the door quietly. The smell hit him as soon as he did, and he looked to Jaskier, who was on the floor, a wet rag draped over his face. He was striping his cock with one hand, and in the other he held the open bottle of the monster repellent.

“Oh, fuck yeah, that’s it… mark me… fuck… let me have a taste.” Geralt’s mouth grew dry as Jaskier tilted the small vial and stuck out his tongue. The bottle was nearly empty, and only a few drops hit it. Jaskier whined then and Geralt was frozen as he watched the bards tongue work, and then he drew back and swallowed. “Oh, fuck yes… fuck… piss on me…”

Geralt should turn around. He knew this was private. More private then Jaskier was comfortable sharing, but Geralt couldn’t. He was weak, and his cock was throbbing. Jaskier lifted the rag off his face, and Geralt realized, belatedly, that it wasn’t a rag at all. It was a pair of his braies. Braies that had disappeared shortly after he informed Jaskier that he needed to wash them. They were wet, and they stank of old sweat. Jaskier took his hand away from his cock, and rung the braies out over his face, groaning, his cock thrusting into the air.

“Taste so good… smell… fuck…” He wiggled his hips, and Geralt breathed in, catching his scent. Desperation clung to him.

“Oh fuck… Geralt… I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it much longer.” The shirt fell back on his face again and he reached down to his belly, and the other hand pinched and rubbed at his dick. “Oh fuck… It’s coming… oh… oh, oh!!!!”

His hips arched, and then piss flooded around his hand. Shame and embarrassment joined the scent of increasing arousal as the stream, hard and fast painted him from head to chest. Jaskier directed himself to his mouth, and Geralt nearly let off a strangled moan of his own. What the hell was he doing!

Jaskier was licking at the stream, letting it flood his mouth and swallowing a little, and letting it flood over his cheeks. He gagged and coughed, and whined as he began to stroke himself, still pissing.

“Oh you like that? You like when I lose control?” Jaskier licked his lips. “You want me to drink more?”

The stream hit his mouth again, but it was clumsy, as his hand stoked his cock. His tongue was lolling, his neck and chest were flush and damp. Rivulets of piss ran through the thick hair of his chest and belly, and dripped onto the floor, gathering around him.

“Oh… oh fuck… I am going to cum… I….”

Jaskier arched, and his load shot hard. Some of it landed on the floor well above his head, some of it on his face, and the rest pooled and ran off his stomach. He licked at the cum on his face, and groaned low.

Geralt turned and closed the door silently.

He went behind the tavern, and he stroked himself off in record time. Then he bolted into the city.

He stayed away for a couple more hours. The sun beginning to set when he returned.

This time he heard soft music playing from the room, and he deemed it safe.

When he opened the door, he did so with a grunt, and Jaskier was up and to him in a few short strides.

“Oh fuck! I wasn’t expecting you for another day or so!” Jaskier launched himself at Geralt. He smelled clean, the braies where nowhere to be seen, but the room still smelled of piss.

“It stinks of piss.” Geralt grumbled as he hugged Jaskier, and kissed him.

“I got piss drunk last night.” The lie rolls of Jaskier’s tongue smooth as silk. His heart doesn’t even jump when he tells it. “Quite literally. Is it bad?”

Geralt made an exaggerated sniff.

“It smells like you.” Geralt growled, and kissed the bard again.

“Well, then. I am glad you like the way I smell.” Jaskier beamed, and Geralt growled, pushing him to the floor.

He fucked Jaskier right where he had pissed. The smell was intoxicating, and Jaskier was, in a word enthusiastic.

When Geralt came, he looked at Jaskier, his eyes serious.

“I want to claim you.” Geralt growled, and moved to nip at his neck. “I want you to wear me.”

Jaskier arched his neck, and Geralt bit down, sucking a large bruise there.

“You are mine.” Geralt snarled, and Jaskier groaned, cumming quick and thick.

Two weeks had gone by, and the leaves had begun their change. The nights were cool, the days warm.

Geralt had a plan.

He had to wait for a day which promised a warm night, he had to do it on the path, near water.

They were heading north now, and they were in Kaedwen. Geralt knew this land well.

They had stopped in Buki to let Jaskier play in the tavern for a night, and for Geralt to resupply. He bought three extra waterskins, and filled them, hiding them in Roach’s saddlebag. The warm day began and promised a temperate night.

“You look thirsty.” Geralt supplied, and tossed Jaskier a waterskin.

“Oh, I was! Thank you!” Jaskier beamed, and drank nearly half of it in one go.

He launched into a rant about his next composition, and while he was talking, he was taking intermittent sips of the water. Geralt veered them off the main road, to a farmers road. After a time, Jaskier grunted, and looked to his boots.

“Geralt, when we reach Ard Carraigh remind me to get some new boots.” He said, looking at his boots angrily.

“If your feet are bothering you, ride Roach.” Geralt motioned to the horse.

“OH! Really??” Jaskier scrambled to the horse, and gleefully hopped up into the saddle. “Oh, thank you Geralt, fuck…. I didn’t want to say anything but I have blisters. Blisters, Geralt! I have never had them this bad before.”

“Mmm… here.” Geralt handed him another waterskin, and Jaskier said his thanks and began to rant, this time from atop Roach.

The plan was working perfectly. He kept engaging Jaskier, and Jaskier, without his lute, kept drinking at the waterskin just to give his hands something to do. When he finished that one, he frowned a little, shaking it.

“Here, last one till resupply.” Geralt tried to hide his smile as he handed over another skin.

“Fuck you are a life saver.” Jaskier popped open the lid, and took a few swigs. “Anyway, as I was saying…”

Geralt veered them off again to a trail.

“Just where are we going?” Jaskier had begun to squirm a little, his cheeks coloring.

“Gotta good place to camp.” Geralt grinned and could hear the sound of the creek and waterfall. “Finish that off, we’ll make camp soon.”

“Geralt, stop, I need to piss.” Jaskier squirmed, and Geralt snorted.

“It’s only a few more miles, Jask, hold it.” Geralt’s voice growled, and his cock began to stiffen.

“Fine, fine,” Jaskier took another drink, and then pointed rudely at Geralt. “If I fucking piss myself on top of your horse, it’s your fault.”

“You telling me you can’t hold it?” Geralt looked to him, making a face. Jaskier stammered, his voice filled with indignation.

“I am not a child, Geralt, I can hold it.” Jaskier’s face was flushed with embarrassment. His scent though, his scent had begun to carry that same smell of desperation Geralt had witnessed at the inn.

When they got in hearing range of the waterfall, Jaskier suddenly doubled over.

“Oh fuck, Geralt, how much further…. That… waterfall, I can hear it, it’s…”

“Hold it, Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

When they arrived, Jaskier made a small noise of happiness in the back of his throat.

“Holy fuck, Geralt! This place is beautiful!” He stammered, and then looked away from the waterfall.

“Alright, lets set up camp.” Geralt stopped Roach, and Jaskier groaned as he moved his leg to dismount.

“Oh, thank the gods.” The bard stammered as he grunted and hunched a little.

“Jaskier, I need to ask you something, before we continue on.” Geralt stated, and Jaskier turned to him, concern overtaking his desperation.

“I… can…”

“It has to do with that.” Geralt motioned to Jaskier’s middle, and Jaskier’s face began to heat. “Tell me, how much of the repellent do you have left?”

“N-not much.” Jaskier admitted.

Geralt’s eyes hardened, and he sniffed the air. Fear was there, and arousal.

“You were instructed to only use a few drops at a time.” Geralt moved past him, and began to untack Roach. “I know each time you used it, and only a quarter of the bottle should be gone. Did you spill it?”

He turned to look at Jaskier, who had paled. His mouth moving, but words not coming out. Geralt eyed him, and turned back to Roach, hefting the saddlebags and bedrolls to the ground.

“You silence leaves me with little to go on, so I will ask another question.” Geralt moved to Roach’s head, and removed her bit and bridal. “That day I came back from hunting the Liczyrzepa, the room smelled of your piss. It was fresh, but it also smelled of the repellent. You smelled of it, thickly. I knew you lied because I saw what happened. I saw you, and what you did.”

“Geralt, I can… I can explain.” Jaskier moved to Geralt, and Geralt spun around, causing the bard to gasp, and reach down to cup himself. Humiliation and embarrassment joined the miasma, and the desperation was back again.

“I watched as you stroked yourself, your nose buried in my old unwashed braies. You had soaked them, soaked them in your own piss before placing them on your face.” Geralt didn’t let his eyes leave Jaskier’s “You tasted the repellent, full of my concentrated piss, and I have never smelled you more turned on. You lost control, you wanted to lose control. You found pleasure in it. I don’t understand it. To me, the world holds more information than you could possibly imagine. Every morning after you empty yourself, I take in the scent of it, and I can tell your health by it. I can tell what you have eaten, if you lack nutrition, I can smell if you are ill, tired, or if you are happy and healthy. I can smell so many things from it, but I know, most of humanity does not like the smell of piss. They wrinkle their noses, they complain about it. To me it’s a smell which I can not escape, it’s a part of the landscape of cities and villages. But you acted differently. You complain about my smell all the time, and yet, I caught you in the room, with soiled braies across your face soaked in your own piss, and you were huffing it like Fisstech. I need to know, Jaskier, what do I smell like to you?”

Jaskier’s blue eyes had dilated, and his body was trembling. He was aroused, painfully so. He stepped forward and inhaled.

“You smell, fuck…” Jaskier shuddered and then pressed his nose to Geralt’s neck, slotting their bodies together. Geralt felt his own arousal tip up a notch, as his own cock throbbed. “You smell like sex, pure sex to me, Geralt. I know I said you smell of onions, heartbreak and adventure. You are three days unwashed, and you smell like a man who has been putting himself on edge for hours, cum dripping from him from ruined orgasm after ruined orgasm. You smell ripe with it, sullied with it. But that’s not just it.”

He took a deep inhale, and then Geralt inhaled sharply as Jaskier’s tongue brushed along his neck.

“You smell of sex, but you also smell of you.” Jaskier purred nosing up his neck. “You smell of the woods, of cedar, of ambergris, and of soup spices. Perhaps a little onion, but the best parts of it, the parts that remind me of a warm hearth and stew on a cold winter eve. You smell masculine, male, there is no mistaking it, and it makes me want to bury my face into the sweatiest of your places and lose myself to the smell of you.”

“But that isn’t all.” Geralt rumbled, as Jaskier licked his neck.

“Oh no… far from it.” Jaskier pulled away and he was shaking. His face was red, his lips were swollen and pink, and his hand was still cupped against himself, holding back. “I have followed you into the woods to piss, pissed beside you, and I thought it so strange that the normal acrid small of urine didn’t hit me. Instead, it was like your own scent concentrated, but better.  There was something there, and it wasn’t until you lost control the first time, we were together, that I even realized that wanting to see you lose control and wanting to be covered and claimed in your scent was something that I had even wanted. The moment you lost control and I understood what was happening, I couldn’t help myself. I had to touch it, had to touch you, and I made us sleep on the soiled bedroll because I wasn’t sure if you shared your love with me yet. I wanted something, anything, to feel claimed by you. I want to smell of you, so that nothing and no one could mistake who or what I belong to. I want to feel you lose control, I want to be covered in you. I want to feel your warm piss sliding down my throat. I want to watch as you lose control, marking us. And I want to lose control myself.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry at the confession.

“The first time I made myself cum, when I was a young lad, I had been at one of my fathers parties, and I was not allowed to use the privy.” Jaskier hissed. “My prick was so hard it hurt, and my bladder was so full I could feel it sloshing. I stole away the first moment I could, and I grabbed myself to piss. It felt so good, and when I began to piss, I used it to make the slide slick along my cock, because touching myself while I relieved myself felt better then anything I had ever done before. I had orgasms, but this one, this one where I stroked myself while I pissed, was the first time I came. Eventually, when I had my first experience with a whore, I was told that pissing during sex was not normal, and it would be extra, and instead of having sex, I peppered the whore with a thousand questions about everything. Pissing, it was a taboo. Women lose control more than men during sex, and they get embarrassed over it, they feel shame over it. I grew embarrassed about my behavior, I hid it. I would pay special whores to experience it, and it was always so fucking good.”

Geralt groaned as his cock throbbed again.

“I learned I love the scent of sex, I love the scent of debauchery.” Jaskier hissed and squeezed his legs together fiercely. “I loved the taboo of it, but I wanted something different. I wanted something more. I wanted to feel claimed, feel used, I want to be nothing more than a receptacle of lust, want, and hedonism. I want to feel that humiliation when someone degrades me and tells me I am nothing more then a pot to piss in. I want it! I want it because it makes me feel loved, claimed, safe. No one, and I mean no one has seen this side of me that I haven’t paid handsomely to keep quiet. And even they, I wouldn’t confess to them what I am confessing to you now.”

Geralt backed away a step, and Jaskier looked at him hungrily.

“And the repellent, your concentrated piss?” Jaskier licked his lips. “When I smelled it the first time, I nearly came. I had to put it away, and then I let you have your way with me. I knew then, what I had smelled in the forest. Your scent, and the taste of it? It’s salty, and bitter but it is also sweet. It smells different then normal pee from a person. I don’t know how to describe it. The concentrate is almost like tasting honey with bitters. All I know is when I tasted it the first time, I was hooked, and I waited for you to hunt, for you to leave, for you to let me alone for a few hours, just so I could taste it on my tongue. I want to be covered in it, I want to lose myself to it. I want to feel the heat of it on my skin, in my mouth. I want to feel it sliding down my throat while you hold my head, forcing me to drink and drink till I am choking, till I am begging.”

Geralt’s mind was tilting on its axis. He had never met a human like this. He had never experienced anything like this outside of the keep. His own brothers would piss to mark, piss to show dominance, piss to show submission. The mutations, they did something to them all, forcing instincts into them they had to suppress around humanity, let their monstrous forms be confirmed. Yet here was a human, the very human that Geralt loved, and who loved Geralt in turn, who wanted this.

Geralt snarled, grabbed Jaskier by the hair, and then wrenched him forward in a searing kiss. Jaskier melted against him, and some of the fear scent and some of the shame lifted, and his arousal became stifling. Geralt sucked at his tongue, bit at his lips, and when Jaskier keened, and whined and writhed, Geralt bit bruises into his neck.

“You are going to strip.” Geralt’s voice purred into the bards ear, and Jaskier gasped as Geralt enclosed his hand around Jaskier’s own, pressing it against the bard’s straining cock. “Then you are going to do everything I say, is that clear?”

“Oh fuck… oh…” Jaskier nodded his head. “Okay, Geralt, okay… just… If… if I want to stop… There are words, I will use a color, red. If I say red, Geralt, stop. Red means there is something wrong, but will free me up to say “No.” And “Stop” And to beg and plead. If I don’t say red, you can continue. If I say “Yellow” It means I need to change something. Yellow doesn’t mean what we are doing is coming to an end, it just means something needs to change. It’s a time out, if you will.”

Geralt’s eyes widened, and some of his own nervousness began to slide away.

“Red for stop, yellow for pause.” Geralt nodded. “I can do that.”

“You can use those words too.” Jaskier insisted, his eyes serious. “But Geralt, I won’t use them unless they are absolutely necessary. I want you to do to me, what you have always wanted to do. I want you to lose as much control as you are able, and those words, they will allow us to feel safe as we do this. I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I don’t mind pain. And I know you are much the same. I want you to feel safe when we are together. And I already feel safe with you, but a hard rule is something that is necessary so we can get what we want.”

Geralt whined a little, and his chest felt tight again.

“Fuck…” Geralt palmed his cock. “Alright, this is… this is good.”

“Ok…” Jaskier groaned.

“Strip.” Geralt snapped baring his teeth, and Jaskier jumped.

The bard began to strip hastily, and Geralt began to do the same. He kept his eyes on Jaskier the whole time, and realized he wanted this. He wanted to claim Jaskier, to make him his in every possible way. He wanted Jaskier to listen to him, to do as he said, and to be helpless against him. It was heady, and he felt euphoric with the sensations, with the anticipation.

When Jaskier stood before him naked, Geralt went over to him.

“What are you planning… wh…urk!” Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the throat and jaw and growled.

“You are mine!” Geralt snarled, and the monster inside of him howled in glee. He kissed Jaskier harshly, and then grabbed his shoulders. “Get down on your knees, bard.”

Jaskier hissed as Geralt put pressure on him, and forced him to kneel down. When he was down, Geralt grabbed his head and hair, and forced him into his crotch.

“Oh fuck, Geralt, I really have to piss.” Jaskier whined, and pinched at the head of his cock.

“I don’t care.” Geralt hissed. “Hold it, or you will be sorry.”

Jaskier whined, and then yelped as he was pushed forwards into the dark thatch of hair at Geralt’s cock.

“You smell that, bard?” Geralt hissed, his cock throbbing and precum leaking from the tip. “Three days without soap, three days of sweating. Smell it you slut, smell it, and taste it.”

“Oh! Fuck…” Jaskier breathed in deeply, and he keened. “Oh, fuck you smell so good, Geralt.”

His mouth was open in the next instant, and he was sniffing, and licking at the root of his cock. Jaskier’s whole body was shivering and he hissed in a breath. Geralt could smell the arousal now, taking precedence over everything else.

“Now, suck my cock, do a good job of it, and you will be rewarded.” Geralt sneered as Jaskier looked up to him demurely.

“Yes, Geralt…. Fuck… you taste so good!” Jaskier’s mouth laved open.

Jaskier’s tongue lolled out, and Geralt’s thick cock, dripping with pre, rested upon it. He licked all around the head of Geralt’s penis, and then he licked around the swell of his foreskin. He sucked Geralt into his mouth, and he breathed out. The feeling of the wet heat had Geralt tossing his head back, and grabbing Jaskier’s hair, so he could fuck the bards mouth. With each thrust, Jaskier huffed, and he sucked. The pressure of the bards tongue on the underside of his dick was sinful.

“That’s it… that’s it, take it… take it all.” Geralt loosened his grip, and let Jaskier work at him.

Geralt felt his balls drawing up, and he pulled Jaskier off of him. Jaskier was wrecked, his lips covered in spit and pre.

“I am going to mark you, claim you, make sure everyone knows who you belong too.” Geralt hissed. “You will taste it, and you will swallow it.”

“Yes, Geralt, please…” Jaskier groaned, and then Geralt let him go.

Jaskier fell onto his knees, and his head lolled, looking up to Geralt. This was it, this is what Jaskier wanted. This is what Geralt wanted. Geralt grabbed ahold of his cock, aimed it, and relaxed.

When the first splash hit Jaskier it hit him on his stomach, and the bards eyes fluttered. His hands moved up, and Geralt’s mouth went dry. He aimed his stream up to Jaskier’s chest, and watched hungrily as it created channels in the hair. His instincts were going wild, and his balls had drawn up on just the sight of the bard being claimed so viscerally. Jaskier arched his body up into the stream, and Geralt changed his aim again.

When his piss hit Jaskier’s face, it became a work of art. It pooled in the corners of his eyes, creating false tears down his cheeks. It hit Jaskier’s hair, wetting it, and making it wilt against his head.

“Oh fuck, Geralt yes!” And then the bards pretty pink tongue darted out, and he licked at the piss which hit it.

“You want that?” Geralt purred stepping closer and grabbing Jaskier’s piss slicked hair. “You look so thirsty…”

“Yes… fuck… so…” The bard swallowed a mouthful caught by his tongue. “So thirsty.”

“Drink up then, slattern.” Geralt forced Jaskier’s head back, and pissed directly in his mouth.

Jaskier groaned through his nose, and he began to swallow messily. Half of it spilled as he tried to keep his mouth open, creating a stream of piss down his chin and chest. Geralt’s cock felt like it was on fire. The relief of pissing and arousal making him feel slotted right on the edge of orgasm.

“Your spilling, suck it all down.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier lurched forward, grabbing Geralt’s hip, and the other forcing Geralt’s hand away from his cock. His lips sealed over Geralt’s still pissing prick, and he sucked, hard.

“Oh, fuck Jask... like that!” Geralt purred, the pressure from the bards mouth and the feel of his swallowing everything was indescribable. His prick was alight in pleasure, his body was sparking with relief. He felt himself tipping over the edge, when he activated his mutations, and forcibly stopped the stream.

“Enough!” Geralt threw him to the ground, and Jaskier groaned. It took a few moments to get himself under control, precum and leftover piss dripping from the tip of his cock in lengthy strands. He stalked over to where he left his belt, and grabbed the oil out of the small pouch there. He popped it open, and slicked his prick, and a noise of hurt brought his eyes back to Jaskier.

“Fuck… I… I don’t think…” Jaskier was pinching the tip of his dick.

“Hold it bard, the main event has yet to begin.” Geralt kicked Jaskier’s legs apart, and crouched between them. “I have plans for you yet.”

He shifted Jaskier and pressed his prick against the bards hole. He hadn’t prepared him, but he was too far gone now to care, and Jaskier hadn’t said the words.

“Geralt… ah… Geralt!” Panic welled in his voice as Geralt grinned cruelly down to him. “Oh… oh! Ahhh!!!!!”

The head of Geralt’s prick breached the muscle and Jaskier spasmed. Geralt grabbed the bards dick and pinched the head hard enough that it had to hurt, but it kept the flow that was threatening at bay. Geralt hissed as he pushed in. Jaskier was tight, he was straining to hold his piss in, and his bladder was big enough, swollen enough, that it narrowed the channel of his ass.

“Gr’lt…” Jaskier slurred, his hands working at the air, his body shaking.

Geralt looked down when he was seated, and what he saw had him salivating. Jaskier’s face was a mask of bliss and pain. He was panting, and opened mouthed, and he smelled absolutely delicious. He was painted in Geralt’s scent, and the part of Geralt that wanted this purred in satisfaction. He let go of Jaskier’s hip, and placed his large hand overtop the large bulge in his lower stomach.

“Fuck, you look pregnant.” Geralt laughed a little. Jaskier’s head shot up, and lucidity came back to his eyes for a moment.

“Oh fuck, Geralt…” He placed his own hand on the bulge of his stomach and groaned.

“That’s all your good for isn’t it.” Geralt purred, and Jaskier’s eyes went cloudy again. “You are just a thing, a place to relieve all my needs. Now hold it!”

Jaskier’s hand closed over the tip of his dick the second Geralt let go. Geralt growled and began to thrust. He was careful at first, minding his strength, but soon, the feeling of Jaskier trying to hold it in, his muscles fluttering, and his balls starting to draw up were too much. Geralt roared and lost control.

His thrusts were hard enough that it would be bruising. He could smell that the bard was turned on, a little afraid, but aroused beyond measure. It didn’t matter though.

“YOU ARE MINE!” Geralt snarled, adjusting his angle, and pinning the bard’s shoulder to the ground, and lifting his leg with his other arm.

The slide was electric, Geralt felt like he was on fire. And the noises, the calls, wails, and soon the all out screaming from the bard had Geralt baring his teeth and roaring in his pleasure. His voice was inhuman, his movements were inhuman, and for once, he felt free.

“Geralt…. I… Please! So close… please!!!”

“Let go!” Geralt hissed, pounding into him.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and his hand lifted from his prick. Geralt got two thrusts in when Jaskier’s back arched, his legs flexed, and his hands scrambled for the muddied ground.

The smell of cum hit the air, and it shot from Jaskier with enough force that it missed his body completely, and landed somewhere overhead. His orgasm was intense enough, but then Geralt increased the force of his thrusts, and piss shot forth.

“Oh, fuck oh fuck!” Jaskier was writhing, shaking, his eyes rolling. “It’s not stopping! It’s… ahahhhhh!!!!!!!!”

He screamed, and Geralt knew his voice would be ruined for a few days from it. But he knew what Jaskier was feeling. The piss was like the orgasm continuing unendingly. The relief, the pressure. Geralt reached over and lifted Jaskier, seating him on his lap, and letting the stream of the bards piss hit him. The warmth of it, the light smell of it, diluted by the water. Geralt’s balls began to draw up, and he groaned.

“Geralt… ahh! Geralt!” Jaskier was beside himself, he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Geralt craned his head down and caught the stream of Jaskier’s piss in his mouth. It tasted bitter, salty, and sweet, but diluted. like poorly made tea. But it also tasted how Jaskier smelled. He instantly wanted more, but his body was driving him forward.

He grabbed Jaskier’s dick, pumping it with the timing of his thrusts, letting the piss run over his hands and slick the way.

“Fuck more… more!” Jaskier cried out, tears forming in his eyes. “Fuck… nngggggg!”

The bard’s stream turned cloudy, and he keened and forced himself down on Geralt’s cock.

Geralt’s world turned white as orgasm barreled into him. Everything stopped, and he bit forward on instinct, holding Jaskier still as he thrust into him, pleasure overriding all his other senses. The taste of blood, the taste of piss, the smell of cum, and mud, and the man he held on his cock. Geralt’s senses were overwhelmed. When he came back to himself, Jaskier was whimpering, and the stream was dying down.

“Fuck... Geralt…. I love you….”

“You are mine, my mate.” Geralt licked at the wound he created in the join between Jaskier’s shoulder and neck. “All of you.”

He took that moment, to let go, and Geralt felt his piss cascading into Jaskier, joining the cum and oil there.

“Great… are… you… Oh… stars.” Jaskier arched and clenched. “Yes… fuck… Yes! Fill me up… make me yours... fuck!”

Geralt growled and panted as he finally got the last of the needed relief. He sought. When he finally finished, all his muscles seemed to go lax, and he and Jaskier tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs.

Jaskier was the first to move. He turned and groaned, and landed on his belly in the mud of their creation. Geralt looked over to him, as the bard whined.

“Geralt! It’s leaking out!” Geralt frowned, and Jaskier’s eyes, overwhelmed and tear filled looked back to him. “Don’t let it leak out!”

“More?” Geralt asked, his prick, still hard, was hopeful.

“Please! Let me keep it… for a little while longer.” Jaskier huffed, and Geralt growled.

He mounted him again, with Jaskier laying belly down on the ground, and pushed into the slick pulsing abused hole, which sucked at him greedily.

“Fuck yes! More!! Please!”

Geralt grinned, and was more than happy to oblige.

By the time they had finished, Geralt had lost count of how many orgasms he had wrung out of the bard. They lay muddy from head to foot, covered in each other’s smells and the earth, and shaking with exertion and exhaustion. Geralt held Jaskier close as the bard shivered against him, coming down from the high of slipping into his own mind.

“Jask, you good?” Geralt asked, petting the mud caked hair and nuzzling at the bard’s neck.

“Fuck… Geralt, you have ruined me for anyone else.” Jaskier’s voice was hoarse and shaky. “I am good, better then good. Fuck I need a bath though.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice held a strange vulnerability to it, and Jaskier looked up to him.

“What is it love?”

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me?” Geralt nearly winced away, as Jaskier’s eyes widened.

It was a foolish thing to ask. Jaskier was going for his doctorate, he needed to return to Oxenfurt for the winter, so he could write his dissertation. But Geralt didn’t want to be without him. His heart clenched as he felt Jaskier shift. Soft muddy hands cupped his face, and Geralt’s eyes shot open.

“Geralt, I would love to.”

Geralt surged forwards, and Jaskier met him half way. The kiss they shared was muddy, tasted of piss and sweat and a thousand other little things. But it also tasted of promise, of a life that would be shared, and a journey which wouldn’t see it’s end quite yet.

Geralt’s heart tore open, and the one thing he had longed for his whole life burst forwards. He pulled away, tears flooding his eyes for the first time in memory.

“I love you Jaskier…”

“And I love you, Geralt.”

And so it was. The story of a witcher, who could not love, and a bard, who didn’t feel like he belonged, who found the one thing they lacked with one another. Hope bloomed between them, and the smell of adventure, heartache, and just a little bit of onion, flooded around them.