Chapter Text
The light of the next morning wormed its way into Jaskier's room too early for his liking; even worse it was well towards their time to leave, having only paid for one night.
He sat up in the bed and took a deep breath.
No time like the present.
He was shocked at how good he felt. Sore, but good. His body was buzzing and ached in a way that was pleasant and familiar. He felt light and bright, and he realized that was the best night's sleep he'd had in some time. It wasn’t that he normally slept poorly, but his mind was always alight with some new and noisy thought. It rarely quieted or allowed him dreamless respite.
Anorra had effectively fucked all thought out of his head, and Jaskier was most thankful. She was nowhere to be found, but there was a tray with some bread and cheese waiting for him on the bedside table. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing when his muscles twinged in protest.
Once he broke his fast, he stood and searched for his clothes, which he found draped carefully over the back of the chair by the vanity. He caught sight of his reflection there. His collarbones and the sides of his neck were decorated with pink and purple marks. He brushed his fingertips against them, and a blossom of heat unfurled in his chest.
However that warmth shriveled and died, rather unceremoniously, when he recalled that there was in fact someone waiting for him. Well, he hoped there still was.
* * *
"I know, those oats aren't as fresh, girl, we'll pick up some more before we leave, and an apple for your troubles. Have I ever let you go hungry before?" Geralt placated, patting Roach’s main carefully.
She huffed at him.
Not for the first time it crossed his mind that she was far too smart, far too human, for a horse sometimes.
Geralt was preparing her tack for the day's journey when he heard footsteps approaching from behind him. Without turning he sniffed the air, it was Jaskier, but his usual scent was buried underneath contentment, sex, and something else sharp. Anxiety?
He carefully held his relaxed posture. Jaskier knew that he knew Jaskier was there, but he was determined not to upset the balance. So he continued to feign ignorance until Jaskier announced his presence. Surely Geralt couldn't ruin anything if he didn't do anything.
"So, Geralt. Where are we off to next?"
No hint of nervousness in voice, he wasn't planning on doing anything either then.
"Supplies for Roach, then to the next town over." He said quietly, securing the last buckle to keep his saddle in place.
"No other beasts in town?" And this time, Jaskier's airy tone sounded more genuine.
"None that anyone here can tell me of." He shrugged. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Only waiting on your word, darling."
Yes. There it was, everything was fine. Nothing had to change. Whatever new knowledge he had about Jaskier's feelings could be pushed to the back of his mind. Besides, whatever he did feel would likely fade with time. His friend loved deeply, steadfastly, head first, and often into tragedy. But he loved frequently, there was no reason to believe his attraction for Geralt was any different. They travelled together often, went through hardships, saved each other's lives; surely those things could muddy the waters.
In any case it wasn’t as though Geralt could offer him a proper life. Eventually, Jaskier would grow old enough that he would want to- need to settle down.
So when Geralt took Roach's reins in hand and turned to lead her out, he wasn't expecting his eyes to be drawn so quickly to the enticing array of bruises that trailed past Jaskier's shirt.
A hot ray of- that was not jealousy- darted through his mind, which he resolutely ignored, in favor of raising an eyebrow.
A pink tinge took over the tips of Jaskier's ears, but he only shrugged.
"I'm feeling in a walking mood." Geralt began, and smirked at the bard's confusion, before he continued, "Would you prefer to ride today?"
Jaskier's mouth opened and closed repeatedly and his face went through numerous colors before he settled on, "You're having a go at me aren't you- That's- That's just not fair Geralt!"
Geralt's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"You wound me, my friend, the throws of- of passion do not bend for any man- oh what am I saying, shut up you!" But there was a grin on his face when he gave a rough shove to Geralt's arm.
Everything was fine.