Chapter Text
For the past few days, Jaskier noticed a change in Geralt's behavior. Geralt was a naturally taciturn travel companion, Jaskier had to fill the silence between them with songs, stories, or inane chatter. He didn't mind, he liked to talk and Geralt seemed to like to listen. Geralt would "hmm" and grunt or make other sophisticated noises to indicate that he was following along with Jaskier's prattle.
Lately, Geralt seemed... tense. There was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that usually didn't exist when it was just the two of them in the wild. That level of tension was reserved for the villagers and other strangers because they weren't always certain of the reception they would receive once the people realized Geralt was a Witcher.
And if Geralt was not talkative before, he was practically mute now. He hadn't said a word to Jaskier, no matter how much the Bard talked or how many questions he asked. He only stared ahead and kept walking. Oh, that was the other thing. He refused to ride Roach. The horse practically looked sullen as she trotted along slowly next to her master.
"Geralt, for the last time, what is going on with you?" Jaskier asked from the other side of Roach.
He was never afraid of Geralt, it wasn't in his nature to be afraid for long, but there was a tension in his broad shoulders and muscular back that was alarming. So, Jaskier restrained himself from physically stopping Geralt and demanding answers. Not that he could stop him.
"If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'm going to sing Toss a Coin. Again. For the tenth time," Jaskier took a deep breath and opened his mouth to belt out the words, nice and loud. Usually, after two repeats of the song, Geralt was ready to do whatever he wanted, but the Witcher was being stubborn today. Well, so could Jaskier.
After the eleventh rendition of the song, Jaskier yawned. He looked over at his tall, silver haired companion, still in his stony sulk, and glanced over at Roach and her empty saddle. Geralt only let Jaskier ride Roach when he was hurt or they were in trouble. He hated sharing the horse with anyone.
Jaskier yawned loudly and stretched. He landed one of his arms on the horse's saddle and glanced at Geralt. Still quiet and sulking. Probably upset that one of his swords wasn't sharp enough.
The Bard whispered lowly to the horse, "Since your master is in a mood, I'm going to ride you. Don't be mad, alright?" She neighed her consent, and Jaskier petted her on the neck.
He swung himself over the saddle and sat down. He waited for Geralt to protest and say, "Get off Roach, Bard," in that cold, rough tone of his that made Jaskier shiver a little. The Witcher didn't say anything but adjusted his hold on Roach to accommodate Jaskier's leg.
He basked in the feeling of riding Roach, and having Geralt stay on foot, for a few minutes before he got bored and sleepy. There was only so much he could do to entertain himself and Roach was walking so slowly and gently. He yawned and fell forward onto the horse, his arms around her neck.
He was almost asleep when he felt a large, strong hand on his thigh. High up on his thigh. The hand slid down to his knee, before giving him a gentle squeeze, and moving away. Jaskier sat up immediately.
"Geralt, did you just rub my leg?" He asked the Witcher, who stared straight ahead.
He thought that Geralt was going to ignore him again, but he nodded.
"So, you are finally communicating with me! Hallelujah! Where are we going, Geralt? Why weren't you talking to me? Did you like the way I sung Toss a Coin the last time? I think I added more drama and oomph to some key lines. I might sing it like that in the next place. Geralt, are you going to talk to me?" Jaskier only got a firm shake of the head in reply. He sighed. "Well, at least you're listening. I thought you were sick or something."
He hummed a few tunes for the next hour as they slowly plodded along to their destination. Geralt stopped at the well-traveled entrance of a humble village.
"Jaskier," the first word Geralt said in two days! Jaskier almost threw himself off the horse in shock.
"Geralt! You're talking, you can talk! Of course, you can talk, but you weren't talking before, so I worried that you were getting sick and lost your voice in some Witcher-esque illness. Did you like-"
"Jaskier!" Geralt growled. It was a sound that Jaskier had never heard from a man before, so low and throaty and animalistic. It shut Jaskier right up. "Come here," Geralt held out a hand, surprising the Bard with the gallant gesture. Jaskier took it and swung himself off the horse. He gasped when Geralt crowded him against Roach and laid a hot hand on his waist.
In a rough voice, filled with a strange tension, Geralt commanded, "Go into town and request some type of room, maybe a cabin, far away from anyone else. A clean room, the cleanest room, they have that is very isolated. See if you can get some meals and a bath, too. But I don't want to be disturbed." As he spoke, Geralt massaged the fleshy area around his waist in such a distracting fashion, but Jaskier remembered everything.
The Witcher pulled Jaskier to him with one arm and used the other to rifle through the bag attached to Roach's saddle. Jaskier felt like he should move away, Geralt rarely let people into his personal space, but his arm was so hard and firm across his back. He leaned into Geralt, just a little, enough that if Geralt came to his senses Jaskier could laugh it off. Geralt kept looking for something in his bag, so Jaskier slowly raised his arms and put his hands around the other man's rock-hard waist.
"Here," Geralt pressed his money bag into the Bard's chest. He had to remove one of his hands from their comfortable position to take it.
"Geralt, what-"
"I'll explain later. I just need-" Geralt closed his eyes and leaned his head against Jaskier's neck. "You smell so good," he whispered against the fluttering heartbeat.
Jaskier raised his eyebrows in surprise. First, that Geralt would act so wantonly with another man, which the Bard had never seen Geralt do, and that man was him! Also, this must have been the most the Witcher had said to Jaskier in one setting in all the years he had known him. Plus, he hadn't bathed in a few days. How could he smell good to anyone, especially to someone with a sensitive nose like Geralt's?
He jiggled the moneybag. "This is all your money, Geralt. Are you sure?"
At this point, Geralt had buried his face against Jaskier's neck. He nodded stiffly. With a show of effort, Geralt pushed himself off of Jaskier and clenched his fists at his side. "Go, I'll be here, waiting for you."
Feeling cold, the Bard hugged his doublet tighter around himself and ran down the worn road towards the village.
Jaskier had to go to two innkeepers to find what he was looking for.
"I c'n give you our attic. T'is 'ery nice 'n clean 'n big," the innkeeper said with a proud smile.
"Do you have anything a little more isolated and alone, ma'am?" Jaskier grinned charmingly. "I'm here with my wife, you see, we're consummating our marriage vows. She's a little shy about that stuff." He spotted the skeptical look on the older woman's face. "She used to be nun," Jaskier nodded when surprise and reluctant understanding changed the innkeeper's expression.
"I 'ave a nice, little cottage. Not ready but I c'n send one of my gals to clean it up a bit."
"That sounds perfect! Thank you so much! How much with the meals and baths?"
"Cottage 'as it's own well 'n fireplace. I'll send my gals up with your meals."
The lady threw out out a sum, and Jaskier laid a hand over his heart dramatically. "My good lady, I married a nun, not a duchess! Surely, you could give us a fairer price. Think of the happiness and comfort you'll give my blushing bride! She left the convent for me, you know, I can't disappoint her."
The innkeeper crossed her arms over her ample bosom but lowered the price. With some more flattery and cajoling, Jaskier managed to get a free bottle of wine thrown into the 'honeymoon suite.' He memorized the directions to the place and left.
Jaskier ran back to Geralt and Roach. Geralt stood in the same position, hands clenched at his sides, as he stared down the road to the village.
"I got us a cottage!" Jaskier exclaimed as he threw himself into Geralt's arms. He didn't look particularly welcoming, but the man immediately wrapped his arms around his body and sighed, letting some of the tension drain from his body.
Jaskier felt so safe in those strong arms, but he could still feel that Geralt was uncomfortable and agitated about something. He pulled back and said, "Let's go, my friend."
Jaskier boldly took Geralt's hand and grabbed Roach's reins with the other, then led them towards the cottage. In less than hour, they reached the designated spot. Jaskier had never been so glad for his good sense of direction. It wasn't much too look at from the outside, it was a wooden little house with a small well and an outhouse in the back. They tied up Roach and made sure she was comfortable before venturing inside.
It was a very plain one room cottage- there was a small kitchen area with a rough stove, one large, sturdy bed, a kindled fireplace with an ugly, old couch in front of it, and a small section of the room devoted to a nice looking tub filled with now lukewarm water. Next to the tub was a refreshing looking bucket of water. Jaskier grinned when he saw the large bottle of wine neatly placed on the bed.
Of all the things that Jaskier thought that would happen when they arrived at the cottage, cleaning wasn't anywhere on the list.
Yet, this was the first thing Geralt did. He took a rag, rubbed it with water and some of their soap, and went around the small room rubbing down certain areas. He ignored the dusty floor and strangely colored stains on the walls and furniture, but thoroughly cleaned the wine bottle. He wiped the handle of the bucket. Rubbed a corner of the stove. Thoroughly washed the door handle and the small table near the bed.
Jaskier stood in the middle of the cottage and stared for several minutes. "Geralt, what in the world are you doing?"
"I don't want their scents in this room. Just us," was all the silver-haired man said as he moved around the space with single minded purpose.
Abruptly, he stopped and flung the rag in a corner of the cottage.
"That's better," Geralt's amber eyes settled on Jaskier's form, causing the man to straighten up from where he was leaning against the worn out couch.
"What's going on?"
A strange heat entered the Witcher's gaze. "Did you know that Witchers can go into heat?"
Jaskier chuckled, "Like cats and dogs?"
"Similar but more dangerous," Geralt's voice reached that low, throaty tone that caused his heart to beat a little faster.
The Bard shook his head and tried to focus on the matter at hand, for once in his life. He felt that what was happening here was important. He frowned and thought about his depressingly short list of things he knew about Witchers... and he'd traveled with one for years. He knew about the mutations, some parts of the intense training, and the potions, but very little else. Geralt rarely talked about other Witchers or about his past, except for his mentor/surrogate father.
"Witchers have heightened senses and abilities, but it comes at a cost." As he spoke, Geralt slowly approached Jaskier. "Once every decade or so, a Witcher goes into a type of frenzy. It lasts for two days. We lose our ability to rationalize and think logically. Everything bothers us during that time-- every scent that's not our own, the sound of too many people, and we have a heightened awareness of everything. It's like my skin can feel the air around me." Belying his words, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and rubbed his head against the shorter man's neck. Ironically, very much like a large, white haired cat.
Jaskier chuckled but kept his arms to the side, unsure of what would bother his friend. "So, I guess I'm not bothering you right now? Oh God, all that singing that I did on the way here! And does my talking to you right now bother you? Well, more than usual because-" The Bard stopped when the Witcher nuzzled his cheek.
"No, you don't bother me," his chuckle was so intimate and inviting. "You feel warm, soft, and safe. You make it all better. And you smell so good. But I need to put my scent on you, Jaskier, let me do that, alright?" Geralt's hands went down to his hips and his lips drifted over his jaw and neck.
Oh fuck! Jaskier bit his lip and nodded, he tried to control his eagerness and play it aloof, but he'd wanted Geralt for so long. Ever since he saw him in that tavern, a hot, mysterious man, sitting alone and staring into his cup. As if he were waiting for Jaskier to brighten his day.
He gasped when Geralt sucked hard on a spot high on his neck. He could feel each pull of his skin all the way down to his cock, which was stirring to full mast. Wow, he had no idea that his neck was so- he lost his train of thought when Geralt began to worry the skin with his sharp canines, then sucked it again. The smaller man gripped Geralt's biceps and leaned into him, closing his eyes. They flew back open when the silver haired man pushed him onto the sofa. Jaskier was briefly dazed by the change, but he grinned wickedly up at the panting Witcher.
"Geralt, I didn't know you had it in you," then proceeded to undo his pants.
Instead of following him and taking off his own clothes, Geralt turned and stomped to the door. Jaskier blinked in confusion. Maybe hickeys didn't equal sex in Witcher-speak?
"I've never- Witchers can share their heats with others, Jaskier," Geralt braced his fists against the door and struggled to control his breathing. "It's rare because it requires a lot of trust and affection between the two. That's hard for a Witcher to find."
Oh right, they were still talking about this Witcher phenomenon. Jaskier took a deep breath and tried to control his own erratic heartbeat. "You want to share it with me, right?"
"Yes!" The word bursted out of Geralt's mouth with an intensity that surprised them both. The Bard couldn't help but melt a little at the desperation that tinged his Witcher's voice. "I want to but it's not an easy thing, Jaskier. The heat, it's agonizing. I've never shared it with anyone."
"What's involved in this heat?" Jaskier did up his pants again, seeing that this conversation was going to be longer than he'd anticipated.
"Sex, lots of it," Geralt said bluntly. The Bard looked down at his crotch again and wondered if he should just get naked and save himself the hassle later. But Geralt was still clothed, and he was still speaking. He forced himself to concentrate. "I've only heard of one Witcher who was able to share it with a human. It ended badly. She tried to leave in the middle of it, the Witcher wouldn't let her and ended up forcing himself on her several times. She committed suicide afterwards." Geralt turned around, and Jaskier wished he could take away the sorrow in his beautiful golden eyes.
"And what happened to the Witcher?"
Geralt shrugged. "What usually happens to us. He made a mistake while hunting a monster and died."
"What a tragedy." He hated to think of his Witcher dying on some mundane hunt and life continuing as it always did for everyone else.
"Leave Jaskier," Geralt opened the door and stared at the floor, his jaw clenched tight.
"Wait, what? What's going to happen to you?" Jaskier dug his fingers into the thread bare cushions, in case Geralt tried to drag him out. He'd done it before and Jaskier proved he was the more stubborn one out of the two.
"This was a mistake," he sighed. "I've done this before, by myself, and I survived. I can't risk hurting you. Now go, I can control myself for a few more hours. I won't be able to follow you if you get on Roach and ride hard for an hour."
"No!" Jaskier stood up, "I'm not going to leave you hurt and vulnerable in the middle of nowhere when I can help. When I want to help. Please Geralt."
He slammed the door shut and stalked slowly towards Jaskier. The Bard couldn't help but stumble onto the couch again as he watched the older man move towards him like a hunter with his prey.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispered. "Right now, I'm more animal than man. Especially, when you smell as you do."
"Geralt please," Jaskier begged and unconsciously opened himself up to the Witcher as the other drew closer to him. He widened his legs, allowing Geralt to step between his spread knees, and tiled his head to the side in a show of surrender, Geralt's mark visible.
He made a noise of approval and bent down to inhale Jaskier's scent from the claimed side of his neck. "You smell like you want me to breed you."
"Fuck!" Jaskier was so hard that he thought his cock would bust through his pants.
"Last chance, Jaskier, leave now or you're going to be impaled on my cock for the next two days."
Instead of answering, the Bard pulled his Witcher down by the back of his neck and kissed him passionately on the lips. Geralt opened his mouth to the probing tongue, and they dueled for a few seconds. Some animal instinct inside of Jaskier warned him not to challenge the other man in anyway, so relaxed his muscles and let him dominate the kiss.
"Soon, I won't be able to think or speak rationally, Jaskier," Geralt whispered against his swollen lips. "Please, tell me that I won't hurt you. I want you so much, you make everything better, but I don't want to hurt you. Don't let me hurt you," he whispered these words as he kissed the Bard's neck, jaw, and cheeks.
At that moment, Jaskier felt the first tendril of apprehension about the days to come with this heat. He didn't fear for himself, but for Geralt. Despite his outward appearance and reserved behavior, the Witcher was a gentle soul and had a tender heart. It would crush him if he accidentally hurt Jaskier because of the condition of his nature. He was determined to led both of them out of this, alive and well (and sated).
"You're not going to hurt me, I promise." The Bard hoped those words will be the truth.