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It was a silly idea, really, the thought that putting Geralt into situations from some of Jaskier’s best fantasies would be fun.
Instead, Jaskier was frustrated.
And that frustration is exactly what led him to this situation. One that he had never fantasized about before but now wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
Jaskier grunted as his feet were swept out from underneath his feet, “Geralt, I think we should give up. Clearly, I will never be able to best you in fight,” the bard whined out pathetically.
“You’re the one that wanted to fight, Jaskier. I thought you had energy you needed to work off.”
“There are better ways to burn energy,” Jaskier mumbled out angrily as he stood back up.
Geralt cocked his head to the side, “How?”
“Oh, for the love of – honestly, Geralt, you have to be joking!” Jaskier exclaimed, waving his arms helplessly at his sides. It had been weeks since Jaskier first started overtly flirting with the witcher and every time Geralt somehow managed to take everything incredibly literally.
Initially, it had been funny. The way metaphors flew over the witcher’s head, his impressive reflexes be damned, was hilarious, but eventually the hilarity wore off and now Jaskier was annoyed.
It didn’t seem like Geralt was being intentionally obtuse, and the man did struggle with the intricacies of human interaction, but he couldn’t be this imperceptive.
Geralt’s brow furrowed, “What are you talking about, Jaskier?”
Deciding that fighting was maybe preferable to this conversation, Jaskier quickly rushed to the witcher, swinging the dagger he had in hand. Geralt blocked the blow, grabbing Jaskier’s arm, twisting the bard and pressing the dagger to Jaskier’s throat.
Jaskier was breathing heavy, his back pressed to the witcher’s front, a dagger at his neck, suddenly lightheaded. “Geralt, you simply had to ask, not trick me into fighting you. I’ve no problem with you at my back.” He finally managed to say, voice light and trembling.
“Why would you be okay with me like this? I have a knife to your throat. I could kill you.” Geralt growled into Jaskier’s ear.
The bard was certain he wouldn’t survive this encounter, but it had nothing to do with the knife at his throat.
Jaskier huffed, “I trust you won’t kill me, witcher. And if you could release me now, that would be wonderful” he said, feeling somewhat hysterical.
Jaskier was just realizing he had chosen to play with fire, and he was most certainly burning.