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"It's been too long." Jaskier muttered from where he was perched on the bed, parchment in his lap and quill in hand. He glanced over to the desk where Yennefer was seated, bent over her potion work, pastel working against the herbs in the mortar.
"He'll be back soon." She replied confidently. He wished he had her constitution, because he was sure she was lying. "Why don't you order the bath? That way it's ready when he gets here. Get some bread and ale sent up too."
"On my coin or yours?" He couldn't resist teasing, even as he rolled off the bed and strolled over to the door. She shooed him playfully, a smile tugging at her lips, but he could see the worry bleeding through her eyes.
Down at the bar he put in his request for food, plying the tavern maid with an extra tip for sending it up to their room. Yen had said just bread and ale but he ordered a bowl of stew. If nothing else it would warm the bread for their Witcher.
The bar was growing full and he briefly considered going upstairs and getting his lute. There were several customers who seemed in the mood for entertainment and they couldn't afford to be picky about how they earned their coin. Especially given the far too low pay Geralt would likely collect from his contract. Not even Yennefer's charm was enough to make the stingey alderman budge from his price. He waited a few more minutes, until he saw the servant boy haul the washing tub up the stairs before heading up, decidedly ready to play a set. He had to do something to get his mind off Geralt's absence.
"Came to get my lute." He muttered when he was back in the room. Yennefer was warming the water that the boy had brought with her magic, enchanting it to stay warm for hours, hopefully long enough for the Witcher to return.
"Singing for our supper tonight?" She muttered, not looking up from her spellwork.
"Someone has to." He grinned, getting the lute case from where he had stashed it. He strode over to her and placed a well timed peck against her temple. She eyed him with a smirk and shooed him off again. He left the room looking pleased with himself, conjuring up the mood to entertain the crowd.
His set was hardly half way through before he noticed Yennefer had come down and was leaning against one of the posts near the doors. She had wrapped herself in her silver gray and black coat to hide the black chemise she had been wearing all evening. Her hair was loose and wild waves curled around her face. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from staring at her. But if she had come down it must be to herald their Witcher. So he continued his set but kept his eyes towards the door.
He had been right of course. Not ten minutes passed before the door to the tavern banged open and a slight chill cut the air. Chatter and conversation stopped at the sight of the Witcher, covered in black blood with his hood pulled up to hide his face. Jaskier knew that meant he was still coming down from his potion toxicity.
Yennefer was beside him in an instant, touching his arm and shoulder gently before directing him to the stairs. He couldn't hear what she said to him, but she spared him a glance across the room and he made quick work of apologizing before hurrying off the stage to follow the sorceress and Witcher up to their room.
He pulled the door shut heavily behind him and locked it out of habit and piece of mind. Yennefer was already helping Geralt undress. With the cloak off, Jaskier could see how pale his face was, black veins still visible around his eyes. He could also see the way Geralt favored his left hip, the black leather fabric over it was torn and sticky with blood. "How bad?" He asked softly.
"Bad." Yennefer replied, undoing the clasps of Geralt's armour and pulling it off his chest. One of his pauldrons is shredded, but thankfully the marks didnt reach the skin. Geralt grunted a little with the effort of it all. She piled his armour on the chair, taking care with each piece.
"Bard." Their Witcher muttered, voice hoarse and heavy. "Help me with my boots." He was already unlacing his breeches when Jaskier moved to his knees and undid the lacing of his boots. Yennefer undid his shirt and pulled it off him, dropping it in a pile for laundering. Once he was free of his boots and breeches, Yennefer inspected the tear around his hip while Jaskier grunted a little at the torn skin around the wound.
"Yen, do you think this needs sewing?" She glanced over the wound briefly. Geralt was leaning against him now, his body weight pressed heavy against his shoulder. He could see the exhaustion if not feel it.
"The wound is closing, his potions are seeing to that." Yennefer muttered. "Let's get him in the tub." Even between the two of them it was no easy feat. Geralt's body weight was easily double their own, the strain evident even for Jaskier's toned muscles paired with Yennefer's magical strength. Somehow though they got him into the bath.
The water, kept warm by Yen's magic did little to soothe him as he settled against the side of the barrel. Yennefer knelt down on one side and Jaskier took the other. She frowned deeply as she brushed away his hair from his face. "Geralt? How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm gonna be sick." He muttered, head lulling back against the tub. The black was receding from his eyes but the veins were still prominate.
"Jaskier, see if you can find White Honey." He nodded getting up and going over to where she had put his potion holster. He fidgetted with the bottles for a moment but quickly realized white honey was not among them. So he went instead to their saddle bags and pulled out the bag where Geralt stored his extra elixors, hoping to find the decotion that would eliminate the Witcher's toxicity.
"Yen." He muttered softly, hand closing around the sole remaining vial of White Honey. It was half empty. He brought it over to the sorceress for her scrutiny. "Barely enough for one dose."
"And he's complaining of nausea." The sorceress groaned softly, rubbing her eyes.
"Yen?" Geralt picked his head up in concern, despite his sluggish demeanor. "What?"
"You're down to your last dose of White Honey. I'm worried about you keeping it down." She explained to him, reaching out to move strains of sweat-soaked hair from his brow.
He groaned softly. "Could wait a bit. See if it settles. Trying to meditate." Jaskier knelt down on his other side, looking questioningly at Yen.
"Alright, let's see how you're feeling after a bath." He told him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. The Witcher grunted but nodded. Yen took off her coat while Jaskier stripped off his doublet and rolled up his sleeves. She handed him rosemary oil to bath Geralt's hair before taking out the washrags she had enchanted to lather. Jaskier loved those, and the thought crossed his mind to ask to use it once they had put their Witcher to bed.
They returned to their places on either side of Geralt and set about their task. Jaskier bathed the Witcher's hair, humming songs to himself as he washed and carved through the strains, while Yennefer worked soap across sore muscles, muttering to herself about the horrid state of his skin. She took extra care about his injuries, though most had closed the skin was still frail and sensitive. Geralt for his part kept his eyes mostly closed and did not speak except for the occasionally grunt.
"Geralt?" He opened his eyes slowly, glancing between concerned purple and bewildered blue. "You fell asleep. How are you feeling?"
He started to answer but words died on his tongue as his stomach boiled and lurched. He heaved, vomit barely reaching the chamber pot Jaskier had quickly grabbed and put in front of him. Yen rubbed his shoulders, but he could feel her worry reaching toward Jaskier. "Fuck." He muttered. Jaskier took the chamber pot hesitantly, face twisting in disgust at the black bile now coating the bottom.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes, feeling the headache creeping upon him. "Yen... put it in the syringe. Gotta...gotta get it in my blood, now." He set his hands upon the sides of the tub, willing himself to stand and finding it all the more difficult. Yen disappeared from his view but Jaskier's hands were on his arm and shoulder, supporting him as he clamoured out of the tub. The cold air hitting him made his stomach bubble and rebel again and he had to stop moving and lean against the bard, hoping for it to stop before he threw up again.
Yen was at his side once more, a warm towel brought up around his shoulders. They beckoned him to sit down upon the bed, both of them working his skin dry with hands working the towel on either side of him. When his back and torso were dry, Yen passed the towel to Jaskier and disappeared again.
"Yen?" He heard the bard mutter. Jaskier knelt between his legs and began drying the lower parts of his body. Any other occassion and he'd find himself aroused, but the toxicity in his veins prevented any such display. Jaskier didnt seem interested in such play either, keeping his touch light and quickly moving on to other regions.
He glanced over his shoulder and found the sorceress at her desk, vial of white honey in front of her. The long steel needle of the syringe was sunk into the glass and she was pulling the rod at the other end, sucking the liquid into the barrel in between. When the liquid was gone she gripped the syringe, pulling it free and bringing it over to the bed.
Jaskier urged him down unto the sheets. "Unto your front, dear heart." He muttered, stroking his back and shoulders. Geralt grabbed a pillow and wrapped his arms around it, burying his face in the pillowcase. Jaskier slid the towel underneath him. "Take some deep breaths, we'll soon have the toxicity out of you." The smell of chamomille assaulted his nose, followed by slick fingers rubbing his lower back. Jaskier's thumbs bury into the slots between the bones of his spine, loosening overwork muscles. He kneads the tired tissue with small, deep circles while Geralt hums softly.
He's vaguely aware of when the bard moves one hand from his back, and then the other. He hears a few quite flicks against glass, the pinging sound irritating his headache, and then feels a wet rag dabbed over his left arsecheek. Yen's hands are cold against his lower back, pressing in firmly. He can smell lilacs and gooseberries even with his face pressed into the pillow. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, but lets out a soft groan when the needle goes in, scratching deep inside him, followed by the sting of white honey flooding his body. Yen presses harder on his back to keep him still as it races through him, a cool salve to cleanse the burning. His headache is dulled by the time the needle is pulled free.
Jaskier's hands are back, this time rubbing those soothing circles into his arsecheeks. He starts with the outer quads and moves slowly inward. He lets his thighs relax and fall parted as the bard's thumbs snake up against the cleft. Yennefer's fingers work the muscles along his spine, snaking up along his vertebrate and back down again. He parts his thighs a little more, allowing Jaskier access to the most sensitive part of himself.
"Witch..." The bard muttered softly, but Geralt can hear the fondness in his voice. He hears glass clink and a moment later Jaskier rubs oil against the rim of his arsehole. His index finger dips in slowly, rubbing the oil in with small circles until the muscle gives. Geralt groans into the pillowcase as the bard's finger breaches him, sliding up and into his hole with ease.
The toxicity has bled out of him like poison from a wound and his body begins to respond in kind. His cock leaks- sluggishly at first but steadier as Jaskier creates ever wider circles inside him with his finger. The bard slides in a second finger and presses against the bundle of nerves that bulge inside.
Geralt bites the pillow to supress his wanton moan. His hips press hard against the mattress, rutting his cock against the sheets. Yennefer shushes him, her delicate fingers carving through his hair. "Its alright, Geralt. You can let go."
"Should I get him up on his knees?" He hears Jaskier ask, but his voice is quickly sounding far away to Geralt. He rolls his hips in time with the bard stroking his prostate. A groan falls from his lips.
"No. He's close enough on his own. He's likely going to pass out right after and it will be easiest on him if he's already comfortable. Go ahead and finish him." Yennefer carves the fingers of one hand through his hair again, the other rests gently on his shoulders, rubbing soft circles that contrast so beautifully to the harsh presses of the bard's fingers, now stroking his prostate with renewed earnest.
The fingertips inside him press on the hot bundle of nerves particularly hard in one spot and it's enough to move over the edge. His cock spends hard against the towel and his own stomach and everything goes black.
"Geralt?" Yennefer gently moves his face to the side. She smiles lightly, stroking his brow. Jaskier looks up as he carefully removes his fingers and she nods at the unspoken question. The bard wipes his fingers on the edge of the towel, and helps the mage roll the Witcher to his side. He quickly cleans the spend from Geralt's stomach, moping up what he can with the towel. They roll him back unto his stomach and cover him with the blanket, taking care to assure he's comfortable even in his unconscious state.
"How long do you think he'll be out for?" Jaskier settles himself down by the fire, taking up his parchment and quill.
Yennefer sits down at the desk, checking on the potion she had been brewing. "Hopefully he'll sleep through the night. Gods know he needs it." She stirs her potion. "We should visit the herbalist in the morning. See about getting ingrediants to brew him more white honey."
Jaskier hums in agreement. After a moment he sets his parchment aside and picks up Geralt's breeches from the cover where they were left. He fishes needle and thread from their bags and begins to mend the tear. Yennefer sits down at his side, Geralt's torn pauldron in hand. She works magic through the leather, enchanting it just a little stronger than before. When it's mended she carefully washes the monster's leavings away. He passes her the breeches so she can take care of the bloodstains, while he sets the pauldron back in its proper place with the rest of the Witcher's armor, working it's buckles back up with practiced fingers. He rinses the Witcher's boots, cleaning the mud and blood and other unsavoriness from them. She wipes clean the silver sword, oils it, and returns it to its sheath. The steel sword is untouched and she leaves it be.
When they've finished they leave his clothes folded on the chair so they are in reach when Geralt wants them again. Quietly they shed their own clothes and crawl into the bed. Yennefer settles against his side, and he wraps his arms around her. They watch Geralt sleep, both of them silently relieved at each easy breath that rises and falls from the Witcher until sleep comes to claim them both.