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dont-tempt-me-frodo · 3 years

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Overindulging

Also available to read on ao3

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier wasn’t completely bereft of coin. ‘Toss A Coin To Your Witcher’ had proved very popular with the masses and in the months that followed after writing it, the pouch he kept on his belt jingled merrily with every step.

It was why, when they stopped in Novigrad to discuss a contract with a merchant, he got a little excited in the market and decided to indulge in something sweet. Geralt had rolled his eyes at him as he popped brown paper bag after brown paper bag into his satchel and fixed him with a look that Jaskier was quickly learning to decipher as ‘I don’t understand you and we need to move this along before I let out an annoyed grunt.’

Jaskier joined him again, grin lighting up his face as they wove their way through the busy town square towards the tavern they were to spend the night in.

“Why waste your coin?” Geralt grumbled as he spotted Jaskier patting his satchel.

“Because dear Witcher,” the bard hummed, “I’m allowed to treat myself to nice things, things that I want. With coin that I earned, might I add, so there comes a feeling of satisfaction with the purchase. Spending isn’t wasteful if it makes me happy.”

“Hm.”

“Why shouldn’t I enjoy the things I like? It’s been too long since I’ve had chocolates and cakes and other sugary delights. Not that your rabbit stew isn’t lovely and all, but I’m allowed to indulge a little in finer things. You can’t tell me you’ve never bought something just because you want it?”

“Hm.”

The tone of this ‘hm’ was subtly different than the last and Jaskier was starting to get good at picking them apart.

“Really? Never? Not even a sneaky sweet? Have you even had chocolate and the like before?”

“No,” the Witcher grunted, “If it isn’t essential to my survival, I’d rather save the coin.”

“Brothels are the exception,” Jaskier smirked at the glare in Geralt’s amber eyes, “No, no, I get it. We all have needs.”

Geralt’s jaw twitched and Jaskier had to bite back a laugh as they entered the tavern.

They were met by a wall of heat, the scent of ale and sweat heavy in the air. The buzz of chatter was loud and Geralt pulled a face at the onslaught to his senses.

As Geralt marched over to an empty table in the corner, Jaskier sidled up to the bar to discuss a warm meal and rooms for the night with the barkeep.

The Witcher found that Jaskier was much more successful in this endeavour than he had ever been, and it was easier to leave the young man to it.

Since Posada, he had begrudgingly allowed Jaskier to travel with him with the agreement that when they reached Oxenfurt, they’d part ways. Geralt had tried to dissuade the bard from his company many times but Jaskier was stubborn, and for some reason unknown to him, had stuck around.

He had to admit, having Jaskier by his side did have its benefits.

For one, negotiations for contracts went smoother and he was paid better for his work. The bard, even only eighteen years old, exuded this charismatic charm that seemed to make people feel guilty for short-changing or trying to cheat the Witcher. Those who still tried were met with Jaskier’s sharp words and indignant anger and often the threat of a rude song being composed about them.

For another, there was the whole tavern and inn situation. On his own, Geralt would be extremely lucky to get a room anywhere, often having to camp under the stars, which he didn’t really mind, but there were times when a roof over his head was definitely preferable. Since meeting Jaskier, they were rarely turned away as long as Jaskier promised the Witcher’s best behaviour and a set or two to entertain the patrons.

Then there was the song, and the other ballads Jaskier had started composing about his daring deeds. Geralt couldn’t deny that the general attitude towards himself had improved ever so slightly, and Jaskier assured him that the more songs he put out into the world, the more the fame of the White Wolf spread, the easier things would become.

It almost made the endless talking and impromptu lute playing and complaining about sore feet, the cold, the heat, being hungry, being tired, worth it. Almost.

Jaskier joined him at the table with two frothing ales and a coy smile.

“Plates of stew on their way, and two rooms. Fought hard for them too. Stingy bastard was only willing to give us one room to start with,” he perched on the chair opposite Geralt and took a deep drink from his tankard.

Geralt shrugged, “One room doesn’t bother me.”

A strange look crossed Jaskier face but it was gone before Geralt had the chance for it to fully register.

“Meh, I thought you’d prefer having the bed to yourself seeing as how I apparently steal all the sheets,” there was an air of nonchalance about Jaskier’s tone.

“You do,” Geralt narrowed his eyes at him.

“Do not,” Jaskier retorted, then after a beat, mumbled, “Not my fault if I’m cold.”

“Hm.”

“Riveting as this conversation is, as always with you Witcher, I agreed to play a few songs before our food is brought over.”

“Singing for your supper?” Geralt grunted, a hint of amusement in his expression.

“Yes, yes, alright,” Jaskier scowled at him.

He pulled his lute case onto the table and then lifted the instrument out to make sure it was in tune.

The first thing Jaskier had done with the first coin he had earned was to buy a protective travel case for the lute Filavandrel had gifted him. Even with his youthful clumsiness and brash impulses, Jaskier took very good care of his instrument. Perhaps even more so than Geralt did his blades. The Witcher couldn’t help but admire the bard for it.

Jaskier settled back in the chair a moment, scanning the tavern to pick out a good spot for a performance then inhaled sharply as a thought struck him.

He took out the brown paper bags he had slid into his satchel and arranged them on the table in front of him, peering into each one until he found what he was looking for. He popped a delicate looking chocolate truffle into his mouth and hummed in contentment, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Geralt arched a brow at him and Jaskier tilted his head slightly.

“Want one?” he asked, offering the bag to Geralt.

The Witcher could smell the thick, rich sweetness wafting from the bag and sighed. Jaskier smiled in delight as Geralt took one and shoved it in his mouth. His jaw almost dropped, and his eyes blew wide. He chewed enthusiastically and swallowed.

“Good?” the bard grinned.

Geralt nodded, his pupils still dilated.

“By all means, have another,” Jaskier hummed as he stood and practically skipped between the chairs and tables to take up a position in front of the crackling hearth.

He shook himself, trying to dislodge the knot of nerves that had settled in his gut, and beamed at the patrons, none of whom were really paying him any attention.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen,” he lilted, “My name is Jaskier and I will be playing for you throughout the next few hours.”

There were a few eyes on him now and he darted his tongue across his lower lip.

With a strum of his lute, he launched into ‘Toss A Coin,’ and felt himself relax a little in the familiarity and safety of the music. A ripple of recognition crossed many of the faces watching him with a new intrigue.

Jaskier still couldn’t believe how quickly this song had spread and when he hit the chorus a few of the patrons joined in. A giddy feeling rushed through him.

He let himself get lost in the moment and when he finished with a flourish, the round of applause that followed had him beaming.

“Thank you,” he chirped.

Filled with confidence, he went into a ballad he had recently composed about Geralt taking on a wraith that had been haunting an orchard. He was still fine tuning it, but by the reactions of the crowd, he was getting close.

He took a few requests after that, and after over an hour of playing, he announced he was taking a break but would be back soon. This was met with a mixture of cheers and protests and he made his way back to Geralt, vibrating with the adrenaline that came with performing.

Jaskier knew something was wrong the second he approached the table. Geralt was hunched over in his chair and the plate of steaming stew in front of him lay untouched. Then Jaskier noticed the brown paper bags. The very clearly empty brown paper bags.

He bit his lip and gingerly sat opposite the Witcher.

Geralt looked very sick. He was slightly grey, and he was clutching his stomach.

“Oh Geralt. Please tell me you didn’t-” Jaskier felt his chest ache at the miserable expression on the Witcher’s face.

“M’sorry,” Geralt mumbled.

“You ate all of it? Everything I bought?” Jaskier would be annoyed if it weren’t for the pitiful groan that escaped from the Witcher.

Jaskier thumbed his temples, forcing away the bubble of laughter that rose with how ridiculous this situation was.

“I don’t feel so good,” Geralt whined. He whined, and Jaskier felt his heart melt.

“I’m not surprised,” the bard sighed, trying to decide the best course of action.

He wanted to eat, to fill his stomach with warm stew and then get back up and continue his set, but Geralt needed him right now. The Witcher’s distress was blinding and Jaskier swallowed down his petty selfishness, deciding that Geralt was being punished enough for his lack of self-control. Not a phrase he thought he’d ever associate with the white-haired man.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room and settle you down,” Jaskier rose again, bringing his lute with him as he placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

The Witcher slowly got up on unsteady legs and Jaskier looped an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. The bard led him up the stairs and guided him into a small room, whispering quiet words of reassurance as he did so.

The pallet bed with its straw mattress crowded the left wall and a washstand with a basin inhabited the right corner.

Jaskier lowered Geralt onto the bed. The Witcher gurned, paling a shade greyer, and watched with dull eyes as Jaskier hovered awkwardly.

“Jaskier… I think… I think I’m dying,” Geralt groaned through a spasm of pain.

“You’re not dying. It’s just stomach-ache. You’re going to be fine,” Jaskier fidgeted with his fingers, “Has this never happened to you before?”

“No. Don’t like it. When will it go away?” the Witcher grunted.

“You should just be able to sleep it off. With your Witchery metabolism, you should feel better in no time,” Jaskier chewed his cheek as Geralt lay back, hands splayed over his extended stomach.

Jaskier knew what he was supposed to do, he just didn’t know if he should, if it would be welcomed, if he was crossing some sort of boundary. He’d known Geralt for a few months. He didn’t think that giving his new friend a stomach rub for overindulging was quite acceptable yet.

Geralt closed his eyes, his breath coming in sharp huffs and Jaskier perched cautiously on the edge of the bed.

“Geralt,” he said timidly, “Do you want me to…to help?”

“Is there something you can do?” Geralt’s eyes snapped open, wide and imploring.

Jaskier gave a shy nod.

If it weren’t for the tight ache in his guts, Geralt would have pondered the unusual reservedness of his young bard companion. But another wave of nausea crashed over him and he grunted out a “Please,” instead.

Jaskier swallowed thickly and very gently, rested his hand on Geralt’s firm stomach. As he started to massage soothing circles, the fabric of Geralt’s shirt bunching under his fingers, the Witcher let out a shaky sigh and pressed his head back into the pillow.

“Feels nice. Thanks,” Geralt muttered as he closed his eyes again.

Jaskier’s heart leaped into his throat at the trust the Witcher was placing in him. He knew this relationship he was trying to build with Geralt was very one-sided. He wasn’t an idiot. But this moment right here, as Jaskier rubbed Geralt’s aching stomach, it sent curls of warmth through him.

He let the tension in his shoulders release when he realised that the Witcher had fallen asleep and pulled his hand back into his lap.

A strange emotion sparked in his chest as he looked at Geralt and he forced it away.

Don’t do it Jaskier, he told himself, don’t fall for him. That is a dangerous path to heartbreak. But he couldn’t help the shiver of emotion that thrilled through him when Geralt sighed softly, looking so peaceful and utterly beautiful.

Jaskier pushed himself up from the bed and reached for the door, glancing one last time at Geralt before leaving the small room.

He paused in the hallway, listening to the muted sounds of the tavern below, trying to let it drown out the rapid pattering of his heart.

They were friends. Not even friends. Geralt didn’t have friends. He’d told Jaskier often enough in the past few months.

But he knew now. That would never be enough. And all Jaskier could do was hope.

#my writing #the witcher #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #fluff #stomach ache #this is the first thing ive written in weeks #im back baby

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thearvariblues · 4 years

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The Bard and The Wolf - Chapter Four

(AKA Geraskier in the Metal Band AU you didn’t know you needed)

The fourth chapter, in which Jaskier deals with his terrible and well-deserved hangover, with a bit of help from someone he definitely didn’t expect.

You can also find the fic on AO3. :)

The masterpost for this fic can be found HERE.

4 – There’s a Monster In My Pants

Geralt must have hung down the phone before Jaskier finished throwing up, because when the poor hungover bard crawled back to the bedroom, Geralt wasn’t on the line anymore.

Jaskier knew he probably should call him back, but he was too exhausted to deal with whatever Geralt wanted to say to him now. Probably that he was out of the band, for good, with no chance of ever returning.

Jaskier took his phone with him, just in case, and very slowly made his way to the living room, where he stretched on the sofa and covered himself with a blanket. He refused to stay in bed, but he also refused to function.

He was feeling like hell. Partially it was the hangover. His stomach still felt queasy, his head was spinning and the dwarf in his skull abandoned his hammer and grabbed a power drill instead. It was a purgatory, and Jaskier was pretty sure he absolutely deserved it.

Oh, dear God. Trust him to blow his chance to have something good in his life. No, not good. Something great.

“Stupid, stupid Jaskier,” he muttered, closed his eyes firmly and decided to spend the day wallowing in self-pity.

He must have fallen asleep soon after making this decision, because all of a sudden, somebody was banging on his door, and quite loudly at that.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered and tried to hide under his blanket, but the horrible sound just wouldn’t stop. Jaskier struggled into a sitting position and groaned. “Who the fuck is that?!”

The banging stopped, but what came after was even more horrible.

“Who the fuck do you think, Jaskier?” said a deep, husky voice he recognized after the first syllable.

Jaskier swallowed.

“This is not Jaskier!” he called in a voice much higher than his own. “This is his flatmate… Alfred! Darling. Jaskier went to visit his poor sick grandmother who lives in Siberia!”

“Nice try,” Geralt chuckled. “But you’ve told me you lived alone. Open the fucking door, Jask.”

“No way,” Jaskier replied. “I’m too young and pretty to die!”

“I’m not here to kill you. But I will the next time I see you if you don’t open the door right fucking now.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jaskier groaned and stood up, very slowly and carefully, huddled in his blanket. He made his way to the door and opened it. The first thing he saw were two golden eyes and an amused smirk. “What?”

Geralt raised his right hand, which was holding two paper bags.

“Belgian fries, tartar sauce, chocolate cake,” he announced. “Also, there’s a Monster in my pants. And I mean the energy drink, not what you’re probably thinking right now. All tried and tested hangover remedies.”

“Jesus Christ, I love you,” Jaskier moaned and stepped away from the door.

It was entirely possible that Geralt was lying about not being here to kill him, but he brought fries, meaning he’s bought his way into the flat.

“Not Jesus Christ, last time I checked,” Geralt chuckled. “And your affection is way too easily won, Bard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a whore. Please come in, excuse the mess, gimme the fries, the cake and the Monster from your pants.”

“We are still talking about the drink, right?” Geralt asked, shutting the door behind him.

Jaskier let his body fall onto the couch.

“My dearest wolf, I wouldn’t be able to get it up even if I wanted.”

Geralt smiled and handed him the bags and a can of energy drink he took out of his back pocket.

“Good. That’s what you deserve for being so damn stupid.”

“Yeah, I know. I definitely should have stopped drinking after the fucking video,” Jaskier muttered, digging in the bag that was a little bigger than the other. “But I felt like shit, and I wanted to forget, and… Oh, you mean I deserve it for the video. Right.”

Geralt sat down in an armchair and watched Jaskier hungrily stuff a few fries into his mouth.

“Don’t you?” he asked as Jaskier popped open the energy drink.

“Absolutely. Is that why you’re here, Geralt? To act as my voice of conscience? You could have saved yourself the trouble, my conscience’s been nagging at me ever since I woke up.”

“I came here to make sure you were okay, you moron,” Geralt grunted. “I would gladly let you die, but as Ciri pointed out, if you did, we would have to find a new singer, and I don’t think I’m ready for auditions.”

“Oh, how loved and appreciated I feel right now.”

“Hmm...”

Jaskier sighed and closed his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry for the video, it was a stupid idea and Ciri definitely should have stopped me. And I’m sorry… I’m fucking sorry for outing you.”

“You didn’t know I wasn’t out.”

“Precisely. I didn’t know, I should have kept my big, stupid mouth shut. Fuck. I know how it feels, I’ve been outed by a friend before, and now I do it to somebody else?”

“Jaskier...”

“I mean, the friend outed me to my parents and he did it on purpose, but it doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose, does it?”

“Jaskier.”

“The result is the same, somebody who didn’t want to be out is out now, and they have to deal with the consequences–”

“Jask.”

Jaskier blinked.

“What?”

“It’s fine. As Renfri would gladly tell you, I’ve been talking about doing this for months, I just never gathered the courage to say Look, fans, I know you all think I am this big bad manly wolf, every woman’s wet dream, but I’m kind of also into guys, please don’t hate me. It’s almost a relief that someone did it for me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaskier muttered.

“Do what?”

“Try to… convince me that my mistake was actually a good thing.” He took a sip from the drink. “How the hell did you even know the normal one was my favorite, and not one of those disgusting sugar-free fancy ones?”

“I didn’t,” Geralt shrugged. “I just took my favorite.”

“Oh. Thanks. I mean it. You’re a dear heart, Geralt.”

“I know.”

Jaskier uttered a tiny laugh.

“And so humble… What do your fans think about your bisexuality, by the way?”

“No idea. Haven’t checked the comments yet.”

“You haven’t?”

“Have you checked them yet? After all, you outed yourself, too.”

“Yes. As bisexual, but everyone already thought I was gay, so it’s no big deal.”

“Hmm...”

“Oh, stop it with the grunts. By the way, how was I supposed to check anything? I was barely conscious. Well, not even barely, most of the time. I’m only coming back to life thanks to this heavenly goodness you’ve brought me. Those fries were amazing. And now for the cake… Oh, dear lord, I’m starting to think I did die, and I ended up in heaven!”

“Well, it’s obvious you really feel better,” Geralt smirked.

“Physically, yes. Though it would help me tremendously if you checked the comments, so I can stop feeling like shit for… you know.”

“Why don’t you check them yourself?”

“Because, my dear Geralt… Oh, yes, this is fabulous,” he moaned as he put a plastic fork full of cake into his mouth. “My dear, dear wolf, I’d hate to have to throw up the feast you brought me.”

“Jask...”

“Please?”

“Ugh, fine,” Geralt muttered, taking his phone out of his pocket. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Someone’ mentioned it before. Several people. Many, many, many people.”

“I’m only doing this for you. Not because I want to know.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course.”

“I really… Oh, fuck.”

“Good fuck or bad fuck?”

Geralt took a deep breath, scrolling through the comments on his phone’s screen.

“Well, the good news is, not so many people noticed the bit about my sexuality. Most of these comments are about you.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed. “Okay. Gimme. I’m ready for them to tear me apart.”

“I saw that yesterday,” Geralt smirked. “As you wish. So… Oh, yes, that’s a good one. Oh, boy. This bard looks like a pure cinnamon roll, acts like a pure cinnamon roll, but in reality he’s just a feral bitch who’s out for blood. I mean, I’m not sure what it even means, but it sounds good, right?”

“It is good. Please, please, don’t let it be the only one.”

“Dear God, this guy’s chaotic energy is off the charts. I wasn’t sure about the whole thing, but I can’t help it, I love him already.”

“Oh, yes, baby, yes!” Jaskier groaned.

“I’m definitely getting old, I didn’t understand a word of it,” Geralt muttered. “Oh, this one I understand. Am I the only one who’s been humming Toss a Coin To Your Witcher for the past ten minutes? Well, since the comment has more than a hundred likes, he probably isn’t the only one.”

“It’s a catchy song,” Jaskier said.

“Yeah, though that bit about a humble bard definitely wasn’t inspired by you,” Geralt chuckled. “Oh, God… I am a heterosexual guy, but seeing those blue eyes, I understand why Geralt would let him suck his cock. And the reaction to that is… Man, I’m a lesbian, and I would gladly let him suck my cock. And then… Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Jaskier had closed his eyes, but now he opened them and focused on Geralt.

“What?”

“And Geralt’s not even heterosexual. He probably stood no chance.”

“And here we go,” Jaskier said and pushed the cake aside. “But this is good. It’s great, Geralt. they’re taking it as a fact, that’s the best–”

“Guys. Guys, are we really ignoring the fact this adorable bard said that Geralt, our mighty White Wolf, was bi? I mean, we knew it already… How the fuck did they know?!”

“Hate to break it to you, dear heart, but I knew it, too, even before Lambert told me,” Jaskier shrugged. “You just have this… bisexual energy.”

“Bisexual energy,” Geralt repeated.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“The important question – when he’s with a guy, is Geralt a top, or a bottom?”

“Oh, I know the answer to that, too!”

“I doubt that,” Geralt muttered. “Don’t know about Geralt, but this Jaskier guy is definitely a power bottom.”

“Wrong. Absolutely, completely wrong,” Jaskier commented.

Geralt shook his head.

“I can’t believe… Just yesterday, they were calling you a twink and a fairy and...”

“Cocksucker,” Jaskier prompted.

“And now they… speculate about my sexual preferences? And they believe you sucked my cock to get in the band?!”

“Oh, no, they don’t. Fret not, dear heart, they’re just… playing along. It’s a joke.”

“Am I the only one here who just loves how absolutely smitten this guy is with the rest of the band, Lambert included? So fucking adorable!”

“Oh, I’m gonna start blushing.”

“So, are we giving this puppy a chance? All those in favor, say Aye!”

“How many Ayes?” Jaskier asked, biting his lower lip.

“Way, way too many,” Geralt smiled. “It seems you got lucky, you feral bitch. Congrats. You’re a new fan favorite.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jaskier grinned. “I’m gonna make you famous yet, Witcher!”

“I doubt that. You haven’t made Dandelions famous, did you?”

“It’s hard to make a band famous when no matter what you suggest, they tell you Nah, Julian, that’s stupid, I’m not doing that.”

“Don’t worry. We’d never call you Julian, Jask.”

“Very reassuring,” Jaskier chuckled. “Why do you call me Jask, anyway?”

“Shorter than Jaskier. But if you want me to stop…”

“No, that’s not… I don’t mind. I like it. Just don’t call me Julian. I hate being called Julian. Only my parents call me Julian, and only when I do something they don’t approve of. Which is like… all the time. I haven’t seen them in years, but I’m sure that when I see them again, they’re gonna be like… Oh. Julian. You look… healthy. Which basically means I got fat, by the way.”

“Fat? Where?” Geralt blinked.

“Oh, darling. We’re talking about my mother, so… everywhere.”

“Bullshit,” Geralt grunted. “You’re not fat.”

“I do tend to get a little chubby if I let myself go too much.”

“Bullshit,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier smiled and got back to his cake.

“I didn’t say I minded,” he said. “But thanks, anyway.”

“You’re… welcome?”

“Would you like a bite?” Jaskier asked. “I’m not giving you my plastic fork, but there’s a normal one in the kitchen. Maybe even a clean one, if you’re lucky.”

“Well, I’m not gonna say no,” Geralt laughed and got to his feet.

“And in the meantime, you could tell me what you think about Toss a Coin To Your Witcher.”

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. “I knew this was coming…”

They were just in the middle of discussing their favorite metal bands (well, Geralt’s favorite, and Jaskier’s I really liked them ten years ago) when Geralt’s phone rang. He answered it with a little apologetic smile.

“Yes, what is it, Ciri? … No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t been gone for two hours already. … Right. I have. … No, I’m not trying to find a place to bury his body. … No, we’re not in a hospital. … No, Jaskier is fine, we’re just… talking. And I kind of lost track of the time. … Yes, I know I have a client in an hour. … Yes. … Yes, Ciri. … Yeah. See you at home. Love you too.”

He ended the call and sighed.

“Gotta go?” Jaskier asked. He was looking way better than he had upon Geralt’s arrival. His face wasn’t deathly pale, for a start, and his eyes were much brighter and clearer. He still looked tired, though.

“Yes. Because I’m an idiot who takes clients on Saturdays,” Geralt muttered and got to his feet. “Will you be all right here?”

“Absolutely, thanks to you,” Jaskier smiled. “You saved my life, Wolf.”

“You’re welcome, Bard,” Geralt nodded. “Will you make it to the rehearsal tonight, or should I call it off?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you there, then. Take care, Jask.”

“See you, Geralt.”

Jaskier waited until he heard the door click behind Geralt before he let out a long, deep breath. He fought the wide smile that threatened to make its way on his face.

Fuck, he was enjoying Geralt’s company way too much. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all...

Continue with Chapter Five

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #the bard and the wolf #my fics

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