Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light streamed into the throne room through the gaps in between the heavy red curtains as Geralt, Yennefer, and their guards, one from each school, walked across the carpet. They didn’t stop under the stairs leading to the huge, cushioned throne. No, they continued up, until Geralt sat down at the place of the rightful ruler, Yennefer standing by his right hand.

The king of Kerrack, the previous ruler of this rather small, if lucrative, region, stood with his head bowed, hands bound, to the side, until Letho, who had the pleasure to keep an eye on him, pushed at his shoulder to make him step closer to Geralt. The man was well built, but a bit soft around the edges, with graying hair and wrinkles betraying his age and tendency to frown often.

Well, he couldn’t frown half as menacingly as Geralt did right now. This whole mess didn’t even need to happen in the first place if the man hadn’t decided that attacking the trading routes of the Northern Union would be a great way to make some money. Completely foolish but fitting for a nation with pirating ancestry. The Warlord’s army teleported to the suffering area, collected a bit of evidence to offer the other nations if they were in doubt over the legitimacy of the conquering, and took down the Kerrack castle in two days. It was one of the shortest invasions the continent has ever seen.

Geralt only showed up now, to officially take Kerrack from this man’s hands, and appoint a few of his witchers to cleanse the capital of rats and appoint someone suitable to be the figurehead.

As quick as the witchers were in their efforts, the foolish attacks still managed to kill a few merchants and not so few of the people living under the Warlord’s protection, which was the main reason for the way Geralt’s gaze pierced the sweating aristocrat.

The negotiations didn’t take long. There was basically none, to be frank. Geralt wasn’t the type to chat.

You were foolish.

 Now your land belongs to the Northern Union.

I sentence you to death by hanging.

Let him swing above the gates.

And it was done. Geralt looked around the room, now empty of anyone except his witchers, Yennefer, expensive fabrics, precious metals, and artistically carved wooden decorations. He sighed. What a load of pretentious bullcrap.

“What’s next?” he asked Yennefer.

“A few nobles are begging for an audience. And there’s also the issue of the king’s son,” she said.

“What issue, just hang him next to the father. And you can meet with the noblemen yourself,” he frowned.

“Very well, I will meet with the nobles. But the son, that’s a different case. Apparently, he’s an omega. He says he wasn’t involved in the foolishness of his father and wants you to hear him out,” the sorceress’ purple eyes pierced him, and he felt his eyebrows lift slightly.

“Hmm… Omega you say? Haven’t seen a male one in ages,” he said, and Yennefer nodded.

“I know it would be better to talk with the whole council first, but we discussed this many times already, waiting for an opportunity. You do need to find a partner sooner or later. And this could smooth over the transition for the Kerrack people as well as for the other nations. We should bring this up to him as an option,” the sorceress said, her tone carefully neutral and Geralt frowned even deeper. He knew it was bound to happen. He has found his peace with it. This would need to happen eventually.

“Okay then, I’ll see him. But we’ll only proceed if he agrees of his own volition,” he grunted, and Yennefer smiled.

“Well obviously,” she added and then she nodded at one of the witchers standing close, Lukan of Griffins. “Bring the prince. The Warlord will accept his plea for an audience.”

Geralt watched the man leave the throne room and slumped slightly in the chair. As if someone would get with a witcher voluntarily.

…

“I wish for the Warlord to accept me into his harem,” said the prince and Geralt felt himself freeze in shock. What? It hadn’t even been five minutes since the prince entered the room and he hadn’t stopped shocking the witcher for a single moment. Yennefer next to him huffed a small laugh.

“What a feisty flower,” he heard her whisper and had to agree.

From the moment the omega passed through the door, he consistently broke down any and all expectations that Geralt had time to build around him in the short time he knew of his existence. First of all, his looks. He expected an omega. Young, wide eyes, in plain clothes, subdued. What entered the space instead was a brightly clothed, for a human very well-built man, with a feathered hat over a mop of curly brown hair, hard blue eyes, well-groomed goatee around smirking lips, and a lute over his shoulder. Geralt could smell his lavender perfume all the way from the hall.

He spoke loud and clear, obviously used to projecting his voice across noisy places. Explained about his nonexistent relationship with his dear father, explained that he has lived on the road for almost two decades by now, and never planned on returning to a country that treated omegas like Kerrack did. Explained that a few days ago five Kerracki soldiers intercepted one of his sets in a village at the Northern Union grounds, which he until then thought safe, and dragged him to his father, who had told him in no uncertain terms, that he would never see the light of day again, unless he married lord Humperdink, who his father planned to make his successor, and gave him a child of the royal blood.

As such, the Warlord’s interruption actually made Prince Julian, across the lands knows as Jaskier the Bard, quite happier, than would be expected, but still he understood the precarious position the Warlord stood at, and as such offered a sound resolution to the dilemma. Becoming a concubine.

Geralt stared at the strange man before himself, from his sharp eyes, which quickly checked all of his surroundings, discreetly looking for escape routes, when he first entered, the seemingly relaxed stance, but hands at ready to reach for concealed daggers, and smelled the complete honesty and truth filling the air as he spoke, together with a sweet, underlying scent of cornflower, that for a regular alpha would be completely hidden by the lavender.

“What would you get out of it?” he asked after a moment, gaze settling heavily on the man.

“Well, first of all, I wouldn’t need to be hung next to my dear dead dad. Some other might include the protection I’d automatically gain while joining you. I am sure you are at least somewhat aware of what happens to unmarried noble omegas after their paternal house falls. But the most important one, you might have already noticed,” he pointed to the lute over his shoulder.

“I am a bard, have been since I left this place ages ago. I have traveled across the continent there and back and I have seen what changes you have brought to the land. I’ve spoken with the people of the Wolf’s land, and I have to admit that I’ve been planning to travel north to meet you for quite a while,” he bowed his head slightly. Not too deep, never too deep, not even when he first entered.

“So, this is my proposal. Let me become your concubine for two years. It will give you sufficient rights to acquire Kerrack smoothly, as I’m the only living heir. In return, I request the shelter of your name and the opportunity to write as many songs as I can while I’m present at your court,” the omega looked up, bright blue eyes meeting the yellow eyes of the conqueror. And Geralt found himself agreeing.

Chapter Text

Jaskier slowly climbed out of the bath in one of the guest room bathrooms and dried himself up with a fresh towel. The sun outside the small castle window had already reached its highest point a while ago and now was slowly climbing back down across the sky as the afternoon progressed. He tried to squeeze most of the water out of his hair, before he put the wet fabric away and dressed in a clean set of clothing, his favorite dark blue and purple piece.

The warlord requested for him to bathe, to get rid of the lavender perfume. Jaskier just smirked and obliged. It has been ages since he walked around the world with just his bare scent. It was dangerous to do so in a world where omegas were so perceived. It was better to pass as a beta. Now, he guessed, now his new lord would probably wish to be able to check his scent when he took him to bed.

What a thrill.

Jaskier hummed as he finished tying his laces, and he tried to dry his hair some more before he sat down in front of the mirror and carefully styled both his goatee and hair as much as he could with it far from completely dry. At last, he finally put back on his collection of rings. It was good to have something to fidget with. And there was also the one with emergency pheromone stoppers. He never left his room without it.

Finally, he checked himself out in the mirror again, satisfied with his appearance, and opened the door to the adjoining room, where his new guard was already waiting. It was a tall, muscular, quiet witcher with a wolf medallion laying on his chest. The witch called him Aubry.

“How do I look?” he asked and turned around before he walked over to his lute and the one pack his father left with him, the hygiene one.

The witcher was quiet, but Jaskier noticed the subtle movement as he scented the air. The bard’s stomach twisted a little, but he didn’t let it show. Gosh, it would most likely take him a while before he got used to just flaunting his scent like this. He felt naked.

“Do you have anything you wish to bring with you?” the witcher finally spoke as Jaskier adjusted the lute strap over his shoulder. His voice was deep, but nowhere close to the raspiness the warlord’s had.

“If I am not wrong, my horse should be in the stable. I had two more packs tied to my saddle when they took me,” he answered, flashing the witcher a smile, as the warrior nodded.

“Let’s look for those then. Lead the way,” Aubry opened the door for him and Jaskier stepped into the hall.

“You know, it’s been twenty years since I’ve been in this castle. Let’s hope I remember where to go,” he murmured.

The witcher stayed silent, not just in the way he spoke, but with the way he walked. It was almost as if Jaskier was the only one walking these halls, one set of footsteps echoing through the corridors, but for the looming presence, he could feel behind his back. He noticed this earlier, but the witchers’ scents were very subdued. Almost unnoticeable. He was sure most of them were alphas, maybe some betas mixed in, but they smelled so faint… well he was sure there was a good reason for that.

He strode through the halls, took a few staircases, and, grateful for his great memory, finally stepped through a small servant entrance right into the stable. It was quiet there, empty, and he walked through the stalls until he saw a familiar pair of pale grayish ears and a dark mane. He whistled and Pegasus lifted his head, looking for his owner. As soon as he saw the bard, even though there was a looming shadow behind his back, he whinnied and nodded excitedly.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Jaskier asked merrily as he walked to his horse and checked if he was well taken care of. He petted his head before rubbing his chest and legs, while Pegasus tried to sniff at his pockets.

“I am sorry, I don’t have a carrot this time. There’s a dire lack of them in the royal guest rooms,” he told his friend, satisfied with his state, and began looking around for his things.

“You have a good horse. Geralt would like him,” said the witcher out of nowhere, while Jaskier walked to the saddle room, and started looking through the half-empty rows for his.

“The warlord would? I am not surprised. This guy has carried me well for many years, he’s a great companion,” Jaskier said, remembering all the times he dropped into the saddle right from a window and rode to safety away from the village where he slept with someone he definitely shouldn’t have. It was a neat trick.

Finally, he found both his saddle and bridle and took them into his hands to carry to a stall, where he put it next to the wall when Aubry came out of the room holding two familiar packs.

“Is this yours?” he asked and Jaskier nodded.

“Looks like someone sneaked a peak,” the bard commented as he looked inside and sure. His spare soap, belt, money, sleeping tunic for fancy nights, and rose perfume were gone. Nobody took his notebooks or lute strings though. Good.

“We can look for whatever was lost if you want. It should still be at least two hours till we have to return,” the witcher spoke.

“Nah, nothing important was taken anyway,” he shook his head.

“How about we take a trip to the kitchen? I could do with a late lunch,” asked the bard after a short thought and couldn’t help but notice how the witcher perked up at that.

“That does sound like a good plan.”

In the kitchen they quickly found their way to a storage, took a whole ham and a wheel of cheese, then continued their plundering with a loaf of fresh bread, as the baker clearly refused to leave the castle hungry, invasion no invasion, and a few red apples. They barely managed to carry it all.

“How about we take some of this to your friends?” Jaskier said and didn’t even wait for an answer as he walked off. The witcher would follow him anyway and he needed to start making friends with the men if he wanted to collect some good stories during his stay.

Just like this, he ended up sitting on the ground in front of the throne room, cutting slices of bread, ham, and cheese, making sandwiches for ten horrifyingly armed and slightly bloody cat-eyed warriors. He did notice the way they every once in a while sniffed the air, but so far none of them even touched him. He couldn’t decide if that was a pity or if he was glad. Well, rather not test the patience of the warlord this soon. He was supposed to be his concubine after all.

…

When Geralt and Yennefer finally managed to get the last of the things they needed him there for in order, he stretched long and good. The room they were in was adjoined to the throne room in a similar fashion to how his own council room at Kaer Morhen was adjoined to the great hall, and he couldn’t wait to be back home.

“Well, this was unpleasant,” sighed Yennefer as she gathered a few scrolls and notebooks that had gathered at the table.

“Time to go back,” he sighed and together with the symbolic guard they left the small room, walked through the throne room, and stopped right outside the door. The sight hit him like a very unexpected and heavy pillow. The witchers from the conquering team were gathered around his soon-to-be newlywed concubine, apparently bickering with each other, while the man sat on the ground and furiously scribbled something into a notebook. There was a gentle cornflower smell wafting through the room, tugging at his senses in an intriguing way. Only Aubry stood calmly next to the bard, taking his position as a guard seriously.

“I take it we’ll soon be able to hear a new song of your making?” Yennefer inquired and it seemed like only then the noise quieted down. The bard looked up and blew on his notes a few times before slapping the book shut. Then he got up in one fluid motion as he dusted off nonexistent dirt from his clothes.

“It sure seems like just a moment of listening to the witchers’ tales would be able to fuel many of those, lady Yennefer,” he bowed theatrically, not lowering his head for a minute.

“It has been long since I’ve heard any rendition of your work. It will be great to hear the original,” Yennefer waved his bow away and waited while the gathered witchers collected their things. It seemed like the man blended in awfully quick.

“I’m honored to hear you know of me,” the bard smiled and checked on his guard.

“I take it I should go pick up my things from the stable?” he asked, eyes finding Geralt and piercing him with a blue gaze. The warlord couldn’t help but feel as if the man was checking him out.

“No need. We’ll depart from there,” Geralt said. He would take a few horses while he was at it.

As they walked, somehow following the bard and Aubry, as they were apparently the only ones somewhat aware of how to navigate the castle, he couldn’t help but sniff at the scent wafting from the bard. Definitely cornflower, maybe even a bit of peach. Now, that the sharp lavender didn’t stab him in the nose, he was surprised by how pleasant it smelled. He understood why the bard would be used to covering it up.

He watched the smooth walk of the man, the straight back and confident stance, the lute swinging in the rhythm of his walk. No sign of fear.

What an interesting man.

Chapter Text

The air up here in the mountains was cold, much colder than down in Kerrack. They stepped out of the portal, almost every one of them, with the exception of Aubry, Yennefer, and Geralt himself, carefully leading a horse with covered eyes. Geralt could hear the bard quietly humming to his grey gelding, seemingly unaffected by the transportation, while the Warlord himself took careful breaths, trying to push the feeling of nausea away. Fuck portals.

He watched on as the bard took his packs and threw them over his shoulder while handing over his horse’s reins to another witcher who would lead it to the stable. The witcher called the bard by his name and offered to show him to the horses later when he settled in. As most of the entourage dispersed into the stable, it was only Geralt, Yennefer, Aubry, and the new concubine. There was no welcome. They weren’t even away for a whole day.

There was a strong gust of wind, and the bard rubbed his arms.

“It is quite chilly up here. I should’ve bought a new cloak before we left. The last one had the misfortune to meet its demise some time during this last spring,” the bard spoke. Geralt had a feeling, that there was an anecdote waiting to be told. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen to it.

“Let’s get inside,” he said and walked ahead swiftly, opening the heavy door into the keep. “I’ll get you one from the storage,” he added as an afterthought. They had more than enough furs to spare.

…

Once away from the biting wind, Jaskier felt his goosebumps disappear. What a weather. He knew he should expect a bit of a cold, but hearing about it and feeling it bite into your skin are two different things. As they walked through the stone halls, he wondered if all he heard from his old friend was really true.

He hadn’t seen the witcher in a few years, but that was most likely due to Jaskier moving further south, where the witchers weren’t much welcome. He did wonder if they would meet here again. Or if he met his demise pierced by yet another monster. They stopped under a staircase.

“Aubry will show you to a guestroom, flower. A better room will be prepared soon, so don’t get too comfortable in there. When you’re done with that, come to the council room and we’ll draft a contract,” the sorceress stared at him with shining violet eyes, and he nodded.

“I am forever thankful for your hospitality,” he said before he turned around and followed his guard up the stairs. The whole time he felt a burning mark on his back as the silent Warlord watched him. He wondered what that man’s deal was. Oh, he was very climbable. If he wanted to, Jaskier would take that ride anytime. But the Warlord didn’t look very interested yet. More so suspicious, or apprehensive. Well, there was a lot of time to charm the pants off him. Whole two years.

…

In the council room, the Warlord and his sorceress, or maybe the sorceress and her Warlord, who knows, were already waiting for them together with two other wolf witchers. An old one, with hair grey, face full of wrinkles, but eyes sharp and shoulders wide, well, as wide as they could look next to the other witcher. His resemblance to the Warlord was almost uncanny. Had it not been for his much darker hair and the horrible scar marring his face, they would have looked like brothers. Well, they probably were brothers, at least in the sense of the witcher brotherhood Jaskier has heard of.

They were introduced to him as Vesemir, the Warlord’s advisor and mentor, and Eskel, the Warlord’s right hand. Jaskier couldn’t help but notice how big and reliable those hands were. Even with the very much subdued scents of the witchers, the bard was absolutely sure he was in a room full of alphas.

Together, they drafted two contracts. To be honest, it was mostly him and the sorceress discussing both the formulation and content, while the three wolves stood loomingly over them and nodded. Sometimes, Eskel would interject, once or twice the Warlord himself pointed out a phrase that would need a slight adjustment, but in the end, it was their work. While Jaskier didn’t enjoy politics and law at all, he was after all trained in them.

They would be married; bound by the first contract they have written down. Kerrack would belong to the White Wolf, Jaskier would have the status of his concubine and the protection that came with that title. That was the contract they would show if anyone asked. Then there was a second contract, directly between him and the Warlord, specifying, that the marriage would only last two years and some other nitpicking.

The light streaming inside through the window turned warmer and warmer as the evening was coming closer when they finally put the scrolls aside and Jaskier rolled his shoulders a few times to get rid of the soreness.

“Are you sore, flower?” asked the sorceress, biting, but, as far as Jaskier could see, in good fun. She was a bit of a bitch. He liked her.

“That’s what happens to a human body after thirty, you become an old man all of a sudden, with creaky joints and all,” he smirked, and she laughed.

“Go stretch that old body, then. Dinner should start in half an hour, Aubry will go with you,” Yennefer beckoned towards the door.

…

Aiden was resting up in the rafters together with Dragonfly and some other cats, flicking a small knife up and down, waiting for the food to commence, when the door to the throne room opened, and out walked a figure he truly didn’t expect to appear followed by Aubry of the wolves.

He caught the knife and hid it, eyes focused on the face, as his whole demeanor shifted from relaxed to alert. Dragonfly questioningly tilted her head, but he pressed a finger to his lips. Quiet. He watched the bard slowly walking away from the door, talking to the wolf, as he lifted himself to the tips of his fingers and toes and moved in the rafters to get closer to the pair.

“…hope the dinner will begin soon. I don’t think the ham sandwiches prepared me for such a long afternoon…”

Huh. It really was him. This particular voice was one Aiden would never forget, even if the face had a new goatee, the glowing brown hair was longer, and the skin around the sky-blue eyes gained the faint beginnings of future wrinkles. He would be pushing forty by now if he hadn’t already hit it. His smile stretched into a wide grin, and he swung down from the rafter, falling to his feet a few steps away from the two.

The bard let out a high-pitched horrified scream as he jumped back away from Aiden, hand immediately going for the dagger hidden in his clothes and Aiden couldn’t hold it as he folded in half with laughter.

“You-“ more laughter, gasping breaths, “You should see your fucking face, Buttercup,” and he laughed and laughed, tears pushing their way into his eyes as he watched the bard blink blankly before his attention shifted to the swiftly moving wolf who didn’t look like he found it that funny. He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture, but before he could avoid him, the wolf’s hand was wrapped around his poor fair throat and squeezed.

“You fucking overdid this, cat,” Aubry growled, and Aiden could see, he could see the mischievous bastard quickly regain his color, let go of the knife, and start smirking.

“Oh, come on, buttercup,” he wheezed. “You know I couldn’t let this pass by,” he wriggled in the hold, just when the other cats started dropping down as well. Better de-escalate soon.

“I don’t know, kitten, I feel like this is such a beautiful immediate comeback, I can’t pass this by either,” the bard spoke, mouth twitching, and the wolf finally stopped applying more pressure, looking from Aiden to the bard and back.

“You know him?” he asked his apparent charge.

“Yes, of course, I know the bastard. Thank you for stepping in, but you can let the kitten go before the other cats pull out their claws,” Jaskier nodded, and Aubry reluctantly lowered his hand, still piercing him with suspicious eyes. Aiden rubbed his throat and shook his head, but neither he nor Jaskier could hold their smiles in any longer and they both met with huge grins on their faces.

“It has been ages since I saw you, did you get new wrinkles?” the cat asked.

“Some of us were busy living, I wasn’t laying up in the rafters like someone these last few years,” the bard replied haughtily, and then they were hugging, a proper long and firm hug of two friends long not seen.

…

When Geralt and his closest council finally stepped out into the hall, the dinner had already started. He ran his eyes over the wolf table, expecting to see Jaskier with Aubry at its end, but the wolf was sitting alone. A few witchers noticed him and nodded his way, but he walked to his seat in thought, as he scanned the room.

That’s when he saw him. At the cat table of all places, sitting next to Lambert’s cat, leaning into his side, their arms around each other, laughing loudly. What. He looked over at his brother and sure, the man was watching those two with a frown on his face. It wasn’t as deep of a frown as he would expect though.

“Your cat knows the bard, Lambert?” asked Eskel as he sat down, and Geralt felt strangely grateful for not having to be the one to ask. There was thins twist in his stomach he couldn’t explain when he looked at those laughing faces.

“Hmm. Obviously. I think I know who that is, but I’m not sure,” he took a huge gulp of ale.

“Oh, spill the tea, we know you want to tell us,” Eskel elbowed him into a rib and Lambert sputtered some of the beer out, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve and frowned at Eskel.

“Fuck you fuckface. But yeah. He did tell me about this omega bard he knows. Refused to tell me who it is though, to keep their privacy or something, I guess now I know. He helped him through a few heats before.”

Chapter Text

When Jaskier woke up the next morning… scratch that. When Jaskier woke up that day, the sun was already high in the sky. He was in a bed in a room that had his packs lying around. His mouth was dry, and his head felt empty and heavy at the same time as he blinked at the ceiling and tried to search through his memories.

Okay. The invasion. The witchers and their sexy Warlord. So far so good. Yep, he offered to become a concubine. They ate sandwiches and went to Kaer Morhen. Room, council room, long hours of writing the contracts. The hall… Aiden. Oh fuck, of course.

He ate at the cat table together with him, ale flowing freely, and of course they had to go drinking together after the meal. He remembered an onslaught of other cat witchers introducing themselves to him, he remembered a few stories they told him about Aiden, priceless jewels so embarrassing he swore to never forget them, and then he shared a few of his own. When they finally decided to go to sleep, the sky was already a few shades lighter, and the cats, luckily, demanded to bring him to his room, or he would most likely be sleeping under some staircase, because this place, especially when drunk, turns into a complete maze.

He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead, but in the end, he slowly sat up on the bed and smiled. It is good, knowing that Aiden is near.

He looked around and lifted one of the packs he had his hygiene products in, those he pulled out together with a fresh set of clothes because these smelled like acidic sweat and a night out, and wrapped it all in the toweling sheet he found folded over his chair. The cats told him about the amazing hot springs under the keep last night, and he really needed to see them.

Thus began his journey. He figured that if he went down the stairs, he would eventually find a corridor with enough people to ask, and he was right. It only took him a few minutes to run into a couple of laundry maids to flirt the directions out of. The pair soon blushed and giggled, and he bowed their way as he walked confidently in the direction they showed him. And sure, soon he found a door and a long staircase, filling up with heat and steam from the depths of the mountain.

He could already feel cleaner, and he hummed an experimental melody or two as he went. The moment the rock opened and let him out into the caverns, he felt astonished. So many warm, steaming pools, so many gleaming, amazingly formed rocks, so many moist, cozy nooks, so many scarred, muscled bodies. Was this heaven?

The witchers must’ve already ended their morning training, which says a lot about how long he slept for it to be almost noon. Well, he never was an early riser. He was more of the type who stayed up longer. But damn, he was very glad that the contracts they wrote had nothing about monogamy written in, he wanted in on this!

“Oi! Buttercup!” Aiden’s voice called to him and Jaskier could see him in one of the smaller pools in the middle. He was sitting next to an angry-looking redhead, which of course must be Lambert, the famous mate! Oh, Jaskier can’t wait to meet this guy. And what's more, in the same pool there was also the Warlord and his big-handed brother Eskel.

The bard took off his clothes, put them into the dirty laundry containers, and walked to the edge of the water with only the sheet over his shoulder and soap and hair-oil in hands, which he, of course, put down, before he slipped into the water, letting out a shameless moan at the temperature.

“Oh fuuuck, this is amazing, kitten,” he closed his eyes for a moment as he felt himself literally melt into the stone edge.

“I told you you’d never look at a regular bathhouse the same,” Aiden patted him lazily on the shoulder and sadly, he had to agree. Fuck this was warm. The water was slightly cloudy from all the minerals, and he was told several times of its healing properties. It’s even spelled to stay clean!

“Welp, he sure does moan pretty,” the redhead said and Jaskier opened his eyes.

“Oh? Do you like what you hear? Wait till I use these vocal chords for a song, that’s when the big things start happening,” he smirks and starts lathering himself with the soap.

“What fucking big things could happen because of a bit of screeching,” the witcher shows that his reputation as an asshole sure wasn’t off-mark, and Jaskier just smiles.

“Ask your boyfriend,” he winks at him and watches the man sputter for a moment before returning to his cleaning routine. Every once in a while he tried to stretch this or that way, thinking that if he gets a good enough angle, he might be able to see more of the Warlord under the damn murky water, for research purposes, of course, but to no avail. It’s when he finally washes off the last fits of soap and adds the oil to his hair, when the big, amber-eyed Eskel turns to him.

“Big things?”

Yeah, like the one I have heard rumors but not seen any evidence of.

“Hmm… let’s say it like this. Music and words may seem innocent and harmless, but when you add spark into the right sort of dry hay, you can start a really big fire. I’ve personally been involved in quite a few rebellions, know of my peers who have done the same. Shifting public opinion, or just giving the silenced their voices, or even silencing someone you don’t want to be heard. We’re quite good at that,” he said, feeling quite a few eyes on himself.

“And, of course, when you’re right at the center of the change, you get the best information for your songs about it,” he ends it with a light voice and another smile.

“You forgot to tell them about that one time when Foltest of Temeria first wrote a bounty for your head, and then paid you twice as much to keep your mouth shut,” added Aiden, and Jaskier grinned, as he saw even the Warlord’s golden eyes pierce him.

“Oh, those are stories for longer evenings and more ale,” he shook his head and washed off the oil.

As it goes with mornings, or anyway the time in between mornings and noons, this one was pretty great. The water was warm and the talk great. Oh, and when it was time for lunch, the Warlord just stood straight up, uncaring of his own toweling, and Jaskier’s pupils might've gone a bit wide. The rumors certainly did seem to have a leg to stand on now.

…

Geralt spent the whole afternoon in his study/council room. First, they invited the big council over, members of all the schools present, to tell them about the new marriage contracts and Kerrack acquisition. They were all okay with it, as the small council expected, and then Geralt was left alone to deal with paperwork he had been pushing for later for way too long.

He finally got out of the room a bit before dinner, and he used the opportunity to take a walk along the battlements. He stood up there, feet planted into the cold stone wall, and watched the sky slowly change colors, clouds swirling around the mountaintops, as the sun lowered itself closer and closer to the horizon. He took a deep breath.

Marriage. Huh. Temporary, but still.

He thought about the bard. He knew him for one day, and barely so. He was talkative, that was for sure. Attractive, as well. All smooth moves, cocky confidence and grins. He was an omega, part of a reason why the marriage thing was possible. Omegas weren’t able to hold property in Kerrack, unless they married. Then it belonged to the husband. Or their children.

But the bard didn’t look like he cared about the stereotype or law. He lived and travelled the continent for twenty years. How he did it, Geralt had no idea, but he was glad, that at least he got a partner who would understand a bit about the wanderlust inherent to all witchers.

He watched the sky flash red for a moment before he turned around and walked back inside. It was time to get married.

…

Calling it a marriage ceremony would be very complimentary. Jaskier came into the hall for supper, and he was called by Yennefer immediately. They would make the announcement and promise now, sign it with witnesses of the whole Kaer Morhen. Good.

When all tables were filled with witchers, the Warlord stood up, his old mentor Vesemir coming close with a length of a black silken ribbon.

“I have an announcement to make,” the White Wolf said, voice low, but still heard by everyone.

“White wolf!” came the answering chorus.

“Come forth, Julian of Kerrack,” said Vesemir and held out his right hand for him. Geralt stood at the left one.

“Today, me and him will sign two marriage contracts and swear to follow them. We ask you to bear witness to our promise,” Geralt announced.

“White Wolf!”

Vesemir took a step back and waited for them to turn to each other. Their left hands were taken and folded over each other before the old witcher looped the fabric around them loosely.

“I, Geralt of Rivia, Warlord of the Northern Union, swear to protect you as long as you are with me.”

“I, Julian of Kerrack, rightful heir of Kerrack, swear to be your concubine as long as you protect me. All I have is yours.”

“I thus swear I bear witness to this union,” pronounced Vesemir. Then two young servants came, holding the contracts and quills, and the bard and the witcher signed their names in fresh ink.

“White Wolf!” came the chorus once more, and then the dinner started.

Jaskier looked at his new husband and smirked.

“Should we get this off now?” he lifted his hand with the ribbon and the Warlord shrugged his shoulders.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier decided to take it as an okay, so he quickly got rid of the loose string and freed them. He could already see Aiden grinning at him from the cat table, holding a spot free.

“I should go eat. We’ll see each other later, then?”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll be on my way then, my lord,” he gave him one last bow, and left, feeling the golden eyes piercing his back. He will eat quickly and see if this marriage has a chance to bear fruits soon.

…

Geralt just finished eating, took a gulp of his ale, and already he had enough. The fucking wording. He should have known that as soon as Lambert hears the word concubine, he won’t fucking shut up.

Yeah, he got a one person harem. Ha ha, very funny. Yeah, the bard was hot, everyone can see that, Lambert. Omfg the white wolf has a concubine, who would have expected that. Ha ha. Thank you and shut up. When Eskel opened his mouth, and asked, when would he get more concubines, with so many free rooms in the keep, he finished his ale, took a fresh one, and left the great hall.

He walked through the dark stone halls, until he came to one of his favorite nooks. One torch on the walls illuminating a stone bench in the corner, and a window overlooking one of the courtyards. He sat down, and relaxed.

He could still hear noise from the great hall, just like he could hear servants coming and going from the kitchen and back, and the animals in the barns outside. He drank a bit more ale and looked outside.

Someone left the hall. It wasn’t a witcher, their steps too light, but it also wasn’t a witcher trying to walk quietly, the steps were too loud. It wasn’t no maid, he couldn’t hear skirts swishing, but it also probably wasn’t one of the male servants, they tended to walk more clumsily.

The steps came closer and with them a sweet, cornflower scent. Geralt lifted his gaze and looked into the dark. He saw the bard’s eyes widen the moment he noticed him. He smelled of fun things, a bit of mead, and of the fancy mystique he saw a few times from afar when he himself travelled. The bard took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“I like the way you sit in the corner and brood, my lord.”

Chapter Text

Geralt was fond of sex. He really was. But, as circumstances had it, most humans weren't fond of sex with him. Back in the days before he slayed the king of Kaedwen and became the Warlord, in the days when he traveled the world with two swords at his back and countless monsters to slay, people used to sneer at the idea of bedding him. He would have to get by with paying when he was fortunate enough to find a whore, who didn't smell completely of disgust or fear or both. When the very rare opportunity of a willing partner to spend the night with arose, he had learned to accept whatever was given.

Since those days, a lot has changed. But since then, he also became the Warlord, and except for his short but disastrous fling with Yennefer, he found himself living a life of very unfortunate celibacy. Now, that looked about to change soon. 

"Why would a man like you spend the evening alone with a drink, when we just married each other?" the sweet-smelling man walked closer to him, limbs long and strong, the movement smooth. He stopped in front of Geralt's slightly spread legs, took the ale from his hand, and put it on the bench next to where Geralt was sitting.

"Wouldn't you like to get to know your concubine better?" the bard slowly tilted Geralt's chin up with his hand, lute calluses catching in his beard. The air was heavy in between them, and Geralt breathed in the smell of something, that he never scented before. It reminded him of peaches and salt, and as he felt his own, usually hidden scent answer, he recognized it. Omega arousal. Fuck.

"Then maybe I should invite said concubine to my quarters," he made himself speak, words barely passing through his throat, but the man was already smiling brilliantly and holding his hand and dragging him to his feet. 

"Lead the way, my lord," the bard winked, and Geralt realized, that he had to lead the way. Hmm... 

"You better not get tired too soon," he said and lifted the man into his arms. There was a moment of surprise before the alluring salty peach smell sharpened and Geralt took the steps by two.

"Do you sweep all of your concubines off their feet like this?" the bard's voice came out all smooth and deep and Geralt felt it in his chest.

"Hmm... I might start doing it more regularly," he answered and opened the door to his room. Shutting it with his foot and depositing the bard on the bed all happened without a second thought and soon, so soon there was a pair of eager hands pulling the edge of his shirt from his pants. He obligingly lifted his arms and let the bard undress him, and soon the fabric fell to the floor, baring Geralt and all his scars to be seen. He felt hesitant for all of half a second and then the bard's hands were back, touching his skin, mapping his scars and muscles, so warm and sure he felt himself melt a bit.

"Oh, sweet Melitele, have you seen yourself? So gorgeous. It's like the greatest artisan took a piece of marble and the gods breathed life into it. Truly remarkable," the bard whispered as his eyes found Geralts and the witcher felt his heart stutter. Fuck. Such blatant flattery and yet, it felt good.

His own hands reached for the bard, pulling him close, going up his back so he could hold his head and bring him in for a kiss. Fuck, that was good. Geralt closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of a warm body this close, of the bard's eagerness and all the passionate energy he was putting into the kiss when he felt the bard's hands go for his belt and swiftly unbuckle it. The ties of his trousers were loosened just as quickly and then there was a hand slipping inside of his pants, palming at his very much eager and alert dick.

Finally, their lips parted and they panted into each other's mouths for a moment, blue eyes staring into gold. Geralt knew that his must be wide with arousal at the moment. The bard looked absolutely gorgeous with spit-shiny red lips and messy hair. His eyes, like a storm gathering over a clear sky, and that smirk, that smirk once again.

"Someone is happy to be here," said the bard, rubbing a bit against the aforementioned bulge.

"Hmm. Fuck," grunted Geralt, and finally reached for the ties of the bard's clothes.

"Yes, that's the idea," the bard smirked once more but then decided to help Geralt with the mess of his complicated garments, first taking off the doublet, then trousers, undershirt, underclothes, and then he stood there in all his glory while Geralt stared and finally shrugged off the rest of his own clothes.

The bard, the omega, his concubine looked gorgeous. All lean but strong muscles, chest and belly covered with brown hair leading down to where his cock proudly stood up towards Geralt's own. Oh, he could see how the man passed for a beta for years. He hadn't looked while in the springs earlier, but now, now he could.

"Gosh, I saw it in the springs, but truly, your dick would deserve a song of its own," the bard's hand wrapped around his throbbing length and he let his hips lean forward a bit. Then the bard got him by his shoulders and swiftly navigated him to the bed, laying Geralt on his back. He immediately climbed up and sat over him, their cocks brought together, staring down at him all beautiful and cocky.

"We better make a quick plan for this, gorgeous," said the bard and Geralt leaned up on his arms.

"What plan," he growled. Fuck, let's just get on with it. Whatever is good, it had been way too long for him to give a fuck about the exact proceedings.

"Oh shush. Do now growl at me. Now, listen. It's been a real while for me without being fucked and I want to enjoy this, so no knotting, okay?" the bard's tone was light but his expression serious. Geralt nodded. He didn't expect to knot him anyway. Most people didn't want to take a witcher’s knot.

"Very good then," the bard smiled, and Geralt felt his heart thump with the rhythm of the throbbing in his cock. 

"We gonna start anytime soon?" he asked, trying for jovial, ending in very impatient. Luckily for him, the bard just decided to move a bit up his body, as he shifted and reached behind himself with one hand. Geralt's senses snapped to attention, perception sharp like in the middle of a fight, when he heard the bard's fingers enter himself and the air got even sweeter with the scent of the man's slick. Geralt groaned as the omega shifted once more, their dicks brushing together before the bard leaned down to take another kiss.

Geralt quickly gave in, opening his mouth for more, inviting that sharp tongue inside, welcoming the plunderous conqueror. He couldn't help but moan into the kiss, when, once again, their bodies came closer to each other, and he ground his hips up. That's when the bard left the kiss.

"Tssk, so impatient," he said, but he didn't look like he minded. He straightened up a bit and pushed at Geralt's chest, making him spread his arms out beside himself and lay down completely.

"It's been a fucking while," he groaned as the bard's exploring fingers traveled across his chest and collarbones to brush over his nipples and squeeze his peck. Fuck, a while, more like almost two decades. Gosh, why did the bard lean away?

"Okay, okay then, let's end your suffering, my lord," the bard grinned once more before his hand returned from behind him, still slick landed on Geralt's chest on his other peck, making that delicious, mouthwatering scent come so much closer, and the bard lifted himself up, teasing at his entrance with the tip of Geralt's dick, dragging it in between his ass cheeks. Fuck. 

Geralt's hand grasped at the bedding to stop the urge to help, to catch the slender hips and slam the man down, spear him through with his cock, to finally be enveloped in that delicious slick warmth. But no, the omega put his hands there and he will stay. Finally, the bard once again reached with his hand, and this time grabbed Geralt's dick, leading it home as the omega lowered himself.

He was a sight. There was a blush on his cheeks now, as he threw his head back and panted, soft, barely audible moans leaving his lips. Geralt himself felt his eyes glaze over in bliss as that tight warmth enveloped him. He couldn't stop the few minuscule thrusts of his hips, just absolutely tiny, trying to get more, but no, the bard's hand stilled him.

"Be. Patient," the bard said through pants as he slowly moved up and down, each time getting Geralt's dick just a tiny bit deeper.

"Fuck, you're huge," the omega moaned. "Gosh, I think I'll feel you in my throat, fuck. Don't move, don't move," the bard was babbling a bit at this point, his hips grinding as Geralt twisted his fingers around the fabric of his bedding and focused all of his will on keeping still. And then, he was in. All of him, inside of that sinfully tight hole and he groaned as the bard experimentally rose and fell a few times before setting an absolutely horrible perfectly torturous pace.

"Sweet Melitele, do you see yourself? I'd never guess the Warlord of the North would be this perfectly good in bed. Look how beautifully you're holding on. The way your eyes only have a thin ring of gold left around the darkness. You look hungry for me. And that glorious chest of yours, rising and falling like this. Are you holding yourself down for me? You shine beautifully with the sweat. And your scent. Pine and ground, like a forest here in the mountains. Fucking hell, I want to hear you," the bard continued, and Geralt felt himself groan at those words, and moan when the bard tightened around him and ground just right. 

He was now hyperaware of everything. Of the way his chest rose and fell like there was never enough air in his lungs, he breathed in with his mouth, trying to get more of that delicious sweetness. Of the way his whole body was hot, sweat making his own stray strands of hair stick to his face. Of the way he can't, can't, can't move while wanting to so fucking much.

"Fuck," he groaned out, as he felt his knot start swelling and the bard pushed, popping it past his rim, both of them panting with a synchronized moan.

"I - I thought no knotting," Geralt gritted out and the bard grinned at him once again. Fuck. Geralt would probably never look at that grin the same way. Without imagining the way he looked, disheveled, sweaty, and beautiful, pierced by his cock. Sitting on his knot.

"I didn't say anything about enjoying myself a bit first though," the bard said and leaned down for another frantic kiss, slipping the slowly growing knot in and out again and again. The stretch was tighter and tighter and at the last pull-out Geralt groaned, desperately pushing his hips into the mattress, panting into the bard’s mouth. The bard moved his lips up his face, peppering featherlight kisses across Geralt’s cheeks, then at the scar going over his eye, before they ended up near his ears, delivering the soft moans so close to Geralt’s ear it made him shiver, as the lightning hot pleasure built up down in his groin.

“You can touch me,” the bard whispered, and Geralt’s hands shot up from the completely wrinkled sheets, wrapping around the bard’s back, sliding over the muscles, through the hair, grounding him in the moment, in the sensations. The bard slid all the way down to his knot again, moaning sweetly as he got all the right spots, and Geralt groaned in answer, his knot hurting, wanting in with an urgency he knew way too well.

“I’m close,” he panted, and the bard moaned in answer, bouncing up and down on Geralt’s cock even quicker, one hand going down to squeeze Geralt’s knot, making the hot pleasure pulse through his veins. So, fucking close. In a moment of clarity, Geralt found the bard’s own weeping cock with his callused hand, caressing it in the same rhythm, adding a few great twists of the wrist.

“What a fucking good Warlord you are,” the bard moaned loudly and deliciously, as his hole tightened around Geralt, his second hand also going down for the knot, and his cock shot a generous load of pearly white semen across Geralt’s stomach and chest.

He didn’t see it, only felt the scorching-hot lines, because the moment the pressure around his knot and cock increased, his vision completely whited out, only the phrase good Warlord echoing through his mind. He couldn’t stop his hips from grinding up anymore, but from the answering moans, there was no need to do so, and they spent a few eternity-resembling momentss feeling the shocks of their orgasms go through their bodies in waves. Fuck.

The bard slumped down and went to lay next to Geralt, but he caught him and laid him across his chest like a comfortingly heavy, fucked out blanket.

“Don’t leave yet,” he whispered, eyelids already feeling heavy. He felt the bard stiffen for a moment before he breathed out and pulled the blanket up over them.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Chapter Text

Jaskier walked to the shelves with horse brushes and took a few with him to Pegasus’s stall. The gray gelding was already waiting for him with ears alert, nickering lowly, as the bard came close.

“Sorry to have been gone for so long, my friend,” Jaskier whispered and scratched the horse under his chin. The big snoot persistently bumped into his chest, until he chuckled and pulled a carrot out of his pocket. Pegasus munched on it happily, and he patted his neck, before going on to brush him out. There was a bit of mud in his coat from the pasture and some hay in his mane.

Jaskier took his sweet time brushing everything clean before he went on to check the hooves. The witchers clearly knew how to care about their horses though, so there was no need to worry. Even now the stables were busy with not only stablehands but multiple witchers taking care of their trusty steeds. Jaskier gave Pegasus a few more behind-the-ear scratches before he collected the tools again and got ready to leave when he noticed a very well-built witcher with a head of luscious blond curls leaning at the door of the stall.

“Hi there, gorgeous. Need something?” he checked the man out, knowing very well he was being done the same to.

“That’s a great horse you got here. I bet the ride must be something,” the man straightened to his full height and let Jaskier pass through.

“Oh, you wouldn’t dream. It truly is an experience worth having,” Jaskier chuckled and put the brushes away. The witcher’s eyes watched him all the way out of the stable and if Jaskier did care to make his walk a bit more appealing, that was between the two of them. There just was something of having the attention of heavy golden eyes, made for hunting dangerous monsters, all on his humble self, that was absolutely intoxicating.

The day went by in a blur of listening to more or less exaggerated stories, writing down bits of melodies, and chatting up the kitchen maids for interesting gossip when the time for dinner came. He headed for the great hall and the cat table inside, intent on enjoying his dinner and maybe playing some gwent with Aiden later. It’s been a long time since he had the opportunity to trounce him properly. He just walked to the side door, when he noticed the witcher from that morning in the stable standing near, leaning on a pillar, putting a stray curl behind his ear.

“Hey bard,” the witcher said, winking Jaskier’s way. He smelled very, very vaguely of licorice and musk, showing Jaskier he was an alpha, an interested one.

“Hey, do you want something?” he asked. He wouldn’t mind a little adventure, but he was quite hungry himself and would rather wait for after dinner.

“Hmm, I was wondering if you’d like to check out a few interesting places around here after dinner,” the witcher walked a bit closer. He was just a bit taller than the bard, but the muscles on him… Must be a bear, even though his medallion was under his shirt.

“Oh, that does sound like a good way to spend the evening. I’ll see you then,” Jaskier grinned at the pleased smile on the witcher’s face and continued into the hall.

It was packed there, food already hot on the tables, all witchers including the Warlord enjoying themselves. He swiftly found his place in between the cats and gathered a bit of everything onto his plate.

“Hey buttercup, wanna go for an evening dip in the spring after dinner?” asked Aiden, who had already eaten and was sipping on a cup of mead. Where did he get it? No idea.

“Dear kitty, I’d say yes any other day, but I reckon I got myself a date after dinner,” he shook his head and took a bit of the meat pie.

“Oh, who’s the lucky one?” the cat’s eyes crinkled with amusement. He knew very well of his friend’s sleeping around habit.

“Some gorgeous buff blond with these curls. Must be a bear with that built,” he smirked. Gosh, he was beginning to really look forward to that.

He finished his food, drank an ale, and slowly leaned back to look around the hall. There he was, waiting leisurely by the door once again. The man looked Jaskier’s way and winked.

“That’s my signal. Have a good dip, kitty,” he saluted his friend and walked towards his ride for the evening.

“So, where will you take me?” he asked as the man offered him his arm. A gentleman!

“You’ll see,” the man whispered into his ear and Jaskier felt himself melt a bit.

They walked through the halls, the man pointing out a few tapestries here or a good view there before they finally arrived at a door. At that point, Jaskier was very fucking close to just jumping at him and kissing those full lips, when his not very subtle prayers were fulfilled, and the man bent his head down. Enveloped in each other they finally stumbled inside of the room, whatever it was for, and the witcher lifted Jaskier up into his arms.

Jaskier felt himself getting hot and he tugged at the ties of his clothes, mind all floaty and the edges of his vision blurring when the man took him by the back of his head and pushed his nose into the crook of his neck, right where the pheromone glans were. The smell of licorice immediately began feeling overwhelming and Jaskier felt himself lose control. Then there only was black.

He was falling. His head was spinning, his stomach was being carried away by the waves, his limbs had no purchase, and his body was disconnected from his soul. When he finally resurfaced above the flood of unconsciousness, he still didn’t stop moving. What's more, there was strong wind slipping under his garments, cold biting into his skin. He could hear the hooves of the horse carrying him clap on rocks. He could also feel the warmth of strong thighs touch his shoulder and hip, the smell of licorice strong enough to make him nauseous.

He blinked his eyes open slowly and immediately regretted it. They must be riding the trail away from Kaer Morhen and what stared back at him was a deep abyss filled with sharp rock and fog. He froze, feeling the rope binding his arms behind his back and his legs at both knees and ankles. The feeling of hopelessness and cold horror started spreading from his chest to his limbs.

“Up finally?” the previously kind voice now sneered at him, as a huge hand patted his back, jostling him in the process, making him realize that there were probably bruises forming where the saddle dug into his ribs and belly.

“Fuck. Who’re you doing this for,” he snapped at the bastard, who just laughed.

“Oh, there’s quite a few people who’d pay a lot for you right now. You know, who cares about some contract when you’re the one holding the omega,” he squeezed Jaskier’s butt, and the omega felt despair stir inside of his chest. Of fucking course.

“The Warlord will go after you,” he said, trying to muster up some courage through rage.

“As if he’d care about such a whore of an omega. So ready to jump into the bed with anyone,” the witcher said, and Jaskier felt himself freeze.

“We have a contract,” he couldn’t stop the tremble from entering his voice.

“Just a piece of paper. What Warlord would care about that.”

The silence after that was deafening. Only the screeching of the wind, and the clip-clop of the hooves going across the treacherous terrain. The wind grew stronger and stronger, and Jaskier’s stomach swooped every time it felt like it was pushing them closer to the steep drop.

Soon the witcher had to get down from the horse to lead it further down the path when suddenly, he stopped in place, posture alert. Maybe someone at the keep noticed they were gone? Jaskier tried to turn his head to look behind the horse, but he saw nothing, just a tiny trail and the mountainside. Then he heard it too. A loud screech of a monster dropping down from the sky, and before he could do anything, claws were digging into his back, lifting him from the horse and taking him up, up, up, flying above the abyss.

He must’ve screamed, or done something, because in the next moment, the monster dropped him and he was falling towards the fog, rocks, and his death. Falling, falling, falling, and then, with one huge swoop…

He woke up.

Chapter Text

Jaskier woke up sticky with sweat, heart beating furiously, and for a moment he felt extremely panicked at his inability to move before he realized that the thing holding him down wasn’t ropes or claws, but big scarred arms of his new lord that had wrapped themselves around him in their sleep. The golden eyes snapped open almost immediately and the witcher let go of him as if he got burnt, letting Jaskier move away across the bed.

He could see the man scent the air and was reminded of their unpleasant ability to smell more than what would be polite. He tried to calm his racing heart. It was just a dream. A very realistic one, but still, just a fucking dream.

“Are you okay?” the Warlord’s voice was deep and even raspier with sleep. The sky behind the window was still dark after all.

“Yes, sorry. It was just a dream,” Jaskier said, taking a few more deep breaths. Then he stood up, still naked, goosebumps forming all over. The fire in the hearth had long stopped burning. He slowly went around the room and gathered his clothes. The witcher rubbed sleep out of his eyes and lit up the fire with a quick igni.

“Can I help you with anything?” the man said, and Jaskier’s mind turned in several directions, one more bitter than other, before he shook his head.

“No, but thank you for asking. I think I’ll return to my room,” he said, shrugging on his chemise and trousers, the rest of his garments held under one arm, and he walked to the door. He turned back one more time to see the Warlord, silver hair disheveled as he sat in the bed, looking a bit forlorn, golden eyes glinting in the firelight. Any other night Jaskier would see this and decide to stay, but not tonight. He needed to go and breathe.

“It was a great night, I hope we’ll see each other tomorrow, my lord,” he said and left.

The halls of the keep were dark and cold, and he turned around at the smallest sound. When he finally walked all the way to his room and shut the door behind himself, he didn’t hesitate before turning the key in the lock.

It was just a dream, he knew. The witchers would know if there was a traitor in their midst. Just some random alpha’s pheromones would never make him pass out. He also very much doubted that any witchers would seriously go after him when he just married their leader. But still, it served as a reminder.

A very unpleasant reminder of a fact, which he tried to pretend didn’t exist, but unfortunately was true just the same. He was an omega, and these people knew it. There was no point hiding it from anyone at the keep, but he couldn’t help wondering how this would change his future. Would it stay a secret, or would the whole world soon know, that the famous bard Jaskier was an omega?

He fell asleep late, and his eyes never stayed shut long, too restless, too alert to truly relax. He kind of wanted to go back to the warm bed of the Warlord, who listened to him so perfectly the night before, but he couldn’t make himself. After all, he never stayed the night.

…

“Hey, kitty,” he said when he went down for lunch. He sat down on the bench and leaned slightly into Aiden who wrapped his arm around him in what would seem to be a brotherly half hug to others. There was concern in the cat’s eyes, but that was okay. It was Aiden after all.

“Need something?” the witcher asked while he pulled one of the plates with the steamed vegetables closer to them.

“Not right now, but you’re a dear for asking,” Jaskier smiled. It was enough to have the familiar beta close. If there was a person around here he was okay trusting, it would be him. The cat watched him for a moment longer before he smiled and reached for a bit of the roast.

“You know, there’s this new addition at the cat’s training place that I want to make Lambert try. Will you come to look? He’s pretty agile for a wolf.”

…

Geralt’s eyes inevitably traveled to the cat’s table to find, that finally, after not attending breakfast, the bard was sitting next to Aiden again. The cat had an arm wrapped around him, and they looked to be chatting amicably. There was a smile on the omega’s face, no trace of the paleness and fear that woke him up that night.

His food turned to dust in his mouth when he remembered that scent. Dead flowers and rot, that’s what the bard’s terror smelled like. Geralt wondered what the nightmare was about, to make him struggle so much against his embrace.  To make him shuffle away, eyes wide and alert, checking the room’s dark corners for danger, even stopping at Geralt for a moment.

Now the dream was gone, and a new day had begun, but somehow, its shadow still menacingly hung over their heads.

At least until the evening.

The bard took his lute down from his room, and as soon as he finished eating, the cats enthusiastically cleaned their dishes away, so he could jump up at the table and start strumming a fast-paced melody to a well-known tavern song, fit to enjoy with others around, and soon the whole table was clapping and singing with him.

The other schools soon caught on, clearing their tables away as well, carrying the bard from one to the other, as he continued on with a performance so radiant and energetic, that Geralt found himself unable to tear his eyes away from him. The way his fingers danced across the strings, his feet nimbly danced across the wooden tables, the way he winked at a witcher here, at a maid there, not leaving a single inhabitant of the keep without notice. The way his eyes seemed to be laughing, as he had the hall under his spell.

Even Yennefer and the other mages seemed to have a great time, requesting song after song, and pouring the man some of their wine, when he took a break.

Sometime during the night, the bard ended up in a chair next to him, and their eyes locked.

“I fear my bed might be too far for these weary feet to reach when I’m finished tonight,” he said, that brilliant grin on once more.

“I shall carry you to mine, then,” he found himself offering and spent the rest of the evening watching as the omega shined before it was way too late to go on and he did as he promised.

…

“Fuck, Aiden,” Lambert sighed, chest rising and falling as he slowly lowered himself to his side, careful not to tug with his knot, as he maneuvered them to lay and wait it out. Damn, it felt way too good.

“Hmm… Yes, Lamb, that’s what we did,” Aiden wrapped his arms around him, giving him a short kiss, while he dragged a sheet over them. It would not be pleasant to be cold while the sweat dried on their skin. The wolf chuckled deeply and gently bit at his partner’s nose.

“You’re a damn puppy, do you know that,” the cat rolled his eyes, but the smile betrayed him.

“Pssshhh, don’t tell anyone,” he whispered and nuzzled close into the soft brown hair.

They lay next to each other, eyes slowly dropping closed, and Lambert felt his chest fill with affection when the low sound of Aiden’s purring filled the room.

“That friend of yours really is something,” he said after a moment, remembering the performance they witnessed that night. It had been ages since Kaer Morhen saw music, and he was sure, it had never seen music like this.

“He really is. When he gets passionate about something, there’s nothing that could stop him,” Aiden smiled.

“Hmm… you seem to know him well. He’s the heat omega, right?” he asked after a moment of careful thinking. There was a story there.

“Yeah. We met ages ago, even before Geralt went Warlord. He was just a young bard, traveling the continent on his own. Got mistaken for a werewolf. I won’t tell you more, but if you want, you can ask him. I don’t think he’d tell you though,” the cat shook his head.

“He wouldn’t? Must be pretty bad then,” Lambert mumbled, and Aiden sighed.

“Just don’t walk around making assumptions, that wouldn’t help.”

“I’m just asking because Geralt seemed interested in how you know him,” he defended himself. It was true after all. He didn’t give two fucks about the bard, as long as Aiden was happy.

“Well, Geralt can ask him himself, then. Jaskier trusts me, and believe me, it wasn’t easy to gain that trust. If the Warlord wants to know more about his husband, he should try himself,” the cat hissed, and Lambert almost slapped himself on the forehead.

“Don’t get all hissy, Aiden. He didn’t ask me to ask or anything. I just noticed how he looks at him,” he whispered and kissed the cat’s forehead. Aiden breathed out slowly and finally relaxed again.

“Oh, he does?” the cat began purring again.

“Hmm. Yee, definitely.”

“That will be fun, then. Those two would make a disastrous match.”

Chapter Text

When the unease of the nightmare didn’t leave him after the bath he took after the lunch, Jaskier decided, that the thing he needed to shake himself out of it, was a really good performance. Something that would be remembered. He told the cats, and they were all for it, so he spent the rest of the day planning his base setlist, and as soon as they finished their food, jumped up on the table and gave it his all.

As he danced, jumping across the tables, winking at witchers and people alike, letting himself be carried from table to table across the hall, he made sure to look at everyone and he was satisfied. There was no curly blond-haired witcher with features like the one from the dream, not at the bear or any other table.

The only thing that would make the evening better would be getting the lights fucked out of himself, and the Warlord seemed more than willing to make him happy. In fact, when he laid the bard on his bed that evening, he did his best to make Jaskier lose his mind. The witcher was truly a gorgeous sight, but what intrigued Jaskier even more than the muscled body and moonlight hair, was the way the man looked at him.

When Jaskier told him not to move that first evening, it wasn’t even a very thought-out decision, just him wanting a bit of time to get used to the man’s size, but the way he absolutely naturally decided to listen to the order, how he held himself back, hands spread and hips cemented to the mattress, even though the bard could see his muscles twitching… The way those golden eyes stared at him like he held all the power, giant pools of black darkness sucking Jaskier in and making him drunk… Melitele he was getting wet just remembering it.

He got the same look the next night. The witcher didn’t seem to realize it or think about it much, but when Jaskier told him to kneel and get him ready, the man’s face took on an expression Jaskier only saw rarely on his travels. One that made him thirsty for so much more. One that made him wonder, where the line was. How far could one go with the Warlord of the North.

Would the alpha like to be fucked?

“What in the horny hell are you thinking about, buttercup?” Aiden leaned at the door of Pegasus’ stall and Jaskier realized, that he’d been standing there, brushing the same part of the horse’s mane for good fifteen minutes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, kitty,” he smirked and swiftly finished the job. He gave his trusty steed another of those small, sweet apples they had for the horses, patted his neck, and followed Aiden out.

“I have a few guesses of my own. Everything good with the Warlord, then?” the cat led them across the courtyard.

“Hmm, more than good. Have you seen the man?” the bard chuckled as they climbed over a low wall, slowly coming closer to a group of cats enjoying one of the last warm autumn days.

“Yep. I have. I fuck his brother, you know. It’s something in the wolf mutagens, I tell you,” the cat laughed and that was that. Jaskier would have time alone with his thoughts later.

…

“Hey, Geralt. Kaer Morhen to Geralt. Man, wake the fuck up did your brain get stuck in the swamps of Velen? Geralt,” there was an insistent and familiar voice and Geralt blinked only to realize that he was sitting in his office, staring out of the window, while Eskel stood next to him, hands on hips, absolutely done expression on his face.

“Ehm, hey Eskel, need anything?” he asked, and only then he noticed the pile of papers his brother was pointing at.

“I’m telling you I brought the reports. You should take a look at it,” the scarred witcher sighed and Geralt nodded.

“Also, you stink, control your scent, you horny bastard,” Eskel shook his head and walked out the door.

Fuck.

He didn’t even notice when his attention slipped away from work and returned to those two evenings. Geralt did reign in his scent again, it wouldn’t do good to stink the whole office up, but his mind couldn’t help but return to those nights a bit more. It was… different.

He did have one or two bossy partners in the past, like Yennefer, but mostly, mostly his fucks were just quick, meant to satisfy a need, not to offer a life-changing experience. And even if the people he fucked did want to fuck a witcher, it was usually connected to their own fantasies of being overpowered. Geralt was glad to make them happy, but it couldn’t compare in the slightest to what he felt when the omega sat on him and told him not to move. The man wanted Geralt. He could see it on his face, in the way those hungry eyes followed him. He could smell it from him, because humans couldn’t control their smells like witchers could.

Fuck, the omega liked it when he listened and held himself down. The omega liked it when he carried him to his rooms again and did whatever was ordered. And what's more, Geralt liked it too. He wondered if every night with the bard would be like this. Even if the man didn’t want his knot, he wanted everything else, and Geralt would give, because fuck, he really enjoyed giving.

…

“Hey, Lamb!” Aiden walked to the wolf table after dinner and leaned his hip on his beloved’s chair.

“What?” the wolf asked, putting his ale down, turning those sunset yellow eyes at him.

“We’re going to have some fun in the small pillow-room. Me, buttercup, Dragonfly, some kittens, some vipers, you know the drill. Wanna join us?” the cat asked and Lambert shrugged his shoulders. Why not.

“Is the bard going to be okay with the stabby bunch?” Eskel, who overheard, asked, and Aiden laughed.

“Come with us and you’ll see. There’s reasons for us being buddies, you know,” the cat shrugged, and so the two wolves followed him out of the hall into said small pillow-room.

“Sweet Melitele, this is comfy,” sighed Eskel as he sat down into one of the piles of pillows on the ground and threw an igni at the fireplace.

“I’m saying we should make more of these around the keep, Warlord’s right hand,” Dragonfly came through the door, elbow hooked with the bard’s.

“I might have to propose the idea to Jan then,” Eskel nodded, while the rest of the invited folk went inside. There were small tables with short legs in the room, and soon there was a group sitting at one of them, consisting of Gaetan, Dragonfly, Serrit, Lambert, and the bard, who was expertly mixing a pack of playing cards.

Then Letho pulled out a bottle of special mead he got from one of the manticores, and an evening of fun began.

…

Geralt had returned to his office after dinner, because no matter how hard he tried in the afternoon, he couldn’t focus just right, and he wanted to finish the work that evening. Alas, when he sorted through the last few documents, he realized, that there was a piece of one report missing. Fuck. He truly wanted to have it done today…

Well, it wasn’t that late yet, he could hear noise from the dining hall, where people were still sitting around. He’d go ask around, find Eskel, and hopefully get to the bottom of this.

Yennefer was still at the table, chatting with Triss about some development in her labs concerning tracking magic, and she informed him of Eskel going with Lambert and Aiden to the small pillow-room. His hopes for a productive evening started slowly fading away.

The pillow-rooms were treacherous places. They were extremely comfortable, and usually, when you sat down there with the right company, you wouldn’t get out in less than a few hours. It wasn’t uncommon to fall asleep there, because getting up from the mountains of pillows just often seemed impossible after drinking enough white gull spiked mead.

He knew a lot was going on there from far away already. As he walked through the hall the room was in, he could hear cheering, goading, and energetic strumming, a whole cacophony of noises, and as soon as he opened the door to slide in, he was baffled at the scene. Fuck, was it the stabby bunch here?

Eskel was sitting in the corner, bottle of gull in hand, comfily burrowed in the pillows, and he was smiling widely, as he watched Lambert, Dragonfly, and Letho stand next to each other and take aim at a portrait of some very old noble which was already pierced with so many daggers Geralt didn’t bother counting them, while the bard walked around them, hyping the remaining cats and vipers up with music that seemed to get more and more dramatic with each dagger thrown, reacting to the fluctuation of mood perfectly, accompanying all of the cheering.

Geralt slowly walked over to his brother and wordlessly took the bottle his right hand offered him. There are forces in this world not even the Warlord of the North can command.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked as he put the bottle down, enjoying the burn it left in his throat and belly going down.

“They bet who has more daggers on them, so they are throwing them all at the portrait to see. We’re at thirteen,” Eskel shook his head and Geralt chuckled. Well, they did call Lambert the spiky one for a reason.

The contest continued, but the two wolves didn’t pay much attention, only occasionally looking over, when the music intensified to see what the score was.

“Why are you here anyway? Looking for something?” Eskel smirked, eyes going for the bard for a moment and Geralt felt himself go a bit warmer, so he just wordlessly took the bottle again.

“I was looking for you. There’s a bit of report missing,” he said, eyes hopelessly stuck at the bard, who was now almost crouching, bent over his lute in a dramatic pose, fingers flying over the strings. It looked like Dragonfly dropped out at 18 and it was just Lambert and Letho now.

“Shit, should I go find it?” Eskel asked, not even trying to sound interested or motivated and Geralt shook his head.

“Fuck it. We can do it tomorrow. I won’t send anyone out now anyway,” he murmured, and joined the cheering, when his younger brother lost to the giant viper, the fiery wolf cursing the fuck out of his grinning opponent, because ‘fuck that’s cheating you got twice as much space on your zkurveny giant body you fucking mountain’.

After that, they settled down around the small tables once more, and Geralt ended up in between his brothers, across Aiden, who was petting his still fuming partner, and the bard, who continued strumming his lute seemingly without thinking, filling the room with pleasant background music.

“Hey, bard. While you’re playing. Do you know what I am interested in?” asked Eskel after pouring another round of shots, which the bard wisely didn’t partake in.

“What would that be, dear Eskel?” the bard ended his question with three rising notes and Geralt felt his heart grow warm. He never knew that art could be so appealing. If he played Geralt like he could play the lute…

“The song that got you into trouble with Foltest,” Eskel asked, and the bard’s grin widened.

“Oh, but I promised to never play it again, whatever shall I do,” he laughed and smirked, eyes looking around the room playfully before they stopped on Geralt, who felt his throat grow tight. Why did he have to grin so much!

“Oh, buttercup, don’t play fucking coy!” Lambert joined the talk, anger forgotten for the sake of the forbidden fruit.

“Hey guys! Do you wanna hear the song that got the bard here in trouble with fucking Foltest of Temeria?” he turned to the rest of the room, making all of those yellow eyes turn at them, eliciting various noises of clear approval.

“But dear witchers, I have promised to never play the song again!” the bard stood up, lifting his lute. “Whatever shall I do if it gets out? If only there was someone with authority bigger than the small king of Temeria, someone I couldn’t refuse even if I tried to uphold my promise to the best of my ability!” he dramatically sighed and leaned his hand on his forehead, before his blue eyes locked on Geralt. The witchers chuckled.

“Oh, here he is. What right would I have to refuse if the Warlord himself asked me to play,” he fluttered his eyelashes and Geralt’s heart surely must have gone crazy because it wasn’t supposed to beat this fast.

“Ehm… why not. I mean, play, bard,” he coughed, and ignored the chuckles of his brothers, absolutely gone in the blue eyes and the crinkling crow's feet around them, as the bard’s red lips opened and he strummed the first few opening chords, lowering his voice and body both, crouching as he walked around the tables.

Come here and I’ll tell you all about that king of ours

Geralt leaned forward.

Aside from his wiseness about not increasing tax

How could a voice sound this magical.

In a fight, in a bed it’s no secret that

He was looking around the room, telling them the story.

He is so quick to be done and fit to be laughed at

Fuck.

He wanted to strengthen alliance with neighbor’s king
His beautiful busty daughter he’d be marrying
But women always made him a bit scared
So the first week he would avoid touching their shared bed
But women always made him a bit scared
So the first week he would avoid touching their shared bed!

The bard took a big breath, straightened up, and Geralt felt compelled to do something. To join.

Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So that we’d want to serve him some more
Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So it’s just him who sleeps lone!

The blue eyes met his once more, and the bastard winked.

The Queen started asking about her marital rights
Without an heir, there was no need to become his wife
In the bed finally, the king laid with her
What and how he should do told him his trusty butler

This elicited a round of laughter and a few voices joined the repetition.

In the bed finally, the king laid with her
What and how he should do told him his trusty butler!

Geralt found himself tapping his leg to the rhythm.

Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So that we’d want to serve him some more
Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So it’s just him who sleeps lone!

Fuck, it was catchy. The alcohol and the bard’s smiles made him feel all warm and loose. He could see the others smile, Lambert obviously loved this song already. They were all aware of the rumors about Foltest and his tragically unsuccessful love life.

The queen was quite disappointed with his measly skills
Without enough passion she like lonely flower wilts

Gosh, the emotion the bard put into this. Geralt surely didn’t feel like wilting now.

One more year and a day her patience did last

A pause.

Then she left the kingdom and him in a cloud of dust.

He laughed. He joined in on the repetition, like most others.

One more year and a day her patience did last
Then she left the kingdom and him in a cloud of dust!

Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So that we’d want to serve him some more
Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So it’s just him who sleeps lone!

The whole room was belting the refrain already. They must be heard through half the keep. Maybe he should ask Yennefer to soundproof this room as well.

Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So that we’d want to serve him some more
Hey, tavern hey!
For the king pour us ale
So it’s just him who sleeps lone!

The strumming turned gentle, the bard returning to the storytelling voice from the start. He was now back at their table, slowly walking around.

That’s how it goes with that admirable king of ours

He winked at Geralt. Again.

Manly, firm, decisive, and strong at least in ballads

Chuckles again.

It’s a pity we know, it’s not really true

He sounded heartbroken.

If a dragon settled near it would spell our sure doom

Well, that was just inaccurate, dragons were intelligent and noble beings not to mention almost extinct-

It’s a pity we know, it’s not really true
If a dragon settled near it would spell our sure doom!

They were all ready to join the chorus, but the bard’s swift gesture stopped them, he wasn’t playing. There comes a change.

Hey, tavern hey!

His voice was loud and clear.

For the king pour us ale!

He lifted his cup of mead.

So that we could be drinking some more!

He threw the shot back and the witchers cheered, as he dropped the cup and started playing again.

Hey, tavern hey!

He belted out at the top of his lungs.

Pour us tankards of ale!

He was standing next to Geralt now, the Warlord looking up, pupils dilated.

So it’s just king who sleep lone!

He sang, bowed to the enthusiastically cheering witchers, and sat down on Geralt’s lap.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The night went on and on, seemingly never-ending, but slowly, the loud music and talking turned into quiet voices telling slow stories over the rest of the alcohol, while the fire was burning in the background. Jaskier, still settled on his lord’s lap, which he refused to move from during the rest of the night, enjoying the feeling of the big, warm body under him, put his lute away into a safe corner, and then, between one sentence and the next, he was asleep.

The next time he woke up, it was dark, only the last few embers glowing in the hearth. He shifted a little, stretching his back, when he realized, that he in fact wasn’t laying in a pile of pillows, but was instead sprawled over his husband, who was the one resting in the pillownest. His cheek was resting on a slowly rising and falling, well-muscled, chest, a slow heartbeat echoing in his ear. There was a stiff boner pushing into the bard’s thigh and when Jaskier looked up, there was a pair of glinting cat-eyes watching him.

So close.

He looked around the dark, quiet room.

Then he whispered.

“Are they asleep, my lord?”

From this close he could see the witcher swallow.

“Yes. For now.”

Jaskier would never get over how fucking deep and raspy this voice was. He pushed himself up a bit, so that his lips brushed over the Warlord’s ear.

“Are you feeling up for a little something?” he breathed out and enjoyed the miniscule shiver that gave him.

“Hmm…” the Warlord was quiet, but there were goosebumps on his skin and Jaskier could still feel that hot and heavy dick lay there. All lonely. All sad. He could fix that.

“Hmm what. Is that a yes?” he whispered and nuzzled his nose into the silver hair. The witcher’s smell was subtle, like always, but so damn delicious.

“Yes,” the man breathed out, and Jaskier had to grin.

“Then be quiet. Be good,” he said, gave the man a quick kiss on the lips, and moved down his body, making space among the pillows. He travelled his hands across loose clothing and firm muscles of that warm body, leaving kisses and few light bites on the collarbones peeking out from the untied shirt, as he slid down and sat over the magnificent thighs he couldn’t really see but could definitely feel flexing, as he swiftly untied the lacing of the man’s trousers and let his magnificent cock out.

Fuck. He fumbled a bit in the dark, but then both his hands were on it, feeling the hot, throbbing length, veins thick, the tip already wet, and down at the bottom, the alpha’s knot already starting to slowly swell up. Jaskier wondered, how long had the man been lying here like this, not moving an inch in order not to disturb the bard’s sleep, and felt a wave of want pass through his whole body.

He caressed the cock with his hands for a moment, from the tip to bottom, curling his fingers around it, running his hand down over the know and to the balls, ignoring, but very much perceiving the miniscule shivers the witcher gave in response, before he dove down with his mouth, and swallowed the head whole.

He could feel the witcher grow tense and still, as he sucked on the head, going up and down, slowly working himself lower and lower, while his hands continued their exploring around the whole remaining length, balls, sometimes going for the perineum behind them, which did elicit a beautiful flex of muscles from the man. Then he returned to the knot and played with the now already not loose at all skin.

Jaskier tasted the salty precum on his lips and pushed himself further down, still being careful of his own throat. Gone were the days when he would damage his voice because of a blowjob. He pulled off with an audible pop, making sure to spread the precum and saliva over the whole length, and then returned to his job with a single-minded focus, sucking, licking, going down, and up again, playing with the underside of the swollen head, while his hands still worked the parts he couldn’t fit in. He could feel the knot and whole cock throbbing, the Warlord’s body tensing up, his breath heavy now, but still quiet.

He ran his hands up the man’s body, feeling the lines of his muscles, the sweat gathering on his skin. He gently caressed the slender hips, delighted at the tremors that elicited, ran his hands down the muscled thighs where he was sitting, squeezing them a few more times, before he finally returned them to the knot, moved them in the rhythm of his head a few times, and then, when he could feel the dick in his mouth start to twitch, lined them up over the fully swollen knot and pressed them together.

There was a cut-off curse turning into a groan above, and if Jaskier wasn’t so busy swallowing a generous load of seed, he would chuckle.

He could feel the whole body under him tensing, as the orgasm passed in waves, the knot still firm and hot in his hands, and basked in the effect he had on the other man. When finally, the cock stopped twitching, he slowly pulled off, still keeping his hands in place, and finally grinned.

“Thank you for the meal,” he whispered, and the cock twitched once more, one small spurt of seed leaving it, which the bard promptly licked up. They better not leave any mess in here. Would be hell to clean up from all the pillows. Then, he finally grinned, as he let go of the, now almost fully deflated, cock, and stretched his arms and back. Fuck, being bent down for this long surely isn’t the best. But what wouldn’t he do for a moment like this.

Then he slowly climbed back up the witcher’s body and bent down for another kiss.

He could taste blood in it and smiled.

“Did you bite your lip to keep quiet?” he asked.

“Hmm… It’ll heal till the morning,” he could feel the chest vibrate under himself and felt warm, as he claimed those lips once more.

“You were so fucking good for me.”

…

Geralt didn’t sleep much that night. He didn’t need it. He only dozed off for a short while, after the bard fell asleep, the taste of his lips still sweet on his. He stared at the dark wooden ceiling, listened to the bard’s human-quick heartbeat, scented the air for his cornflower scent, and enjoyed the warm weight of another body settled on top of himself. It felt good, it kind of settled him down. Kept the thoughts from running too far or foo fast.

He breathed out a long breath and smiled a little at how it ruffled the brown hair. It has been ages since he was relaxed like this.

It felt, like the morning came too soon. One moment, Geralt was slowly meditating, mind floating in the warmth of the pillows, the second, the witchers’ inner clocks were waking them up, cat eyes opening, bodies shuffling, all of them slowly getting up to go to drink some water and train. When even Eskel got up, and offered him a hand, he finally sighed, gently lowered the bard into the warm nest of pillows, and let his brother pull him up.

When they were outside in the hall, safe from disturbing the human’s sleep, the scarred witcher looked Geralt over, sniffed the air carefully and pulled an eyebrow up.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked, elbowing Geralt with a teasing smile on his face.

“What, jealous?” he drawled and grinned like a cat who got the cream.

…

The morning after was harsh. Jaskier felt, as if his while body should fall apart on the spot, way too old to sleep in random positions like this, and his head was hurting a bit from all the mead he drank, but while he got up in the room now empty of all the early rising witchers and walked outside, to wash his mouth out with water fresh out of the courtyard well, he felt warmth filling his body and mind both.

He was now perfectly sure about the potential the Warlord held as a lover, and he was ready to bring it up to him. There was no better time to than after a night like this. So he went to take a bath, took some late breakfast from the kitchens when he managed to find them, and wondered the keep with his notebook in hand, seemingly looking for stories to write, but actually just thinking of scenarios his new husband might like.

Jaskier never had many opportunities for long-term lovers, with his tendency to disappear from their bed before they even could fall asleep, but when he got them, he loved to enjoy them thoroughly. The situation he was in now called for just that.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the pillowroom sleepover, and Geralt was… not tired, definitely not physically, but his mind was all over the place. There was a serious problem with bandits in the southern region of former Kaedwen, and he spent the last few nights reading reports and sending patrols out. The group was well organized, but in the end turned out to not be anything bigger, than a few groups of mercenaries gone wrong and s stray mage, that Yennefer proclaimed an insult to their order.

He was grateful, that the evening was slow, as he sat in his seat, ale in hand, and looked over the hall. The bard didn’t have his lute with him that night. While Geralt often enjoyed his performance, he had to say, that he was glad for a bit of quiet at the moment. Even though… he could see himself enjoying a few slow ballads by the fire. But he wasn’t about to ask for it.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was safe here. No need to stay overly vigilant. Well, his sharpened senses clearly didn’t intend to listen to him, and he was immediately enveloped in a cacophony of loud talking voices, dishes clanking, food being chewed, feet moving across the floor, hands slapping other hands away, the sword sheaths brushing against their belts, boots clinking, the mages laughing at some lewd joke, the servants lecturing multiple witchers at multiple tables about eating etiquette, the one dog some human warrior brought in begging for scraps, someone dropping a cup, the ringing going through his head-

“My lord, you’re frowning again.”

There was a warm thumb smoothing the wrinkle in between his brows. He blinked his eyes open to see two pools of cornflower blue and a familiar gently smiling face blocking out the view of the busy hall.

“Hmm.”

“How about we get out of here? If you’re finished eating, that is,” the bard’s finger fell away, and Geralt felt an irrational urge to reach out for it and put it back.

“I am. Done eating,” he said watching as the man smiled again and offered him a hand, as if Geralt would ever need help to get up from his own chair.

He took it anyway and followed the man out of the hall, through the much calmer and much darker corridors, until they arrived at the door to his room. The bard ushered him inside first and closed it behind them. Geralt turned back just in time to see the man take out an amulet that made Geralt’s medallion briefly vibrate.

“I had this made a few years back and verified its function with lady Yennefer yesterday. It can block out all noise from outside the room, but also alerts you if there is any danger or someone at the door,” Geralt stretched his hand and Jaskier put the small blue pendant into the palm of his hand. It was cool, the magic slow and calm inside.

“With your permission, I’d like to use it on the door today. I know that sounds cannot come out, but sometimes I can find it very distracting even when other sounds join in from the outside. Would you mind?” he asked, and Geralt was completely sure, that the man noticed. He noticed his discomfort over the last few days.

“Use it as you’d like,” he said, throat tight, and the bard took the pendant again, tying it to the doorknob.

Suddenly, the remnants of the noise died out. It was as if he put his head underwater, but also not. The fire, burning like always in his hearth, and their own heartbeats and breaths were the only noise filling the room, and Geralt suddenly realized, how stiff his whole body was. He breathed out.

“Better?” the bard was smiling again, reflections of the fire dancing in his eyes. Geralt nodded. Standing there, the bard walked a bit closer to him and put his hands on the stiff muscles going from his shoulders to his neck.

“You’re awfully tense, my lord,” he said.

“It’s been a busy week,” Geralt shrugged, careful not to shake the touch off.

“It indeed has been. I have a proposal,” the bard’s voice was firm and serious.

“Hmm?”

The hands slid down his shoulders, arms, across his elbows till he firmly grasped his hands, fingers brushing over his knuckles.

“I have noticed that you enjoyed some of the slightly more bossy stuff I tried out. I think it could help you relax, if you gave the control to me for the night, my lord. You could be good for me, and I’d take good care of you as a reward,” Geralt watched those lips move, blood rushing to his ears.

“What do you get from it,” he asked. His voice seemed strangely weak to himself.

The bard grinned.

“Oh, there’s nothing more intoxicating, than having a perfect man like you obey me, you can trust what you smell, alpha.” The man must be a succubus or something. The spicy cornflower, almost peach smell was now impossible to ignore. Geralt threw a long glance down at the obvious bulge in the man’s trousers.

“What would you do?” he looked back up into the blue pools.

“Would you like me to fuck you?” the bard tilted his head, the spicy smell getting even stronger, and Geralt was suddenly sure that yes, he’d love that. Even if he’d never tried it before. If it made the omega smell like that, he was down for anything.

“Yes,” his voice was harsh like a brick being dragged across gravel.

“Good.”

He felt that word echo in his soul. Jaskier’s hands let go of his, and before he could regret the loss, they were undressing him. Dragging his shirt over his head, carefully not tugging on his ears or nose, immediately folding it like Geralt never could and laying it on an oaken chest at the foot of the bed. Then his trousers were untied and pulled down together with the underwear, only slightly brushing over his dick, before the hands were at his chest, and firmly pushed him, making Geralt back up until the back of his legs touched the bed.

“Sit.”

He sat, heart beating, mouth dry, as the bard untied his boots and pulled the rest of his clothing off. Then the man straightened up, still fully dressed, and looked Geralt up and down with a dark look in his eyes. His guts twisted themselves and he had to swallow a nonexistent lump in his throat. The bard’s hands now slowly moved to his own complicated sets of buttons and ties and started working them open.

“You know, when I first saw you in that throne room, I couldn’t have imagined that you would be this perfect for me,” the man’s voice was smooth, velvet, and Geralt’s heart was beating so loud. He was perfect for him. Fuck. Was he? There was a bit of that glorious chest with its brown hair peeking out now, half a collarbone revealing itself. He drank the sight in until his gaze was redirected to the lips once again.

“Move up the bed. Put a pillow under your hips and spread your legs.”

There was no arguing with the tone, so he went. He couldn’t see the man now, only hear the rustle of clothes being taken off, folded, and put on the chest next to his. There was air touching his asshole. He shivered, the revealing position dancing in between slightly embarrassing and awfully arousing. The omega could see him. Could see his dick stiffen more and more. The answering smell of peach and slick in the air told him that.

Then, finally, the mattress moved slightly under the bard’s weight and Geralt’s breath hitched.

The bard chuckled.

“You really are perfect. It’s hard to believe you haven’t done this kind of thing before, but you haven’t right?” It took Geralt a while to realize, that the bard wanted an answer. He was way too focused on the movement just out of his sight’s range.

“Haven’t,” he was slightly breathless. “Never came up. Was lucky to get a quick fuck in a brothel,” he admitted, tongue loose, maybe way too honest, but something inside him wanted to tell the man. There was a sharp inhale of breath.

“Well. I find that horribly insufficient. They must’ve been blind not to notice the gem you are. Maybe a bit rough, but with the right polishing…”

Geralt astonishedly realized, that the bard’s own breath also came a bit short, but then the firm hands were grasping his thighs and pushing them even more open, and he had to stifle the urge to whimper. The man ignored Geralt’s crotch entirely though, and moved in between the legs up Geralt’s body, till his lips pressed to his and an insisted tongue requested for entry. Geralt’s mouth opened with a muffled gasp, and he didn’t even try to resist the exploration.

The bard’s hands were in his hair now, firmly pressing against his skull, which made sweet pleasure bloom behind his eyelids. Then they pulled at thick strands of hair and Geralt moaned. Fuck yeah. The bard leaned up and away from the kiss, breath a bit heavy, and immediately continued leaving biting kisses down through Geralt’s beard, across his jaw and neck, hands still firmly holding Geralt in place by the hair, even though he had no intention to move away.

There was a sweep of tongue over his Adam’s apple and he had no idea what to do with his hands for a moment, twitching by his sides like they were, but he didn’t need to worry, because the bard noticed, and while his mouth moved to Geralt’s collarbones, nipping at them with his teeth and lavishing open-mouthed kisses all around them, the man’s callused hands firmly grasped both of his wrists and moved the hands to lay slightly bent above Geralt’s head.

“Hold onto the headboard and don’t let go.”

He felt his legs tremble and fall a bit more open, as he grasped the wood and swallowed air once more.

“So good for me,” the bard’s breath brushed over his skin before the man moved to Geralt’s right nipple and took it into his mouth. Fuck. The bard took his sweet fucking time, rolling the bud with his tongue, sucking at it, even gently biting at it, and the sensation tethered perfectly on the line of pleasure and pain, while his hands were exploring Geralt’s body, pressing into his muscles until they were loose, brushing over his scars, counting his ribs, making all of his senses focus on only the man above him.

The man’s mouth finally parted from the abused nipple, and he blew on the reddish flesh, making goosebumps appear all over Geralt’s body as he shivered. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The man chuckled, deep and pleased, and Geralt couldn’t hold the moan in when the man deliberately pressed his crotch into Geralt’s thigh.

Then he pinched the second nipple with his thumb and point finger, and Geralt bit on his lip to stop the sound, when Jaskier pushed a hand into his sternum and lifted himself up, letting go of the nipple to grasp Geralt’s jaw, blue eyes piercing his, making his head swim even more.

“Let go,” the man said, and Geralt’s mouth dropped open, only now realizing the throbbing in his lip, as the man bent down and sucked the abused flesh into his mouth to caress it with his tongue. Geralt stopped breathing for a moment, as the man let go and licked his lips.

“Breathe,” his voice was soft, and Geralt took in a shaky breath.

“You don’t need to keep quiet today. I want to hear you, my lord,” the grin was soft now and Geralt nodded, as the bard’s thumb passed over the lip once more and the man bent his head down to Geralt’s ear.

“If it gets too much, tell me. Don’t hold back. I want this to be good for you,” the warm breath caressed Geralt’s ear and he didn’t hold the whimper in this time.

“That’s a good warlord,” the man smiled, Geralt’s heart exploded, and his dick throbbed. He wondered what expression he was making for the bard to look at him like this. Like he had never seen anything more fascinating and perfect. Like he wanted to devour Geralt whole.

“Okay, that’s enough teasing,” the bard murmured, and Geralt was so fucking glad. He half felt as if this could go on forever, but his dick was so stiff, his heart going so fast, and the bard smelled so turned on, that it felt impossible.

The bard once again braced his hands on Geralt’s thighs, moving down the body, until he was kneeling in between Geralt’s spread legs, dick standing proud near Geralt’s. Once again, he was looking down at Geralt as if he was a feast spread before the man and then did something that accelerated Geralt’s already very quick heartbeat into realms never felt before. He lifted himself up a bit from where he sat, one hand bracing on a scarred knee, reached behind himself, and Geralt’s entire world disappeared in the sound of the man slicking up his fingers with his own slick. The grin the man gave him was predatory, and Geralt’s mouth fell open as his dick twitched, a drop of precum pearling on the top.

“Fuck,” he breathed out as the man grinned, the slick fingers disappearing from Geralt’s view, until he felt the blunt, wet pressure at his hole.

“Do you want it?” the man asked. Geralt knew he must be blushing now. A witcher. Blushing. It made him feel even warmer, as he nodded.

“Yes. Yes please,” he begged, and fuck, the bard’s eyes were dark now, the grasp he had on Geralt’s thigh would surely leave imprints, and he took a deep breath in, all remnants of a grin disappearing now, as he pressed one slick finger inside. Geralt gasped at the strange intrusion, eyes closing for a moment, as he got used to the feeling of the finger moving inside and tried to loosen his muscles, and soon the weirdness turned into a very pleasant pressure as the bard added a second finger, now scissoring them, then pushing them in, going deeper than before.

The bard’s second hand found his balls and the slowly swelling knot and started playing with them loosely. Just enough to alleviate the pressure the tiniest bit, but not enough to truly do anything else. It was torture. Geralt loved it.

“You’re opening up so beautifully,” there was wonder in the bard’s voice and Geralt felt his chest swell with pride.

“Witchers have a very good control over their bodies,” he said and focused even more on making his lower half go lax, the bard gasping, as the third finger entered easily.

“Fuck that’s hot,” the man mumbled, and Geralt closed his eyes, moaning low and long when suddenly, the man’s fingers pressed in a different direction than before and Geralt felt fire pass through his veins.

“Oh, sweet fucking Melitele, you’re beautiful,” the bard said, voice heavy, and Geralt noticed with a corner of his mind, that his eyes were shut tight, mouth loose and open, his body flexing, as he tried to push his hips down into the feeling. The bard thrust the fingers forward a few more times, making Geralt moan, going for the spot with scary precision before he stopped and slowly pulled them out.

Geralt’s breathing was heavy now, and when he blinked his eyes open, hole feeling strangely empty now, he saw the man slicking up his own rock-hard dick, and line himself up. Then the piercing eyes once more met Geralt’s, unvoiced question in the air, and Geralt wet his lips, before moaning one single please. He saw the man shudder almost imperceptibly and then all of his focus went out the window and down the trench around Kaer Morhen when the head of Jaskier’s dick pushed into his hole and slid inside with what felt like an audible pop.

They both stopped for a few seconds, Geralt’s mind floating somewhere far above their bodies, his breath coming short and chest feeling tight, before the bard lifted his pale scarred thigh over his shoulder and pushed in.

The pressure was delicious. The bard wasn’t big like Geralt was, not many people were, but he sure as fuck felt huge inside Geralt as he thrust slowly and languidly getting deeper and deeper, the drag across that one place sweet and torturous. There were no guts or bones inside Geralt’s body, just a bunch of trembling nerves, pulses of pleasure passing through mixing with pain from the bard’s fingers digging into his leg, and the feeling of the wooden headboard in his hands, the only thing keeping him down as he floated.

By the point where the bard bottomed out and started truly fucking Geralt into the bed, each thrust precisely passing over the pleasure bundle inside him, there was no warlord anymore, no witcher to be found, just a body and a mess of feelings floating above its head.

“You sound so sweet, alpha. And feel so amazing. So tight and warm,” the bard was saying, the words coming from afar, and Geralt heard himself moan again and again. There was a hand on his body, traveling over his abs, feeling hot like a branding iron, as it settled around the base of his dick.

“You’re so good for me. Look at you. I’ve never seen anything prettier. There’s almost no gold in your eyes now, you know? Melitele, the way you look at me. So beautiful,” the bard’s praise was washing over him in waves, and fuck, he felt close, so fucking close, but he couldn’t talk, his mouth too lax. He could only moan and hope that the bard would feel his desperation and grant him reprieve. Indeed, once again, the bard knew exactly what to do.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, hand brushing over his dick, and Geralt whimpered.

The bard then slowly rearranged Geralt’s thighs, pushing himself even closer, and he tried to open them even more for the omega, welcoming him, as he fucked him hard and rhythmically, never wavering, never stopping.

Now, that the bard’s hands were free, the man teased at Geralt’s dick once more, going over it lightly, making Geralt moan and shudder and try to chase after the feeling, before the bard’s eyes locked onto his once more, and his hands locked around the swollen knot.

“Come for me, my lord,” the bard said, and Geralt’s world faded away, turning into a mess of white noise. The pleasure wasn’t ending, the grasp around his knot firm, milking it, while the man continued hammering away at that awful amazing spot until Geralt felt even that pace grow irregular, and the dick inside him twitch, as the most beautiful guttural moan ever fell through the fog and even intensified the orgasm washing over Geralt.

He floated for a long time, unhearing, unseeing, just pure bliss washing over all of his senses.

When he finally took a deep breath again and noticed that he was a living being with muscles that felt sore like after a very good exercise, he was clean already, a thin blanket pulled over his body, with a head in the bard’s lap while the man was humming a slow melody and running his fingers through Geralt’s hair. He blinked, and the humming paused.

“I see you have returned to the land of the living,” the bard smiled, eyes fond, his whole demeanor relaxed like no humans ever were around Geralt. He felt a pang in his heart and hid his face into a hairy thigh.

“Hmm…”

The bard chuckled softly.

“Not yet then,” and continued his humming, while Geralt let himself be carried away once more. Not yet.

Chapter Text

“You know, if I slip and fall to my death from here, it’s going to be you who has to explain how the world lost such a wonderful talented artist and lover,” the bard voiced his utmost disapproval with Aiden’s choice of a good spot for a private talk once again, but he did find a good foothold and continued his climb up a slightly crumbling wall of one of the old watchtowers.

“Shut up and climb, buttercup. You won’t regret the view once the sun starts setting,” the cat chuckled and swatted at the ass in front of himself, ignoring the indignant squawking from the man above.

“You heathen, hitting the bets ass in the area like that. Whatever shall you do if I get a bruise?” the man hissed, but finally climbed up to the top and stretched his limbs. Aiden soon jumped up, nimble like always, and maybe felt a slight pang of guilt, when he noticed the way the man was rubbing his muscles. He wanted to show the bard the sunset, he didn’t intend to tire him out completely.

“I’ll take you to Triss if that happens. Her salves will have you good as new till the morning,” he grinned anyway and felt the pang quickly dissipate, when the bard rolled his eyes and swiftly walked over to the edge of the stone construction.

While the bard ooh-ed and aah-ed at the beauty of the valley before them, at the glistening waters of Gwenlech, the mountain range and blue rocks, snowy tops, forests on their sides, and the keep big, solid, fully repaired, Aiden put the pack he carried over his shoulder down and sat with legs swinging over the edge. When the bard got enough of the walking around, he settled down next to the cat and together they pulled out bread, a piece of ham, and a bottle of mead from the pack.

A feeling of nostalgia settled over Aiden. It has been ages since it was just two of them like this. Sitting, enjoying life, teasing each other, like they were the whole way up here. When he looked over at his friend, he saw the same man he knew all this time. Eyes wide with wonder, admiration for life and nature in the essence of him, hair now a bit longer than before pulled away from his forehead, but still unruly where they weren’t covered by that feathered hat.

It was the same man, but. The longer he looked at his friend, the more he saw differences in him. He was older. And he had seen things in the years they were apart. There were fine lines around his eyes and mouth, beginnings of wrinkles. If you looked closely, the brown of his hair was threaded through with silver. There was a set to his jaw, a tilt to his head, a way he held himself, in ways taller, in ways more hunched and tired, and Aiden couldn’t help but notice.

They ate in silence, just watching the sun slowly fall lower and lower towards the spiky horizon. The light got warmer and warmer, white turning to yellow, to golden, to orange, till the sky lit up in red, the long clouds reminding Aiden of blood spilled. The blood got darker and darker, until it turned purple and then, then the blood disappeared and what remained was cold blue sky with blackish clouds. They drank more of the mead and saw the lights in the Kaer Morhen windows light up.

There was so much more now than when Aiden first arrived here, the keep no longer just a few habitable rooms and a group of lonely wolves. It was lived in now. It was home.

“It is beautiful up here, Aiden,” the bard said, voice warm as he leaned onto the cat and Aiden wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“It is,” the cat agreed.

“So,” Aiden’s tone shifted. “How are things with the Warlord?” he grinned and watched the bard smirk as well.

“Oh kitten. I do not fuck and tell,” he said haughtily, and Aiden laughed.

“No, you fuck and sing.”

“You, you heathen might have a point for once,” the bard had to admit. “Anyway, it’s great, really fucking good. Haven’t had such a good time in years,” the bard shrugged his shoulders and Aiden felt a bit of relief. He wasn’t exactly worried, but it was good to know that everything was okay.

“Well, with that out of the way, I wanted to ask you something,” he shifted in his seat a bit.

“Ask away, kitten,” the bard sighed. He knew that tone already.

“I didn’t want to ask in the keep, but your heat is coming soon, right?” Aiden knew he tensed up, he sensed his friend tense up in response, but he couldn’t fucking help it. This wasn’t fun.

“Kitten, I’m not going to have a heat inside the keep, you don’t have to worry,” the bard said, voice firm, and Aiden let go of the half embrace to turn the man to face him.

“Bard, what the fuck do you mean. Don’t you dare tell me you’re planning to spend it in some fucking cave again. There’s no way I’m letting you do it, even if I had to stand in front of your door the whole cursed time,” he knew he was hissing, he knew he was angry, but fuck, this wasn’t just some silly joke to play at a friend. The man better start taking this seriously, before Aiden flips out completely. The bard’s eyes were wide, briefly taken aback, before his face softened and he smiled, his hands coming up to cover Aiden’s.

“Aiden. Friend. That came out wrong. I don’t have heats anymore. It won’t come. I have been past my productive age for like five years now. One of the perks of getting old,” the bard’s forehead touched his and Aiden breathed out shakily.

“Oh.”

The bard hugged him, warm cornflower, and Aiden felt a huge weight fall off his chest. No more heats. No more fucking heats. Fuck, that sure was a perk.

“Let’s go back,” he said after a while. It was getting dark.

“Okay,” the bard patted his back and then proceeded to curse Aiden when the cat opened a hidden trapdoor and showed him a fully functional staircase down the inside of the tower. He wouldn’t want his friend to break something climbing down after all.

…

The autumn would soon turn into winter, and Aiden was on his fastest way south, only taking the most necessary contracts he found, when he stopped in a village at the foot of the Kestrel Mountains. To be honest, he didn’t stop, he wanted to ride right through it and spend the night near a stream of fresh water he knew was waiting ahead, but then there was a man standing in the middle of the street, calling for a witcher, and what was he supposed to do? Run him over?

So now, he was finding his way through the dark woods, stepping as lightly as he could, full moon shining over his head, hand at the hilt of his dagger, the other ready to get a potion to drink, ears listening for the mysterious howling the villagers have been hearing these last few days.

Aiden never heard of a werewolf who would change outside of the full moon itself, but there were plenty of monsters capable of making howl-like sounds, and he wasn’t about to underestimate it. The villagers’ stories led him here, close to a cave where passing travelers used to spend the night every once in a while, and he assumed, that that was the place he would find the beast at.

He picked his way through the undergrowth, already seeing the entrance, when he heard it. A horrible howl. No, not a howl. A scream. Fuck, did the villagers not listen to him and go exploring? Or did it get an unsuspecting traveler? He crossed the short distance to the cave with a few steps, chugged a vial of the cat potion, and entered the darkness.

There was a traveling pack with a lute on the ground, neatly put down next to a recently used firepit, and the way led further deep.

He ran hoping to not have arrived too late when the scent reached his nostrils. Peaches, ripe, way too ripe, so sweet it made him want to barf, twisted his insides into knots, and then immediately made sweat pearl upon his brows as he took breath after breath and felt his dick stiffen in his breeches. He took the last few staggering steps, now painfully aware of the inhuman noises coming from behind the corner.

He finally walked around the rock and his hand spilled away from the dagger handle. It was dark, but the cat let him see the man curled up on the ground, chest heaving, desperately trying to breathe, as heat and sweat rolled off his body, pheromones filling the air mixed with the smell of pain and blood. It was not a werewolf. It was not a monster. It was an omega.

Fuck.

“What’s got you all broody, kitten? That’s what us wolves are for,” Lambert nuzzled his head under Aiden’s chin and the cat blinked. It was the middle of the night, but he just couldn’t seem to fall asleep, memories of the first time he ever met the bard like intrusive knives digging into his brain. The way he felt completely useless with the young human of no more than nineteen burning up in his arms, unable to satisfy the deep biological need omegas were cursed with.

The way the man begged for something the beta couldn’t give. The way Aiden spent two more days and nights wishing for it to end, but still couldn’t leave the man alone. The way he tried with all his might to make the fever go down. The way every following heat they spent together was just the same fucking nightmare, with only a slight improvement over the years, but the bard still refused a real alpha anywhere near.

He was so fucking glad that that part of their lives was over.

“Just some annoying memories I can’t seem to get rid of,” the cat sighed, cuddling the wolf closer.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lambert asked, half asleep.

“No. It’s done now after all,” Aiden kissed the man’s hair and closed his eyes.

There were some perks to his friend growing old after all.

Chapter Text

“So, the werewolf got you in the leg? No wonder the scar looks like this. What happened after that?” Jaskier sketched the scar the viper showed him into his notebook with a few quick strokes.

“After that? I got angry, caught it by the jaw where it was biting into me, and slit its throat,” Serrit grinned victoriously and Jaskier felt a bit of excited shivers pass his spine. He’d never get tired of these stories, that’s for certain.

“Amazing. I have to say this song is shaping up to be better and better. Thank you very much, Serrit of the vipers,” he gave her a little bow, smiling at the amused smirk on her face.

“No need to thank, bard. Just make sure to stop by the viper table on your next performance night,” she tilted her head and he nodded. That was another story down for his newest composition. He blew away the tiny bits of charcoal from the page and snapped the notebook closed. His next song was well on its way to getting written, tying multiple stories of different witchers and their scars together to paint a picture of brave warriors that no monster had a chance against.

He watched the viper return to her mates and their vigorous training routine and looked up to the greyish sky. His breath formed tiny clouds every time he breathed out and he shivered in the thick winter cloak his husband had given him with the first snowfall.

It has been a few months since he came to Kaer Morhen. He has created many a song already, his muse stronger than it ever was, and filled a whole new notebook with poems. While most of his works admired the beauty of the Blue Mountains, Gwenlech, the old keep, the stories of its inhabitants, and the history that was slowly being built here, there were some pages, pages filled with sketches drawn in candlelight, lines hastily scratched onto the paper as his mind ran ahead of him, admiring a whole another kind of beauty. Those, of course, could never be shown to anyone.

He looked at the sky once more, noting that more snowfall would most likely come soon, and returned to the warmth of the keep. Well, not exactly warmth, but surely much better insulated than the cold courtyard. He stopped by the kitchens, where the girls gave him some pastry to try, always amused at the short limericks he could come up with on the spot before he continued back into his room, small snack in hand. There was a song to finish and a lute to play.

There was a spring to his steps as he almost ran up the multiple staircases to the guest bedroom hall. All those stairs have been doing wonders for his ass and stamina.

…

Jaskier sat on the luxuriously huge bed, body slowly cooling down, as he watched the Warlord’s golden eyes fall closed. It was another great night, he could still see the marks he sucked into that marble-white skin, beautiful purple blooming into a collar around the man’s neck, and he shivered as the cold air caressed his back.

They were clean already, Jaskier took care of that, and now he looked at his lover, quick to fall asleep like always, chest rising and falling slowly, and felt a weird silent ache in his chest. The great after-sex peace and calm had been lost the moment he noticed it, and he watched the man, fingers anxiously fidgeting in the bedding. He knew the warlord would like him to stay the night. He knew.

But his heart was beating fast, his mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty, there was a heavy ball of snakes in his stomach, and his feet itched to move. He got up as quietly as he could, collected the pile of his clothes, only pulling the trousers on, and left the room, unaware of Geralt’s eyes slipping open, watching him close the door.

…

Eskel leaned into the pillows, eyes half-closed, as he watched the bard sitting in front of the fireplace with lute in his hands, slowly strumming, humming, eyes dark and voice low as he played one of the first songs of the White Wolf cycle.

All alone he rides
Where people fear to go
Amber cat-like eyes
Glimmer in shadow

There were multiple pairs of glimmering eyes right now, watching from the shadows of the pillowroom. This time, Geralt wasn’t with them, as he had left for a supply hunt with Vesemir, as was their custom every month.

The bruxa and the wraiths
The drowners in the lakes
Beastly humans
Watch him as they wait
Their fate

This song was about Geralt, yes, but at the same time, it was about all of them. They have all traveled the continent alone once.

With the witcher
Heed the witcher
Steel or silver?
Man or monster?

A few low voices joined the bard’s, asking the questions each one of them had to ask in the past. Eskel felt his own voice humm in his chest.

Through the towns he rides
A contract for your gold
This world-weary knight
Has seen and fought them all

They indeed have, seen, fought, killed, saved, it was all the same, you got chased out at the end anyway.

The griffins and the ghouls
The Witches in the woods
And evil men
Are no match for the wolf
They look

The bard’s eyes glinted, for this part, he needed a bit of help, and indeed, Zofia, the human warrior and partner of one of the vipers joined him.

For the witcher
(The bruxa and the wraiths)
Heed the witcher
(The drowners in the lakes)
Steel or silver
(The griffins and the ghouls)
Man or monster
(The witches in the woods)

The bard’s voice was strong, tone solemn, as the song rose through the night air. Man or monster?

Heed the witcher
(The trolls and water hags)
Heed the witcher
(The woman and the man)
Steel or silver
(All heed the white wolf)
They’re both for monsters
(All heed the white wolf)

As the last tones tapered off into silence, the bard put his fingers over the strings, before he started plucking them once again, running off into another melody, another song. As his voice turned soft and soothing, Eskel felt the tendrils of sleep reach for him and closed his eyes. It has been a long time since he fell asleep to the sounds of a lullaby.

…

Jaskier’s heart was still beating in his ears as he lay sprawled over his Warlord, their bellies sticky with his come, the witcher still erratically twitching inside of him, eyes closed, as his amazingly muscled arms flexed where they were tied to the headboard with a piece of a golden silk rope that the bard managed to scavenge from the last tribute wagon. The bard’s eyes glimmered as he nibbled a bit more at the already very much abused nipple near his head, and lifted himself up on his pleasantly tired arms so that he could lick a long stripe from the witcher’s chest across his exposed neck to his stubbled jaw, tasting the salty sweat on his skin.

He squeezed his ass around the softening dick, eliciting an absolutely delicious whine from his partner, as his knot quickly went down now that it wasn’t being held by anything, and chuckled, before kissing the man deeply once more. When their lips parted, and the Warlord opened his eyes again, the bard slowly pulled himself off his dick and shuffled a bit higher on the witcher’s body.

“I will take them off now. You were amazing for me tonight,” he said and slowly untied the rope from the headboard before he unwrapped the ties around the man’s big, scarred hands as well. He slowly massaged the indents in the flesh where the man pulled against the ties, making sure that his lover was comfortable, and finally, he put them back down on the pillow. He looked down to see the witcher, eyes drooping, body loose and comfortable, expression open like never.

There was something soft in the way he looked at the bard above himself, and Jaskier felt that weird slow squeeze in his chest again. He had his suspicion on what that might be, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to be sure.

“Are you leaving again today?” the man’s voice was once again, so low, so raspy, caressing the deepest depths of Jaskier’s bare soul. Soul, which was trembling with trepidation and longing, even as the bard tried to shut it down.

The bard folded the rope and put it away on the wooden chest, as he climbed off the bed to get a wet rag to clean them off with. He was silent as he cleaned himself and returned to do the same with his husband. He ran his hands over the muscled body, wiping away the evidence of his enjoyment, wiping his presence here away, when a strong, and now free, hand caught his wrist and he looked up to see the witcher leaning up, golden eyes gazing into his.

“You don’t have to, but I would like you to stay, Jaskier,” the witcher said, and the bard felt his whole inner world tremble slightly. There were goosebumps from the cold on his arms and back. He gulped, hesitating, and the man let go of his wrist, laying back down, letting him finish the cleanup.

The bard returned the rag to the washbasin and stood in the dark room. There was the door, leading to the cold corridors of the keep. He took a deep breath and walked back to the bed, laying down next to the witcher and dragging the blankets and furs over them. The witcher was warm, warmer than anything else in this winter welcoming keep.

The man breathed in deeply, and the squeeze in Jaskier’s chest slowly, slowly started loosening. He cuddled a bit closer to the man, enjoying the warmth at his back, and when the man put his arm around him, he tangled their fingers together. They fit together perfectly.

Even then, as they laid together, the snakes in the bard’s stomach refused to stop slowly wiggling. This, this wasn’t him. He never stayed the night. He never let them hold him like this. He never risked them finding out what he really was. This man, this witcher, he already knew. There was no risk in staying. But still, Jaskier couldn’t seem to stop the unpleasant feeling spreading through his limbs. He wasn’t built to stay.

Chapter Text

Mornings during the cold winter months at Kaer Morhen were dark, but Geralt’s inner clock woke him up like every day on time for morning training. He blinked his eyes open to see a mess of brown curls in front of himself. That’s when he realized that the bard stayed in his bed after all, and a small smile found its way onto his face. It wasn’t an entirely happy smile. He remembered the hesitance, the nervousness, the stiffness of the bard every time he asked him to stay.

He just couldn’t stop himself after a night like that. When the bard picked him apart like an intriguing puzzle, leaving him completely hopeless against the onslaught of pleasure, when he looked into those blue eyes, caringly checking for his every comfort, his heart felt full for just a moment and his mouth formed the words before he could stop it.

He looked at the man sleeping once again, took in every line of his face. He must’ve turned during the night. His expression was completely peaceful, soft, even as his cheek was squished by the arm he used as a pillow.

Geralt was sure the bard liked him. He could smell the affection, the interest, the sweetness. It might not be full-on love, but it was there. That’s why he was so confused at why the bard always seemed so eager to leave. He was so restless, and Geralt wanted nothing more than to be able to make the bard just as relaxed and happy as the bard made him. He had never fallen asleep as easily and slept so deeply as when he was good for the man.

He felt his dick try to wake up and sighed, rubbing his forehead. Now was not the time for that. He looked at Jaskier’s sleeping face once more and finally climbed out from underneath the blankets. The bard’s face scrunched for a second as the cold air found the way in, but Geralt quickly tucked him back in and his forehead immediately smoothed back out.

He quickly put on a semi-clean shirt which he would throw into the laundry pile after the training anyway, the rest of his clothes in a similar state, and left the room.

He walked through the quiet halls, listening to the keep slowly waking up, servants and witchers alike, and ran through his last talk with Vesemir in his head. His mentor was right, he shouldn’t push the bard. There were more than enough reasons for an omega who traveled the Continent alone for twenty years hiding his identity from everyone to not want to pursue a deeper relationship. To pull away when reached for forcefully.

Geralt would have to be patient. He would take whatever he was given, give whatever the bard would take, and in a deep corner of his heart, hope that maybe one day the bard would decide that Geralt was worth staying for.

…

“Buttercup, heeeey, wake uuuuuup…”

There was an insistent voice floating around and he took a pillow and pushed it over his head. There was a remnant of a beautiful dream where he and the Warlord walked the continent together as a pair, him singing, the witcher slaying monsters, living a life full of adventure like he always did but with a big, armored layer of safety added to the mix hovering around in his head.

“Fuck off,” he groaned and tried to pretend that waking up wasn’t an option so that he could return to the fantasy. The only issue with his otherwise flawless plan was, that cats didn’t like it when you ignored them, and before he could react properly, all the pillows from around and under him were thrown away by an insistent pair of cruel hands, leaving him on the carpet of the pillow room with only one last pillow clutched to his chest. He angrily blinked his eyes open and blearily glared at grinning Aiden.

“What the fuck are you doing so early?” he mumbled as he finally let go of the pillow and ran his hands through his hair. He sat up and stretched his arms and back, yawning widely. There was a satisfying pop from somewhere in his lower spine and he saw the cat cringe. Serves him right for waking Jaskier up like this.

“How are your old bones doing, grandpa? Sounds like you’re going to fall apart by the rattling,” the cat grimaced offering Jaskier a hand while getting up. The bard accepted and pulled himself up pretty nimbly if he had to say something for himself.

“Well actually, I’ll have you know, that my back hasn’t hurt me in weeks! The mountain air must be doing wonders for my body,” he stretched some more and then frowned at the completely wrinkled clothes he was wearing. He’d better stop by his room for a fresh change of clothes before going to bathe. This shirt would be completely unwearable once he finishes with the training he’d lately been joining the cats and vipers for.

He obviously wasn’t training as hard as the witchers did, but refreshing his skills with a dagger would definitely come in handy once he returned to the path again. There was also the added benefit of really warming his body up in the winter and then relaxing the aches away in the hot springs. He was sure that if the keep offered a rehabilitation program, it would have an incredibly steady influx of visitors.

He might mention it to Vesemir when he sees the old beta. He had a bit of a business mindset to him and while most old witchers would be against letting people into the keep, the old man might think about it first. Maybe even contact his acquaintances from the temples of Melitele! Maybe they’d even send some of their acolytes here… Hmm, inviting one of the girls to join his and Geralt’s bed could be quite an adventure, if the witcher wanted. How gorgeous would it be watching the alpha fuck the girl? Or having the alpha watch him?

“What are you smirking about?” the cat bumped into his shoulder as they walked out of the still somehow warm room and Jaskier chuckled.

“I might have just had an idea worth my absolutely amazing mind, my friend,” he started and then launched off into a lengthy explanation followed by a series of stories from his days at the temples. The cat just shook his head, took a deep breath, and followed the wildly gesturing bard through the keep. Deep inside he had to grin happily, because finally, after more than half a year here, his friend looked completely settled in.

…

“Her eyes were wide like plates
she wore her hair in plaits
her big and bouncy tits
just begging for a kiss!”

Jaskier belted out, swinging a bottle of mead around, as he and Geralt stumbled away from the courtyard where the Beltane celebrations had already ended, only leaving the last few drunkards watching the sky grow light after a night of revelry. His head was swimming from the amount of drink he had and even Geralt, who was carrying the majority of their weight, wasn’t walking in a straight line, as far as the bard could distinguish with his own balance completely off.

The witcher’s arm around his waist felt like a brand of hot iron, so heavy and delicious. They walked up the stairs to the gates of the keep and as soon as they passed the threshold, Jaskier pushed the witcher into the nearest wall ignoring the fact, that it was a bit further than he calculated, and dragged the man’s head lower so he could push their lips as close together as they would go and kiss the living daylights out of him.

When he later tried to remember how they got to the Warlord’s room, he’d only see brief pictures of stairs, looong looong kissing anywhere and everywhere in the keep that was on the way, the moment when they finished the rest of the mead and very carefully put the bottle into some nook so that nobody would trip over it and more kissing.

Finally, they were at the right door, and the witcher eagerly grabbed at the doorknob, letting them in. Jaskier wasted exactly zero time because as far as his drunken focus could tell, taking the clothes off now was important. You couldn’t fuck with them on anyway. He fumbled with the multiple strings, only barely noticing, that the alpha just gave up and tore his own ties off, simply sliding the remnants of his clothes off with no issues. The bard refused to commit such a horrible crime with his own clothing, so he fumbled some more and cursed under his breath, but even he managed to stand naked before too long had passed.

As he pulled off his underwear, he couldn’t not notice the big wet stain on it. He must’ve been leaking like half the night and he shrugged as he threw the clothes somewhere behind himself. Then his eyes met the molten gaze of the witcher and he felt his spine melt. Fuck.

Geralt stood there in all of his glory, but Jaskier couldn’t make himself look away from his face. That look, pure hot lust, full-on absolutely feral alpha did something to him, and he felt himself whimper right then and there. He felt himself sway and leaned onto a bedpost, but then the alpha was there, lifting him up into his strong scarred arms slow rumbling growl making his chest tremble, and Jaskier whined and let himself be carried to the bed. Fuck, this was way too hot for his brain.

His head was swimming, and the sensations were all liquidy as his hands fumbled around, trying to reach for something, until they settled in the Warlord’s hair, taking firm hold, making the man moan, even as he leaned over the bard and sucked in his nipples. Fuck, it was so good. His belly was warm from the liquor, his blood filled with lightning, he realized that he must be moaning in full volume, but the witcher moaned in answer, which made all of this twice as hot, and what more, his hole was still leaking.

“Fuck,” he gasped, as the witcher licked a long stripe up his neck and nibbled a little at Jaskier’s jaw.

“You smell so good, lark,” the alpha moaned as he buried his nose into the bard’s hair and his soul sang at the nickname.

“Gosh, I’m not patient enough today,” Jaskier gasped when the Warlord rubbed his stiff dick into the bard’s groin and pushed at the witcher’s chest. The alpha went with the slightest delay, completely pliant and good under Jaskier’s hands, and he felt his dick throb, as he turned them around.

He didn’t know how, but suddenly he was right where he wanted to be. Sitting on top of Geralt, ready to ride him, those wide golden eyes staring up at him with utter admiration. He reached a hand for the man’s prick and without looking led him right home. He could do this half asleep by now, he could do it completely drunk.

“Melitele,” he sighed. “You fit inside so well, darling,” he moaned, watching with absolute wonder as the witcher automatically reached up to wrap his hands around the headboard. Fuck, so perfect it made Jaskier’s chest tight. He leaned down for a kiss, bracing his arms on the witcher’s chest, and then finally properly rode him.

He has been on edge the entire evening. Ever since he witnessed the witcher tradition of dancing shirtless around the bonfire and then jumping high, showing off their acrobatics as they flew across the fires. He thought the fire inside himself might burn him, if he didn’t do something, so he ground himself onto the Warlord’s dick, getting him deeper and deeper each time.

“Come on, you can move today,” he finally whispered and had to close his eyes when he noticed the full-body shudder his husband gave him, as he finally thrust up. Fuck. Fuck that was so good. The slowly swelling knot finally slipped inside his hole and hit all the right spots.

“More,” he managed to gasp in between moans. Fuck, it hit so good. So deep. He was swimming through a sea of sensations and the man was his only solid holding point.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he opened his eyes, watching the witcher bite his lip, a drop of blood dripping down his chin, as his arms were twitching.

“Fuck, hold me. Hold me,” he whimpered, as the witcher thrust especially good. Then there were big, steady hands on his hips, holding him, pushing and pulling, lifting him up from his knot as was needed, and Jaskier let himself be. Let the alpha do the work. Melitele, he needed more. He wanted more.

For a moment he stared at the man, the flushed face floating in his mind. All of their moments together. This wasn’t a random one-night-stand. This wasn’t a random alpha. This was Geralt. And Jaskier, Jaskier suddenly wondered, how it would feel to have the witcher knot him. And once the thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t get it out of there.

Each delicious thrust, each delicious moment, it wasn’t enough.

“Deeper,” he moaned and pushed himself onto the swelling knot again. It was big now. So big. The witcher was close, and Jaskier as well. But there was something missing, and now that he noticed, he couldn’t let it go. He wanted to be knotted. Fuck.

The witcher thrust in again, making the bard gasp for breath, and then went to lift the bard back up, when Jaskier’s hands grasped his wrists and their eyes met.

“Don’t,” the bard moaned.

The witcher just stared at him with confusion, mouth slightly open, lips stained red.

“Don’t take it away. Knot me,” he said and saw the golden eyes widen more than ever before. The witcher took in a deep breath, surely about to ask useless questions, but Jaskier stopped him with a shaky hand on his chest.

“Just knot me, Geralt. I need you,” he said. There was a short moment of silence, Jaskier’s whole being just one impatient throb, before the Witcher blinked and something in his face changed. He thrust up again, deep within Jaskier, but his arms reached up, going across the bard’s back, and they dragged him down, holding them both in a close embrace, as he thrust into the bard again and again, the knot snugly inside, the bard’s insides feeling so full, so full, so good.

The alpha was all around him, his skin, his hair, his sweat, his arms and hands, and Jaskier has never in his life felt safer. Fuck.

“Geralt. Geralt. Geralt,” he gasped with each thrust, his own hands sliding over the man’s wet skin, as he heard him take deep gasping breaths in between short raspy moans that caressed the bard’s spine. The omega’s dick was sliding in between their bellies, the friction adding to the general mess of amazing feelings, and then Jaskier felt his belly tighten and he was coming. There were tears in his eyes.

“Geralt,” he moaned once more. The witcher gasped then, his whole body going stiff, as his knot swelled even bigger inside Jaskier and he ground himself into him. The moment they locked, it felt as if the bard’s brain had taken a vacation. He was gone. But he was also everywhere. He was so, so full, his hole, his heart, it all swelled like a void being filled, and he felt himself go completely limp.

When he later opened his eyes, he realized there were tears leaking from his eyes onto the witcher’s chest. The alpha was caressing his back, and there was a weird warmth passing over him. He was vibrating, as if something resonated through his chest. And there was a solid connection in between them, the knot still periodically twitching, as the witcher’s breathing hitched now and again.

Jaskier closed his eyes, feeling warm all over. He fell asleep in the midst of purring, still tied to the alpha under him.

Chapter Text

The morning came slowly, and it went by very much unnoticed. The celebrations lasted so long, that the keep was thrown off its otherwise hard-set regime. Most witchers and humans as well only woke up around lunch and went to treat their hangover into the hall with some remedies and the cold spread that the amazing kitchen maids under the firm lead of Marlene got ready around noon.

Geralt felt himself rise from the depths of his dreams multiple times, but he always chose not to return, not opening his eyes once. He wasn’t terribly hungover and the things he dreamt about? He wasn’t about to let it go. He dreamt of an amazing night. Of Jaskier in his arms, warm, sweet-smelling, perfect, on his knot. Of the fragrant soft hair tickling him on his chin, as if he had the bard cuddled into his chest, long limbs and all. His heart felt calm and happy, and he breathed in once more.

Then the realization crashed into him, and he opened his eyes, heart beating in an avid race all of a sudden, as he watched the omega in his arms. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream. How? What? He remembered the kisses, the stairs, the amazing sex, the knotting. He also could smell the alcohol sourness in the air around them and remembered the slight incoordination of the bard’s moves, the fogginess of his gaze, when they knotted. Fuck.

Was… was that okay? Did Geralt fuck up? The bard has never before wanted to knot him. Never said anything about their dynamic changing. But. The bard always knew what he wanted. He was always so sure, always led Geralt so well.

The Warlord tried to calm himself. He shouldn’t overthink this. It was very much possible, that the bard just wanted to experience the sensation. He was an omega after all and one that didn’t hate witchers at all. There was no reason for them not to knot except Jaskier not feeling up to it before. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

But as Geralt got up from the bed and gathered his things, he couldn’t help but feel an insufferable seed of hope grow. Maybe this change, this last night could mean, that the thing between the two of them, could finally grow a bit more.

…

When Jaskier woke up that day, the sun was very, very high in the sky. In fact, it had already started coming down a bit. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked, trying to find his bearing in the room. Fuck hangovers. He should not have tried the mead Aiden handed him. He definitely shouldn’t have finished it. Not after all the wine the sorceresses shared with him.

There was a dull throbbing inside his skull, his mouth felt dry, and overall, he didn’t feel like waking up was the best idea, but still, he decided to get up, put on some of the clothes he hastily took off the night before, drink some from the pitcher of water on the bedside table, and leave the comfort of the Warlord’s room.

He wondered briefly about the possibility of joining the witchers for dinner, as it was already rather close to that time, but his stomach got awfully tight at the idea. The halls of the keep were cold, mostly empty, and he walked his way through them all the way back to his room. There, he opened the door, took the clothes right off again, taking off his rings as well, gave himself a quick but thorough sponge bath, quickly put on some sleep-clothes, and fell into the bed. His head was pounding and his stomach swam as he closed his eyes and tried to think about something nice. Like the night before, enveloped in Geralt’s everything.

He fell asleep fairly fast, memories of their heated touches spilling over into his dreams. He remembered resurfacing from his dreams briefly when Aiden knocked at his door, but he just told him to fuck off, as the hangover still hadn’t passed by then, and burrowed into the pillows and blankets once more. He wrapped the remaining furs from winter around himself and closed his eyes again. He felt exhausted.

When he opened his eyes the next time, he could see the first pinking sunrays of the new day peek into his room through the window. His mouth was horribly dry, so he stretched an arm for the pitcher of water at his bedside and after sitting up poured himself a bit of it. There was sweat all over his skin, making him feel sticky, and he scrunched his nose at the unpleasant feeling. Why the heck did he wrap himself in so many furs when he felt so hot.

His mind still wasn’t perfectly clear, as if a layer of alcohol induced fuzziness stayed even after the whole day of sleeping it off, so he shook his head. The room spun with him and oof, that wasn’t a good idea. He put the cup back down with a slightly trembling hand and ran said hand through his hair. It was sweaty. There were beginnings of stubble on his cheeks and his clothes were thoroughly sweated through. The hangover was really something this time around, huh. There were remnants of slick on his trousers from the steamy dreams and memories of Geralt, and he groaned, before he stood up, stretched, and decided to go take a bath. This level of disgusting dirtiness was way below his usual standards, thank you very much.

This early in the morning, the witchers would be about to begin their training, which left the baths beautifully empty, not even the sorceresses awake yet as Jaskier settled into one shallow pool. He took a piece of unscented soap, still feeling his head a bit, and scrubbed all of the remnants of Beltane and the Warlord off. When he felt sufficiently cleaned, he lathered his hair and repeated the process, running through the cycle two times, before finally massaging his favorite oil into the strands and then finally he lathered his face with shaving soap and got rid of the unseemly shadows around his goatee.

When he was done, skin smooth like a babe’s only then he finally felt like himself again. He leaned on the pool’s edge and let himself relax for a moment. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, which was a bit weird but well, he did have a horrible hangover the day before. He felt peckish though, so he got up, dried himself off, and dressed only in soft linen shirt and trousers went to find some sustenance.

He must have taken much longer than he thought as the sun that hit his eyes signaled just about the end of the witchers’ training, when he walked across the courtyard. Huh. His head swam a little at the change in lighting when he walked back inside, and he leaned on the wall. Why was he feeling so damn warm. He blinked at the cold stone floor feeling his stomach make an unpleasant swoop. He would really like to eat an apple. He wasn’t much of an apple person, but apple right now… He blinked again as it clicked in his brain.

Apple. He always wanted an apple before his heat came. But… he didn’t get heats anymore? Could this be a false start? He shook his head, heartbeat quickening in his chest. He was feeling hot, feverish. The feeling in his stomach that he thought was just the remnants of a hangover. Fuck. Fuck, the steamy dreams, he never got that many steamy dreams, his life was steamy enough. He slapped a hand over his mouth to stop a whimper. There was no time to go for an apple.

He straightened up again, looked around, and as fast as he could walked back up the stairs to his room. He came up sweating, his stomach giving him the first almost cramps, and locked the door behind himself, as he frantically went after his rings to open the one with the pheromone stoppers and poured the substance into the rest of his water. He drank the bitter mix in three gulps, and sat down on the bed, trembling hands folded in his lap.

He chuckled bitterly.

“Well, here we go again,” he whispered, trying to calm his frantic heart. He knew the stoppers could buy him a few hours of time, some much needed clarity, but still, he felt too fucking old for this. He was too fucking old for this. He did notice his joints creaking a bit less the longer he was in the keep, even joked about making the springs here a recreational facility, but for it to be that revitalizing? He didn’t fucking WANT to be revitalized like that! He closed his eyes, head hanging low, and took controlled breaths.

“Heya Buttercup, you didn’t come to training today!” a cheerful voice called in the corridor, steps intentionally heavy coming closer and then there was a thud as the witcher tried to open his doors and failed.

“What the fuck…” he heard the characteristic sound of the witcher scenting the air and felt himself tense.

“Hello Lambert,” he chuckled again, completely humorless. It was silent on the other side.

“Could you be a dear and drag Aiden here for a sec?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“I’ll be right back,” the witcher said, voice serious. “Just… hold on, man.”

That at least made Jaskier smirk a little. Ah yes, dear fiery wolf, hold on. Hilarious. At least he knew Aiden was coming now. Aiden… he felt his heart hurt a little when he remembered his friend’s relief of no more heats coming. Oh gosh but it stung…

His leg was tapping at the floor, and he smoothed out the wrinkles in his pants, as he opened his eyes again and stood up. Well, sitting around won’t help anything and he needs to build a nest first. He suddenly understood why he wrapped so many furs around himself that night and set out to build a good solid structure out of them encompassing the whole of his big plush bed. He took out some more fabric, curling it around itself, weaving the pieces methodically with a frown on his face, and when he was just about happy with it, he took out the silken summer sheets, that would be so soft and cooling on his heated skin, and put them on top.

As much as he didn’t usually have the ideal nesting conditions when his heats came, him and Aiden quickly realized that having a nest helps. It makes him less urgent, and that was exactly what he needed right now. Just as he smoothed out some of the most annoying wrinkles, there was a knock at his door.

“Hey Jask, are you okay?” Aiden’s voice was soft, so unbearably soft, and Jaskier felt his eyes sting a bit. Oh, fuck that, he was way to old to cry just like that.

He sighed and went to unlock the door.

It opened slowly, a pair of shining green eyes peering cautiously through the crack until it revealed the whole cat witcher and his mate as well, Lambert standing a bit further away but still looking concerned.

“Don’t look at me like that, you two,” sighed the bard but still beckoned the cat inside. The wolf stood a good distance from the door, nervously watching.

“Is there… can I help somehow?” he asked, and Jaskier… Jaskier watched the man, the witcher, the alpha, and he felt like crying.

“If you brough me a few apples and a waterskin, that would be great,” he managed to say, watching as the man nodded and walked away quickly. He closed the door then and walked over to the nest where he sat down, the cat already sitting on the one chair of the room.

“So…here we are again,” the witcher tried laughing softly, but the sound broke off. Jaskier saw the worried lines in between his friend’s brows. The anxiety in his hands, smoothing over his thighs.

“So we are, kitten,” he whispered himself. He could feel the heat slowly build up inside himself. He still had time, but fuck, anxiety made his throat close up and stomach cramp even without his condition.

“I thought I was fucking done with it,” he managed to get through clenched teeth as his eyes stung and he had to squeeze them close to stop the fucking tears.

“Buttercup,” the cat whispered, suddenly close, kneeling in front of him, hands on his rubbing little circles where he could reach. “I will help you through. We will manage, we did so many times before,” he said, firm, and yet Jaskier could hear the pain. The nerves in him. Still, he took a deep breath and nodded.

“I know. I know kitty. But fuck, this, I’ve never… not with people around- people knowing,” he lost the words, the reality of the situation hammering itself in. His heats, ever since he left for the road, were always spent far from people. In secret, only the cat helping him. He had many good reasons to do it that way back then.

“I will keep watch,” Aiden said solemnly. “And Lambert will help me. Heck, I bet we could make a small army with all the witchers you befriended here to guard you. We wouldn’t need any alphas, I could even send Lambert away and only call the betas if it made you feel better. If you said a word, I bet your darling husband would vacate the keep with an order,” the witcher said, eyes clear, voice completely sure, and Jaskier finally couldn’t hold back the sobs. They were ugly, but they were needed.

“Oh, fuck you all witchers with your fucking everything,” he sobbed and dragged the cat up into a hug. “I know. I know. I know. Fuck I have never been in a safe space kitty, never felt like I could have a heat somewhere even close to a fucking human. I was such a scared little coward my whole life. Fucking weakling. But I can have a heat here, I think. I don’t want to, but I can. Fucking hell,” he cried and let Aiden crush him even closer.

He could feel Aiden trembling as well, and the cat’s cheeks were wet when they finally parted. They sat in the nest, looking at each other, just silent and red eyed.

“I let Geralt knot me the night after Beltane,” said Jaskier suddenly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He could see the cat’s eyes go wide and eyebrows climb up his face.

“What the- whaaaaaaaaat? And you were planning to tell me that when exactly?” the cat gasped.

“Now, you moron,” Jaskier wasn’t feeling impressed. “It was good.” It was great.

“So…” the cat tilted his head to the side in question. Jaskier gulped and took a deep breath.

“Do you think he would help me through it?” he whispered. He knew the wolf would. The wolf would do anything for Jaskier, he could see it in his eyes.

“Would you like him to?” the cat asked.

“I think I would. I am tired of hurting,” said Jaskier, painfully honest. He never knew an alpha that he would trust like he trusted Geralt. Maybe with him, he could stop worrying about everything and just, for once in his cursed life, have a painless heat.

…

Geralt was frowning at the bowl of stew he had for lunch as if it did something unforgivable. It had been more than a day since he saw the bard last. The hope he felt when he left their room the day before had slowly began leaving him, when the bard didn’t show up for dinner, didn’t seek him out that evening, wasn’t to be seen at training, and now was missing from lunch as well. The cat and Lambert were also nowhere to be seen and Geralt hoped that they are somewhere with the bard and that he is okay. Maybe he is sick after all the drinking, but if he was still sick from that, what would that mean about the consentuality of their knotting?

He felt shivers pass through him. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe the bard was avoiding him, regretting that night, regretting the drunken mistake. After all he never wanted to be knotted before. Geralt had the feeling that the bard never wanted to be held down, he always wanted to have an escape route ready, and there were no escape routes when you were stuck on someone’s knot.

He was interrupted in his increasingly darker thoughts by Lambert, who walked across the hall to him, concerned expression on his face.

“Hmm?” he asked but Lambert just nodded outside the hall, looking very serious. Geralt put his spoon down, he wouldn’t eat much more anyway, and followed his brother.

“What is going on?” he asked when they walked further away, passing window after window in the cold stone halls.

“It’s buttercup,” said Lambert and Geralt froze. “He’s in heat.”

Chapter Text

Geralt felt like his brain had stopped working right then and there. Lambert had to firmly grab his arm to stop him from running up there, explaining that Aiden was in the room with the bard, the two talking things through, so Geralt didn’t run, only walked very, very fast. They arrived at the door right as it opened, and the cat who obviously expected them slipped out the door and held it open for him. He could smell the sweet smell wafting from the room and his throat grew tight.

He hesitated. There was a mess of thoughts echoing in his head. He thought the bard didn’t have heats anymore. His stomach twisted when he remembered how the man looked on his knot, blushing and so eager, needing to be held, with tears in his eyes. How much of that was heat and how much of it was Jaskier?

“Geralt? Are you coming inside?” the bard’s usually confident and self-assured voice sounded hesitant and small. The cat by the door pierced him with a look of his sharp green eyes but Geralt didn’t even notice, his legs carrying him towards the voice. It wasn’t supposed to sound like this. He had to go and help.

The bard was sitting on the bed inside a neat, incredibly comfortable-looking nest. Geralt’s heart ached with want at the sight and he had to hold himself back. Do not step out of the line. Do not. There was a chair waiting for him and he sat down on it with hands firmly put over his thighs as the sweet smell wrapped around him and the door clicked closed behind him.

“Hi,” the bard said softly, and Geralt’s gaze snapped up from where he was staring at the floor. He met the pair of cornflower blue eyes, watching him intently. Their pupils were already a bit wide as a premonition to what was about to come. He was slightly flushed, but not too much yet. His sweat smelled clear, the salt of it mixing with the ever-present flowery sweetness.

“Hi,” Geralt answered and saw the corners of the bard’s mouth shoot up slightly. There was redness around his eyes. Maybe not all of the salt in the air was from sweat.

“I wanted to ask you,” the bard started, but his breath caught, and Geralt could sense the short spike of panic from him, hear his heart hammer against his chest and he moved before he could help it. He slid down from the chair his knees hitting the floor as he lowered himself and clenched his hands harder around his thighs to stop himself from reaching out. He tilted his head back, staring at the man who looked taken aback with his mouth the tiniest bit open, and sharp sweet peach tickled the witcher’s senses.

“Jaskier,” he said. He saw the bard freeze. “No matter what you ask, just know that like always, I would do anything you wish for. If you wished for me to leave, I would do so. If you wished for me to give you some scent but not involve myself, I would stay right there in the corner and not come close. Hell, if you tied me down and only needed my knot, I would do it if you wanted,” he shivered at the lust in the bard’s gaze. The bard licked his lips, thinking. Then he straightened up almost imperceptibly.

“Geralt,” he tried out the name, tasting it on his tongue. The warlord felt his dick grow even firmer than it was before with all the pheromones in the room. “I would like your help with my heat. Not just your scent or your knot. I want everything you can give me,” the man said as he leaned over the edge of the nest and reached for Geralt, dragging him up into a scorchingly hot kiss. Geralt finally permitted himself to raise his hands and he slid them over the bard’s shoulders to his back, holding him close as the bard’s nimble fingers swiftly untied his hair, and the white strands fell around their faces.

When their mouths parted, Jaskier leaned their foreheads together and for a moment they just breathed together, the air growing warmer. Geralt felt his awareness grow weirdly soft around the edges as the heat grew in strength and the bard looked almost pained when he sat back up, his back straight, and motioned for Geralt to get back on the abandoned chair.

“Kitten?” the bard called out and Aiden’s head peeked back inside.

“Need anything else, buttercup? Perhaps some rope?” the cat grinned, and Geralt felt his cheeks grow slightly warm. He didn’t regret his offer though. Something about that idea was way more appealing than he would have thought it could be a few months back. The bard chuckled.

“Psssh, tie down your own wolf, leave mine to me. But if you could maybe check up on us in the old interval?”

The talk continued for a bit, but Geralt didn’t listen anymore. The word “mine” echoed sweetly in his head and he felt the bard’s heat rise even in his own belly. His instincts were waking up to be able to keep up with the cycle. He never imagined that something like this would happen to him. Not only being so close to an omega, knotting them, helping them through their heat, but being here with the bard. He looked at the nest in front of himself. The bard was never comfortable staying the night. He was not meant to be held down. And yet, he called Geralt to his nest.

“Hey, are you here with me?” the bard chuckled, and Geralt blinked. Then he nodded. Words were sometimes just so hard to come by.

“Well, I certainly feel it coming closer. Take off your clothes and give them to me,” said the bard and took off his own loose clothes while Geralt obeyed, handing him everything as he now stood there, naked and waiting. He watched Jaskier lift the silken sheet up and work their pheromone-soaked clothing into the elaborate mess of a nest. It looked so perfect. When everything was fixed and the sheet put back, he watched the bard lean back against one side of it, blue eyes dark now, blush crawling down his shoulders to his chest as sweat began to well up, making his skin glisten and his hair stick to it.

Geralt breathed carefully through his mouth, the loudness of his heartbeat becoming almost all he could hear as he watched the bard spread his thighs to reveal his slick hole and flushed hard cock. Two long slender fingers slid through the wet mess and the bard then lifted the hand to his face as if examining the slick’s quality before his now almost all black eyes pierced Geralt in place and one of his eyebrows rose.

“My lord, my fingers are dirty, why don’t you come inside and help me clean them up?” he said, and Geralt let out a whimper, immediately climbing into the nest, arranging himself right next to the bard, where he took the fingers inside his mouth and sucked the sweet slick off of them. It tasted heavenly, like the ripest of peaches covered in honey, and he couldn’t help but moan around them, yearning for more.

“Fuck,” the bard muttered. “Okay, okay, that’s enough, I need you down here,” he moaned as he hurriedly rearranged them, leading Geralt right to the source and the Warlord immediately buried his head right in between the bard’s thighs, licking at his glistening hole, right at the source of that delicious smell, the bard’s hands sliding into his hair and holding him in place, as the licked and nibbled at the skin, until finally his tongue pushed deeper and he could lick inside the bard, whose toes curled and his legs came up, holding Geralt in there even firmer than before.

His head went blank as his nose was burrowed into the smooth curls of the bard’s hair and he delved as deep as he could, tongue curling and spreading and tasting more and more, his ears blessed by small gasps. He managed to curl a hand under his torso so that he could pull his tongue out, making the bard moan a disgruntled “nooo” his legs squeezing Geralt firmer, so that he could slide it in again alongside a finger, eliciting a long breathy “oh fuuuuck yes” in response.

“Give me more, Geralt,” the bard moaned, pulling on his hair just right to make the witcher’s spine tingle, and he listened, giving the bard another finger, scissoring them, before sliding the tongue out and giving him another, now pumping them in and out, swiftly finding the sweet sweet spot that made the bard moan so deliciously and his legs lock even more. He would go for the bard’s dick as well, but his head was held firmly in place, so he continued lapping and sucking at the bard’s hole, making the pace quicker when the bard said so, and then the bard grew taut as a string and he sang so much more beautifully than any lute ever could and he came all over himself cock untouched, clenching his hole around Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt’s dick was heavy between his legs, but he didn’t dare stop, until the bard tugged at his hair again, releasing him from the hold of his now shaking legs and bringing him up. Jaskier’s eyes were bright as Geralt held himself up above him, his hair like a curtain around his face. The bard let go of the strands, lightly caressing the witcher’s face. He slid his thumb over Geralt’s lips, still shiny with spit and Jaskier’s slick. He slid the finger inside Geralt’s mouth and Geralt let him, unclenching his teeth. He didn’t realize he had them clenched.

Then the bard reached down with his other hand and gathered as much semen as he could and Geralt shuddered, head bowing down to the bard’s collarbone lightly nibbling on the finger in his mouth, when the man spread the cum over Geralt’s skin. Over his chest, belly, all the way down to his painfully hard dick, the bard pushed the cum in with single-minded determination.

“Let me seep into your every pore,” he whispered hotly into Geralt’s hair. “I want to smell you on me. So good, so perfectly mine,” the bard groaned as Geralt couldn’t help but grind his cock down into the bard’s thigh near to where the bard’s was laying, already half-hard once more. The bard again led Geralt with a hand in his hair up, so that the witcher’s mouth was above his and kissed him hungrily. The heat scent was now so strong everywhere around them, wrapping itself around all of Geralt’s senses, making him see, hear, smell, and taste only Jaskier, intensifying everything, making him feel hot and weak and strong at the same time as he desperately chased the bard’s tongue into his mouth and they fought, they battled, they bit with all-encompassing gentleness soft and hazy but urgent nonetheless as their blood boiled in their veins.

He felt every flutter of Jaskier’s body, smelled every note of his scent, he would give him everything, he needed to give him everything he could.

“Fuck, fuck,” he breathed hard when they parted. The bard moaned in response his eyes completely dark. Geralt couldn’t imagine a sight like this in his wildest dreams. The bard looked so undone already, chest heaving, skin flushed, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty skin that radiated heat like a furnace. The bard’s hands slid over Geralt’s shoulders, holding on, nails undoubtedly making small moonlike indents into his skin.

The bard’s legs fidgeted in the nest, his breath shuddering and his face twisted in the most heartbreaking way, making Geralt feel oh so weak. Sweet Melitele, he needed to…

“Geralt,” the bard breathed. “Geralt come on, give me your knot,” sang his lark and Geralt groaned deeply, finding his way down there on what felt like pure instinct. He held himself up on one arm as he guided his dick inside the bard, watching the tight glistening hole swallow him whole, until Jaskier dragged him back up to his chest, to press his hard length against him, moaning high as Geralt rolled his hips, thrusting deep inside the bard who eagerly thrust back against him.

There was no finesse in it. Just two bodies needing, fumbling, frantically grinding into each other. Geralt couldn’t help but nibble at the bard’s collarbones while Jaskier’s hands scratched all over his back, dragging him even closer, legs once again locking themselves around him as if he never wanted to let him go, let him get away from him and his nest, and Geralt felt his knot swell inside the almost painfully tight heat of the bard with every breathy moan he heard.

There was no usual stream of words. The heat was upon them and there was no space for such frivolities. No praise was raining down on Geralt’s shoulders, but there was no bigger praise in this world right then than the way the bard desperately ground against him wanting more, the way he cried out with the especially good thrusts, or the way he clenched around Geralt if it even looked like the growing knot was about to leave his body.

Geralt could feel the bard getting close. He grew even more frantic in his grinding, moans high and short now, and then he suddenly clenched tight, his whole body flexing as he came and his hole locked onto Geralt’s knot, squeezing him so tight that the witcher momentarily blacked out, hips stuttering as he knotted the bard in return, connecting their bodies completely. He pulsed inside the bard, filling him up with his seed, holding himself up on slightly trembling hands.

The space between them was all heartbeats, shaky breaths, salty sweat, cum, and the everlasting cornflower honey sweetness.

Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes, reaching out for one more kiss.

They kissed.

Then Geralt lifted the bard up and gently shifted their position so they could lie comfortably, leaning into the walls of the nest.

Every once in a while, they shuddered, the tie between them pulsing with pleasure, and they kissed each other's shoulders, collarbones, or foreheads until their mouths inevitably tried to devour each other again.

They stayed like that until they drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was feeling the heat slowly coming closer. It crawled in the back of his consciousness, slowly warming up his cold extremities as he left the village. He heard of a cave not far from here and was determined to find it in time. This was his third heat since leaving Oxenfurt, leaving Kerrack, leaving his title and everything behind to escape the grey and subservient fate of a royal omega.

When he was studying, the university had specified heat rooms for their omega students. When at home, he just spent it in his chambers. He never had an alpha see him through it, there was no way the Kerrack estate would permit such a thing without a marriage to one of the most noble prospects.

After he left, he briefly considered finding a heat partner, a thought that became more insistent with every day closer to his heat. After all, he did sleep with an alpha or two outside of it, and it went fine! That was when his first heat on the run came. He rented a room in the house of an old widow at the edge of a village he was visiting, and he spent the entire thing scared out of his wits as the resident alphas noticed his presence and insisted on being let inside.

He listened to their distorted voices, promising to knot him, to bite him, and while his body screamed for it, his mind and heart had never been more terrified. He didn’t want to be theirs. He didn’t want their children nor their knots. If it was up to him, he would have them all die. It was only thanks to the widow and her beta neighbor that they didn’t get past the door.

When the fever passed, he thanked the widow, still trembling, and left as fast and far as his feet would carry him. That encounter pressed itself into his brain and memory. There was a danger he previously didn’t fully understand, or at least he didn’t want to admit to himself. The same thing he ran from when escaping home could meet him anywhere.

An overeager alpha wanting an omega to fill his home with a sweet smell and children. An alpha not hesitating to knot and bind. To imprison him forever because that was how the world worked.

So, he bought perfume much harsher than his own smell, and he stood tall. He slept with omegas and betas mostly, and he became careful. He also spent his second heat in an abandoned shack far from anyone to see.

A year has passed since then and he was on his way to a cave. As he got older, reaching twenty years of age, his body was completely mature now. What only was a mild fever needing a bit of a wank back when he was thirteen has now fully morphed into the all-consuming horrible heat that resulted in most omegas getting married and with children rather sooner than later, and he could feel it slowly cloud his consciousness as he finally found the opening in the rock and set up a small camp inside.

His hands trembled in front of the fire. He pulled an apple out of his pack and ate it before his stomach would cramp too much to do so. The sweet and sour scent calmed him down just the slightest bit. Behind a turn in the cave, he set up his cloak and blanket on the ground. He didn’t have enough money to afford a new bedroll if he destroyed the one he had, so he had to do without.

He was sweating by that point, skin sticking to his clothes. He took off his doublet and trousers, but he at least kept the chemise on as he knew how horribly cold he would be when this all ended. That was also why he stacked the branches as high as they would go in the camp. For the after.

He folded his clothes under his lute when the first cramp twisted his stomach. His head swam and he leaned on the wall of the cave. Slowly, achingly slowly, he walked to the sorry excuse for a nest and sat down on it, with his legs drawn to his chin. He was so hot…

One moment he blinked, the other he was lying on his side, staring at the cold rock, desperately wishing for someone to come and help him get rid of the pain, desperately afraid that someone would actually come and find him this vulnerable.

He took gasping breaths, pressing his forehead to the cold ground, as he burned through the night and the cramps got worse and worse. Melitele, how he hated being an omega. How much he wished he could have been anything else. He felt so fucking alone and he howled when the pain and loneliness got too much to bear. To hell with all of this.

…

Jaskier woke up with a gasp drawing air into his lungs furiously. He felt so hot and there was cramping in his stomach as he ground himself against the body next to him. His lungs filled with cornflower and petrichor and his skin was caressed by cool silk sheets, and when he opened his eyes, he witnessed golden eyes fluttering open.

He was hit with another cramp, and he saw Geralt scent the air briefly before he frowned, growled quietly in his chest, and with Jaskier still swimming around in the hot soup that his brain had become he lifted the bard up, draped him over himself with hands on his hips, and slid his dick right inside the slick gaping hole. Jaskier sighed with relief, eyes half-closing as the ache got soothed with the rhythmic rolling of the man’s hips.

He felt tears well up in his eyes as he nuzzled his nose into the side of his husband’s head getting more of that soothing and rare petrichor smell and hugged him. The hips stuttered for a moment before continuing with their perfect motions. Firm callused hands hesitantly moved from Jaskier’s hips up over his body until they firmly held him in a hug of their own. Geralt’s skin felt pleasantly cool against his and the squeeze was just enough to make him feel completely and absolutely not alone.

Had he not been in the throes of heat, he probably would have thrown in a quick joke, to make the situation less serious, less real, but now he couldn’t help the tears flowing down his face to soak into the nest. He couldn’t help the trembling of his body as he cried quietly, arms squeezing the Warlord in a way that must have been entirely uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming fulness he felt as Geralt nuzzled kisses onto his nape, hands massaging small circles into his back.

As Geralt finally knotted him again, making the pain disappear completely and his head clear up a bit, there were three words insistently knocking to get out. His heart was beating loudly, and he felt like he was blushing even more than the flush of a fever. He gently bit at Geralt’s ear to stop himself from talking and felt a wave of warmth at the groan the man gave him, his knot twitching again. That would have to wait for after the heat.

…

Geralt resurfaced from their shared heat slowly and on multiple tries.

The first time his eyes fluttered open just slightly, eyelids unbelievably heavy. He was still floating but he could sense that it had ended. There was a sleeping bard in his arms, wild waves of hair tangled, beard overgrown and disheveled, mouth hanging slightly open where it lay on his pale scarred chest. It warmed his heart in a way that ached, but soon his eyes slipped closed again.

The second time he woke up was when the bard in his arms did. He felt the body move, the warmth retreating, and he couldn’t help a disgruntled groan as his hand reached blindly after Jaskier. He missed and was met with a quiet chuckle.

“Sleep on, my lord. I shall be back soon,” said the melodic voice with unusual raspiness added to it and before he could help it, Geralt felt himself fall asleep once again without even opening his eyes once.

The third and final time came an unspecified amount of time later and there was no warm body next to his anymore. His eyes blinked open, immediately searching the room, and then his heart stopped as he saw the bard sitting on the windowsill with a book in his hands. He must have visited the springs earlier, as his hair was clean and shiny, his face groomed carefully and precisely once again, and he was dressed in a loose light blue robe that suited his eyes way too much.

“You are gorgeous,” he rasped, a little startled at how rough his voice seemed in the quiet of the room. Jaskier blinked and turned his head towards him, the hair almost floating as the morning light made a little halo around his head. Geralt felt a little breathless as he lay there, still naked and barely clean from a swift wipe down in the disheveled nest and this ethereal being gave him its full attention. He couldn’t help but notice the slight blush on the bard’s face.

“Good morning to you too, my lord,” he said. There was a smile unlike any Geralt had ever seen on his face. It was a bit smaller than his usual grins, but it felt so soft and private. It reached the bard’s eyes fully, making them somehow seem even more blue than usual.

“I love you,” Geralt realized too late that he said the carefully guarded words out loud this time and he could only watch the bard’s eyes widen in shock as the book fell from his hands into his lap. He belatedly realized that he never saw the bard surprised like this, with his mouth hanging open but no words coming out.

The room was quiet, only faint echoes of birdsong and witchers training leaked in through the window and Geralt grinned. The room smelled of old heat, his petrichor, Jaskier’s cornflowers, and honey.

The witcher stretched himself languidly in the nest, his feet and arms reaching well over the edges of the bed. His back gave a satisfying crack and he hmmed, perfectly aware of the blue eyes watching him intently. The bard closed his open mouth, and Geralt could see him swallow empty.

There was a neat pile of fresh clothes that Lambert brought for him before waiting on the chair and Geralt got up to shrug the loose pants and shirt on as if nothing was happening. He found himself amused at the silence. Wordless Jaskier, truly a miracle. Finally, he stepped into his boots, only lacing them loosely, when there was a sound behind him.

“Where – where are you going?” the bard asked from the windowsill. Still wide-eyed. Still smelling so sweet.

“I was thinking of taking a bath and getting something to eat,” Geralt shrugged his shoulders, the smile now impossible to chase away from his lips.

“Oh,” said the bard only, and Geralt had to hold himself back from laughing. So verbose. One would think they switched bodies. He stepped to the door, hand on the doorknob, but turned his head back once more.

“It was a great honor for me to help you with your heat. Thank you.” And with those words, Geralt of Rivia left the room and the stunned bard behind and headed to enjoy the most pleasant and needed bath he had in ages.

Chapter Text

Jaskier stared at the now closed door to his room, heart beating way too fast, as he tried to blink the image of Geralt’s blinding smile away. The smug bastard looked way too much like a cat who got the cream for someone whose hair and beard looked like a total bird nest and whose whole body was stained with a wide variety of different bodily fluids. And yet he made the bard’s seemingly beaten-down heart flutter like the heart of a youth.

He lifted his slightly trembling hand towards his face and pressed a palm over his forehead. There was no fever or sickness, yet he felt his ears burning. There was an insistent echo in his mind. A deep, raspy voice. That of a wild, mutated beast, rumored to eat babies for supper. A voice harsh like a steel sword dragged over the cold stone of the ancient keep, repeating the three words over and over, striking true at the heart of this poor helpless human bard.

I love you.

…

“Hey, buttercup, stop with the heart eyes and eat your damn breakfast,” sighed Aiden quarter of an hour into the meal. His friend was mindlessly holding the spoon in his blueberry oatmeal, which might have been mixed, but definitely not eaten, with his eyes fixed at the wolf table. More specifically on the Warlord.

“Huh?” the bard blinked before turning to look at the cat, before frowning at his friend, playfully rolling his eyes, and finally eating a spoonful of breakfast.

“You have been like this for three days, you helpless sap. I swear I have never seen you this out of your depth,” the cat shook his head. It was true. There was scarcely anyone left in the keep unaware of the strange emotional atmosphere between the Warlord and his bard. It was as if the two exchanged roles and personalities entirely and it left most of the keep amused and slightly wrongfooted.

The wolf was full of smiles, grinning wide whenever he saw the bard, and as if that wasn’t unnerving enough, he took to public displays of affection like a fish to water. Aiden saw him kiss the bard on the cheek or knuckles in passing, praising the color of his doublet, or the way he wore his hair that day. Lambert even swore he saw his brother gift the bard a blooming rose, which he must have gotten from one of the witches as it was still freezing outside.

What was even more unbelievable to Aiden was Jaskier’s reaction to it all. Aiden knew his friend to be extremely talkative, and sometimes even unbearably confident. There was a certain charisma dripping from his words most of the time, the poet wielding the power of words as masterfully as any witcher would a weapon crucial to their trade.

But now?

Now it was like watching a newborn bird just peeking through the cracked eggshell, a bumbling chicken instead of the elegant lark everyone was used to. When the Warlord appeared, delivering his little pleasantries, kissing his hand or such, he would stop whatever he was doing and stare, rarely managing to stumble through a few stunted sentences. His ears would turn red, and his free hand would flail around, playing with hair, or ties on his clothing.

It was extremely adorable and a bit heartbreaking, so Aiden wouldn’t tease his friend too much about it, but he sure hoped that the whole crisis would be resolved sooner rather than later. The smell of honey mixed with anticipation and nerves was an extremely strange concoction to be around.

…

Jaskier was tapping his fingers on his thigh in a fast and unsettled rhythm. He was a wreck. Such a wreck that it was honestly embarrassing, and yet Geralt didn’t seem to mind. He knew what he felt for the witcher. He had known it for a while by that point, after long evenings of not only sex and drinking, but talking about anything and everything, sitting by the bonfires together, performing for the man… the heat made him finally admit it to himself, but that didn’t mean he was ready to say it.

He felt ready before. He felt so ready that first post-heat morning, when he left the sleeping beauty in his nest, the sight incredibly heartwarming, and went to wash himself in the spring. As he sat there on the windowsill, staring at the book without paying much attention to its words, he had been thinking about how to broach the subject when the witcher woke. About how he would thank him for the heat, explain how incredibly important it had been for him, and maybe even talk a bit about the past. About how he would finally say those three words.

It would not have been the first time for him to say them to someone. He was a bard after all, what would have been his life without love confessions. But he never felt them burn such a hole in his chest wanting to get out in the open.

But then Geralt woke up, and in his usual way, absolutely stunned Jaskier with his actions. It seemed like the man didn’t struggle with the words at all. He sounded so absolutely sure, and so at ease with it as well. He didn’t ask Jaskier to say them back. There was no pressure. It was just him stating a universal truth out loud, and Jaskier didn’t have to do anything about it, because the love would just be there, whatever he decided to do.

So now, wherever he went, whether he had his eyes closed or open, Jaskier was fucked. He could pray to Melitele how much he wanted, but he couldn’t chase Geralt out of his head. Whether it was him saying I love you, or him kneeling down at the beginning of their heat, or all those half-blurry moments where they were tied together, or just the first few encounters he had with him, golden eyes shining from the shadows of a throne room or a stone corridor where he was brooding. And then all of those moments in between.

His heart was so full with it, and his head felt overfilled with pictures of gold and silver. He yearned for more. And yet.

Every time he met those golden eyes. Every time the soft lips pressed themselves to his skin. Every time they whispered soft words his way. Every time the big, callused hands handed him a flower, he suddenly found himself wordless. Not just wordless, but entirely incapable of any reaction, even if only dragging the Warlord into a kiss as he had done an ungodly amount of times before.

So, he was now sitting on his bed, where just a few days back their nest was. He was tapping his fingers on his thigh, and he looked into the mirror, checking himself over in his favorite dark blue doublet with golden embroidery. He would do something that evening. He must. Or he would go crazy, and Aiden would laugh at him forever.

…

Geralt smiled into his ale as he watched the bard enter the great hall for supper. He had his dark blue doublet on, the one that Geralt noticed the bard favored recently, and he felt so warm in his heart at the sight. The bard went to sit at his usual place at the cat table and lifted his eyes to look at the wolf table. Their eyes met and the man blushed slightly, a hesitant smile blooming on his lips.

Geralt looked away after a while, as Eskel asked him something about patrol schedules, but he could feel the blue eyes on himself as if he had developed a sixth sense just for perceiving the bard.

He was almost unbearably curious about what the bard would decide to do next. It was his turn to strike, but in the meantime, Geralt had more than enough extraordinarily good fun with teasing the man.

He felt a heat in both his heart and gut every time he made the bard wordless. Never had he felt so happy and sure of himself before, as when he made the usually completely self-assured, confident, elegant man pink in the ears. He could see the dilated pupils. Hear the heartbeat quicken. Smell the honey in the air, and he felt so unbelievably full with it, that he just couldn’t help it but tease him at every available moment. Even if it got him teased by his brothers in return. They gave up quickly anyway after they found out that nothing short of a massive enemy attack could spoil his great mood.

He continued enjoying his dinner, wondering if the bard would perform that evening, but as the human didn’t bring his lute with him, the answer was most likely not, unless someone would talk him into it and bring the instrument. He put his empty plate on Eskel’s to make it simpler for the maids to clean the tables and reached for a bit more ale, eyes searching for the bard again, when he noticed him standing up.

He walked around the tables in that smooth, horribly sure walk of his, eyes flashing with determination, and Geralt put the ale back down. He automatically pushed his chair a bit away from the table, turning towards the bard, waiting.

Finally, he stood in front of Geralt, like many times before, and yet there was that new, strange hesitation in him. His breath hitched and Geralt tilted his head to the side.

“Is there anything I can do for you today, my dear bard?” he asked slowly, ignoring Lambert’s snickering a few seats to the left. He could hear the bard’s breath hitch and saw the moment his eyes went dark.

“I have noticed that you haven’t shown me the way to your rooms in a while. I’m afraid I might have forgotten it,” the bard licked his lips, and Geralt felt the heat in his own blood answer. Oh, so this was the next move. He surely wouldn’t complain about that.

“Well, we shall fix that immediately,” he got up, lifted Jaskier’s hand to his mouth for a fleeting kiss to the knuckles, hearing the bard’s heart stutter, and didn’t even look back once as they walked out of the hall.

The halls seemed endless, and their steps were faster and faster after they broke into a short run, and finally, they stumbled into Geralt’s room. The bard immediately reached for Geralt’s shoulders, turning him around so they faced each other, two madmen grinning, and then he reached for the leather tie in his hair with one hand, and untied it while pushing the man backward until his back was leaning onto the wall.

There, with nowhere else left to go, the bard almost violently crashed their mouths together into a kiss so desperate as if Geralt was a stream with fresh water he had just found in the middle of a desert. He sucked his bottom lip in, biting it so strongly it almost drew blood, and Geralt couldn’t help the groan that left him at that, his dick stiffening in his pants as his hands roamed across the bard’s back to his firm butt.

But then there was a tongue in his mouth, asking to duel, and he eagerly accepted the challenge. The bard’s hands roamed over his arms and back, scratching him through the fabric, until they settled firmly in his hair, tugging just enough to make Geralt’s whole body feel shivers and his mouth go lack.

When they finally parted, the bard’s eyes were wild, their blue dark as if a storm was swallowing him whole. They were pressed to each other, breathless. There was the cold stone of the keep at Geralt’s back and the scorching hot bard at his front, whose hands were still firmly grasped in his hair and whose hard dick was pressed right next to Geralt’s.

“Fuck,” he groaned when the bard tugged at his hair and he moved his head as was needed to reveal the long column of his throat, his heartbeat pulsing right there. Right there, where the bard’s lips pressed to his skin, lavishing openmouthed kisses, pressing his teeth teasingly over the pulse point, sucking his marks all over the white skin.

“Jaskier,” he moaned brokenly when an insistent hand slid down his body to unlace his ties and slipped right into his pants to pull his hard dick out. The lips stopped sucking for a moment, and he could feel the hot breath caressing his skin. He breathed in the sweet cornflower and felt his knees go weak.

“Shhh. Let me take care of you,” whispered the bard in his smoothest velvety voice, and there was no arguing with the tone in Geralt’s universe, so he listened, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall, his eyes slipping half closed, as the bard’s mouth returned to nibbling at his skin, while one of the bard’s hands was slowly yet firmly caressing his dick, as the second one gathered Geralt’s shirt up, holding the fabric to reveal the witcher’s scarred body and flushed chest.

“Open your mouth,” the bard said, breath heavy, and Geralt listened. Then there was the taste of the soft fabric on his tongue, and he realized that the bard had used him to hold the shirt up. He bit down on it obediently, as the bard leaned back a bit to observe with a satisfied smirk.

“Perfect,” he hummed, eyes shining. First, he pressed Geralt’s hands against the wall behind his back, which he immediately understood and held them there, and then he was everywhere. His mouth traveled in wide, biting kisses across his shoulders, collarbones, and pecks, where he stopped to suck multiple marks into the flushed skin, while occasionally lavishing one of his poor nipples in the attention of both teeth and tongue. First biting and tugging, only to soothe after with soft wet swipes of the tongue, which turned almost painful, as he insistently circled the firm buds again and again.

His moans were muffled through the now-wet fabric as the bard stroked him faster and faster, thumb circling the wet head at every go, while his second hand roamed over Geralt’s backside, firmly massaging the muscles, occasionally sliding in between his cheeks in a tease. His eyes slipped closed without him fully realizing, and he felt the heat in his belly getting so much stronger, the tingle growing as he was closer and closer to his peak.

Jaskier knew him so well, the hand movements growing faster, the bites on his pecks firmer as he moaned, and the second hand joined the first in working over the knot.

“Come for me, Geralt,” the bard whispered wetly with just the right twist of his wrist and a squeeze of the knot, and Geralt was gone, his dick twitching as ropes of white cum painted yet another pattern over the golden embroidery on Jaskier’s clothes. His thighs trembled as his head once more hit the wall, his moans all soaked into the fabric, and he felt shivers on his sweat-wet skin. The bard caressed him a few more times before letting go of his cock with a fond chuckle.

“Who’s gorgeous now,” he drawled, and Geralt blinked his eyes open slowly, watching the vision of a man, slightly disheveled but still fully dressed, now with his cum glistening on the blue fabric, with cheeks and ears flushed and shining eyes, his hard length slightly pushing into Geralt's thigh as a hand finally pulled the shirt back out of Geralt’s mouth again.

“You, obviously. I have never seen a man more beautiful in my life,” he answered without even having to think about it and Jaskier’s breath hitched again before the man groaned loudly, taking a step back and running his fingers through his hair.

“Sweet fucking Melitele how do you do that? When did that happen? I am the one who is supposed to be great with words here. Where is the silent brooding Warlord I got married to?” he asked, a sort of desperation in his voice, that made Geralt gather his still-shivering strength and step closer to him, gathering the man in a loose embrace.

“I just say what I think. The pure unfiltered truth, Jaskier. And it would have been a pity to spend this much time around a master bard and not learn a thing or two,” he smiled, leaning their foreheads together.

“I love you after all,” he said. The bard trembled slightly. His eyes were so blue like it was just about to rain. “I have loved you for a while now. It felt impossible not to do so,” he admitted, caressing circles into the bard’s back. There we tears on the bard’s cheeks now. Light and sweet like a spring shower.

“I know, you silly little wolf,” the bard murmured, and their mouths connected once more. There wasn’t time to bite lips now. Their kiss was so deep, so thorough, it felt as if the bard took this as his sign to dive in and never resurface. They did run out of breath eventually, but the only thing the bard muttered was the word ‘bed’, before he dived back in, and slowly, in the middle of an embrace that slowly pulled each other’s clothes off, they climbed up on the mattress.

It was a mess of limbs, fabric, ties, boots, hands, legs, bodies, and mouths not wanting to part, but somehow, after all of it, they managed to end up naked, Jaskier sitting spread-legged over Geralt’s lap, pushing him down into the pillow. Geralt’s dick has already plumped up again, taking a vivid interest in the proceedings, and he felt his mouth water whenever he noticed how red Jaskier’s leaking cock was already.

“Can I suck your cock, please?” he groaned when they parted from yet another kiss and he watched Jaskier shudder before he quickly moved up Geralt’s body, so that his cock was right at his mouth, the head teasingly brushing over his contrastingly white beard, as the bard braced himself onto the headboard.

“Have a taste then,” he breathed out and Geralt didn’t need much more to open his mouth and eagerly suck the hot and heavy cock deep in until it hit the back of his throat. His hands went to that perfect round ass while Jaskier groaned above him, whispering praise in that neverending wordfall way of his, and Geralt took him even deeper into his throat, making the bard moan, as he swallowed around him.

“Fuck, Geralt, fuck yes. I will move a little, dear, okay?” he breathed out and Geralt tapped his hand on the bard’s lower back once in agreement, before the bard thrust inside Geralt’s mouth and Geralt let himself go lax for him.

“So. Fucking. Perfect. For. Me. I thought you were a fucking vision the first time I saw you naked and I didn’t even know how perfectly you would fit every part of me back then,” he babbled while thrusting, and Geralt moaned in response, his hand going down for his dick to tease himself back into full hardness. It wasn’t very hard to do, pun intended.

“Fuck, fuck, okay I have to stop now. Fuck I’m so close you fucking perfect man,” Jaskier groaned as he pulled out, and Geralt at least chased after him a bit with his tongue to get more of that salty taste. Then he licked his lips.

“What now?” he asked in what he knew was one of his raspiest voices that can only be achieved, after taking Jaskier’s dick this deep, and he saw the bard’s cock twitch, precum pearling at the tip.

“Now I need your knot inside of me really fast,” the bard groaned, taking Geralt’s hand and pulling it purposefully towards his asshole, which was already wet with slick. “Start at two,” he instructed, and Geralt did. It wasn’t an easy fit, but the bard consciously tried to relax as much as possible, and soon he was moving his hips encouragingly.

“Come on, you can go faster, right?” his eyes were dark, pupils were blown, and there was a blush all over his face down to his chest where it got lost in his hair as he, still braced on the headboard, wiggled his hips with his dick bobbing just above Geralt’s pecks. So, the witcher did his damn best, thrusting the fingers in, then scissoring them, until he could fit in a third one and the bard moaned so deliciously. The witcher knew exactly where to thrust the fingers to make him do that.

“Okay, okay that’s enough. Come on, come on, give me your knot now, Geralt,” the bard insisted, making the witcher groan in response, as he pulled the fingers out, and the bard moved down his body, bracing himself on Geralt’s chest instead, as the witcher took his dick, and finally directed himself to that sweet slick heat. First, he just stopped at the hole, teasing, until the bard hissed at him, eyes flashing thunderously, at which the witcher shivered and finally pushed the head through the rim, making them both groan.

The bard pushed against him more, taking him deeper and deeper in each little thrust, until their bodies were flush, and they both trembled slightly. Then the bard looked at him, lips swollen, eyes framed by thick lashes.

“Now, you will knot me,” he said, and that was all the direction Geralt needed to thrust into him. They moved like two bodies needing to seep into each other. To fill every crack in themselves with pieces of the other. Fast, hard, air full of their scents and groans. It didn’t take long for the bard’s moans to get higher. For his belly to draw tight, and movements get more insistent. He now thrust himself between Geralt’s belly and his dick, eyes half-lidded and glassy, so Geralt did his best aiming his thrusts until finally the bard cried out, his arms trembling and head thrown back, as he furiously ground himself onto Geralt’s swelling knot and his cum painted scorching-hot lines over Geralt’s skin.

He squeezed and pulsed around Geralt, welcoming his thrusts even in the post-orgasmic overstimulation, and soon Geralt couldn’t help his thrusts growing irregular as he came for the second time that evening, his knot swelling and locking inside the bard, who writhed on it, moaning loudly, clenching around him as their bodies locked.

Finally, the bard laid himself over Geralt, still trembling, still moaning weakly every time the tie between them jostled a bit or Geralt’s knot pulsed.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucky fuck,” he groaned into Geralt’s skin and the witcher couldn’t help but chuckle breathlessly.

“Fuck indeed,” he hummed, as he dragged a sheet over their cooling bodies. The knot lasted a lot shorter outside of heat, but it still would take a good few minutes before they could clean themselves.

“You know, I never thought I would like it this much,” murmured the bard, and Geralt’s floating brain rang in mild alert.

“Hmm?”

“Being tied to you, Geralt. I could never imagine being tied to anyone before I met you,” said Jaskier and Geralt knew he wasn’t only talking about knotting.

“I am happy you do like it,” he couldn’t help another small smile escaping him.

“You sap… If anyone ever told me that the Warlord of the North was such a sweet puppy, I would not have believed them. And I most likely would have traveled here just to make sure,” said the bard with a slight chuckle. There was a big fireplace of joy burning in Geralt’s chest and he didn’t know what to do with it, other than press a firm kiss to the bard’s forehead.

“Then I wish I would have discovered that part of myself sooner. We could have had this for years,” he murmured.

…

They laid there for a long while. Jaskier traced the pattern Geralt’s scars painted on his skin, thoughts busy, chest full of feelings that wanted to explode out, and yet he felt so calm and comfortable.

When the knot finally came down, and their tie was broken, only then did Jaskier slip out of the bed, stretch his back, and walk to the basin with water. He cleaned himself with a sponge, before returning to the bed, and attentively cleaning Geralt as well. He felt his golden eyes on himself the whole time he did so and couldn’t help but press a kiss on the scarred knuckles of Geralt’s hand when said hand tried to push a lost strand of hair from the bard’s face.

Then he got up once again, returning the sponge to the basin.

When he turned around, he was stopped by the openness in his witcher’s gaze. As always, there was a wish for him to stay screamed silently into the space between them, but at the same time, he knew that if he turned away and walked out, there would be no shouting, no madness. Geralt didn’t own him, didn’t dare act like he did. The man didn’t even think of telling Jaskier what to do.

Jaskier looked into his golden eyes, so warm, so loving, and his heart seized in his chest at the bare idea of stepping a single step further away from him. He resolutely walked back to the bed and slid under the covers.

He looked straight into those cursed golden eyes, watching him intently.

“Are you not leaving?” the man asked, a small smile on his lips once again. Jaskier wanted to kiss that stupid smile away.

“I love you too, Geralt,” he said instead, the words finally tumbling out of the confines of his chest, and he watched that smile grow wider, eyes brighter, until the man laughed out loud, and dragged him closer to himself, enveloping him in an all-consuming, warm wolf-hug.

“I love you, Jaskier,” said the man and Jaskier felt tears sting at his eyes again.

“You are so unfair right now, love,” he murmured but only hugged the other man closer. A wide smile slowly bloomed on his face as well.

They were in love after all.

Chapter Text

It had been two years ago that Jaskier stepped out of a portal and felt the cold winds of Kaer Morhen for the first time. This meant that the next day during dinner their marriage would officially end, just as they set with the second contract they wrote back then.

The acquisition of Kerrack has gone and went without any significant issues. There had not been any calls for Geralt to return the crown omega either. Jaskier wasn’t surprised about that. He was never particularly well-known or well-liked as a prince. The fame of his bardic moniker has far outweighed anything his noble name could ever mean. At least in his opinion, and that was frankly the only one that really mattered. His, and of his friends.

So now he was pacing inside of Aiden and Lambert’s chambers feeling the cat’s amused eyes upon himself.

“Stop fretting about it, Jaskier. You are the one who has decided to wait this long with the proposal, saying something about the “perfect opportunity” and “a big dramatic gesture”, so I have no idea why you are acting like this,” the cat admonished him and Jaskier groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“I know, I know. It is entirely unreasonable, and yet I am once again completely out of my depth. Aiden, I have a damn engagement ring ready for the fucking Warlord of the North, who, may I remind you, is a very public figure, which means that the news of this will get out sooner or later, which means no more wandering under the stars, except in a company of my own guard, no more songs about kings, unless performed and shared under a disguise. So much will change, kitty,” he said, arms gesturing around himself, until he folded them on his chest and sat back down on a chair. His leg was tapping the floor anyway. The cat sighed.

“And we have talked about this more times than I can remember, my friend. We both know you love the oaf and that you want to be tied to him. Stop with this last stubborn streak of panic and gather your wits,” he shook his head impatiently.

“I know, I know. I wouldn’t exchange this future for anything in this world but permit my heart a bit of dramaticism. You are a horrible friend,” Jaskier frowned, but they both knew it was in jest. They both also knew that he was only stalling. His heart was so full of love, had been for over a year, that he couldn’t imagine not having Geralt and not being his in return. That didn’t mean that a part of him still couldn’t be nervous about this working out.

What if Geralt didn’t want to officially marry again?

In all of their talks, they were both so sure of staying together even after the contract. Jaskier found a home inside of the keep, and even if he traveled again, he would definitely return to this home. To Geralt. Geralt, who promised to always have the gates open for him, room ready, his bed and heart both more than big enough for both of them.

But what if the witcher wouldn’t like being married for real? He did ask Eskel and even Vesemir for advice, both of which assured him of their support with mischievous smiles on their cat-eyed faces. Even the witch seemed to like the idea. Said that it would be nice for someone to teach the wolf a bit more about political decorum.

But. What. If.

“Okay. I can’t watch this anymore. We are going to go to dinner. You will eat, drink, go to sleep, and tomorrow you will propose just as you planned. Now get up,” the cat demanded, dragging Jaskier up to his feet and he couldn’t help but listen. His behaviour was truly ridiculous after all.

So, they left the room and walked to the great hall, only for both to stop right at the open door.

“What the hell…” he heard the cat hiss before Lambert walked up from the side and yanked his hissing and sputtering boyfriend away.

Jaskier was about to hiss and sputter as well, when it dawned on him, what was happening.

The hall was decorated with vast arrangements of flowers, a mix of wildly growing things, but mainly bunches of beautiful dark blue cornflowers. Most witchers and servants were already in place, curiously watching the scene, but a few of them clearly knew what was going on. Jaskier frowned at the group of mischievously smirking wolves at the high table. So much for having their support.

Yennefer walked towards him, all high and mighty, with the same mischievous tilt to her lips, and he sighed exaggeratedly when she offered to lead him to the table. He accepted anyway and to his surprise, she walked him all the way to Geralt’s throne. He watched curiously across the hall as he sat down. He had to admit, while this might spoil his own plans, he wanted to know where in Melitele’s name they were going with this.

“So, what’s next, my dear witch?” he asked her, and she smirked.

“Almost everything is in order, but there is a certain issue you should look into. There is a man demanding to speak with you, your highness,” she said, stepping to the side next to “his” throne.

“A man, you say? Well, let him in. I do find myself in a mood to listen,” he smiled and watched Eskel walk through the side entrance to call out of the hall. Then, just a few moments later, Geralt walked in through the main entrance.

His back was straight, and he was dressed in a beautiful, ceremonial set of clothing. Something that surely must have been picked by Yennefer for how ornate it was. There was a golden ribbon in his hair, and his doublet was white as well, rich with golden embroidery. There still were the two swords, their hilts glistening above his shoulder. Jaskier couldn’t look away from him. It fit him perfectly, his hair and eyes shining as he walked closer.

“It seems I have to thank you for the spectacle,” he told the witch, throat dry, only for her to chuckle.

“Oh no, flower. He planned this all himself, including the clothing. You should wait for what is under,” she said and Jaskier felt his blood turn into liquid honey in his veins. Fuck.

But then the Warlord was right there, and knelt on one knee at Jaskier’s feet with such grace, that the bard lost a bit of his ability to breathe.

“My lord,” said the witcher, and Jaskier felt his eyes mist up. Fuck.

“I am listening,” he managed to croak out, blissfully unaware of the amused looks the rest of the hall exchanged.

“I have a modest proposal in mind,” the witcher said, his head tilted up towards Jaskier like he was the sun.

“As our previous contract is close to being through, we will once again become just two free men the day after tomorrow. And as great as freedom would have sounded two years ago, I found myself dreading that moment. I could never be free of you, even if there was no contract between us, for you would forever follow me in my every thought and dream.

As such I find myself at your mercy, a helpless Warlord in need of a consort by my side, and I came to ask you this question.”

Geralt reached into his pocket, pulling out a black velvet box. Jaskier felt the first tear slide down his cheek. Well, curse him for his emotional nature.

“Jaskier, my bard, my lark, my love, would you do me the honor of staying by my side a little longer than was planned?” Geralt smiled wide, opening the box and revealing a sparkling silver wolf medallion, which Jaskier touched with shaking fingers, before gracelessly sliding down to the ground, knowing Geralt would catch him.

“Of course, of course, of course!” he cried, kissing the wolf’s forehead with all the emotion bubbling in his chest, letting Geralt pull the chain over his head. The weight settled reassuringly close to his heart, and they kissed on the lips now, to the sound of overwhelmingly loud cheering in the hall.

“I am still a bit mad at you,” Jaskier managed to say breathily when they parted.

“Why?” the wolf questioned curiously, and Jaskier could hear the snickers now.

“Well, I was planning to propose to you first,” he announced loudly, and the snickers turned to genuine laughter. “And those traitors said that I have their full support! Meanwhile, they were helping you with this,” he frowned, but Geralt smoothed the line with his thumb.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” Geralt said softly, and when Jaskier looked into his eyes, he almost couldn’t bear the amount of love and happiness that flooded him.

“I think I do,” he smiled and kissed him again.

He truly did.