Chapter Text
As Jaskier came to, the first thing he became aware of was the darkness, scratchy fabric bound tight across his eyes, and then an ache in his shoulders. His hands must’ve been bound for a long time then. His throat was so dry there was no need for a gag, and his breath came ragged through parched lips. What had happened?
The last thing he remembered was being at a tavern… where was Geralt? Geralt had gone upstairs...for a bath! The witcher was having his bath and Jaskier had been...the memories were muddy. His songs had roused a large crowd and many people had bought him drinks.
How long had it been?
Jaskier tried to sit up, hissing as pain lanced through his shoulder and ribs. Nevermind that then. He ached all over. He hoped Geralt would come soon. Because Geralt would be coming. Jaskier knew it in his bones, he knew it like he had known he needed to follow the witcher all those years ago. Geralt would come for him.
Jaskier began to hum softly, trying to stay calm.
Heavy footsteps and a hard kick followed fast, Jaskier letting out a ragged sound of pain.
“Keep screaming, bard, maybe it’ll bring the witcher faster. I want to get paid.”
The nasal voice laughed raucously, a rough hand reaching to pull Jaskier up by his hair into a sitting position. Jaskier whimpered at the strain on his bruised ribs, being upright just made him aware of how his whole body throbbed in agony.
As the nasal man used the grip on his hair to expose his throat, they both jumped at the sound of a confrontation outside, the unmistakable whinnies of a horse and a sword coming unsheathed. Jaskier swallowed dryly a couple times, working up the energy for an exhausted, “good luck.”
And then he gave into the pain wracking his body and collapsed, once again unconscious on the cold stone floor, his last moments of awareness catching the sound of steel against steel outside.
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Geralt carried an unconscious Jaskier upstairs, shouldering into their room and kicking it shut behind him. He laid Jaskier on the bed, thinking to make quick work of his torn clothes and then getting the bard into the bath.
But looking down at his companion now…
He brushed a large hand through Jaskier’s dirty hair, pushing ever so gently through the strands, absently looking for injuries. But mostly he just looked at Jaskier. The arch of his brows, the curve of his nose, eyelashes still soft and delicate, the dryness of his lips-
Geralt grunted and broke his gaze. Jaskier’s jacket was long gone so he tugged his torn shirt up, gently persuading the bard’s lax arms through the sleeves and lifting him to get the shirt completely off. Pale, dirty skin took up all his attention as his gaze traced over soft pink nipples and the purple and yellow bruising spread across Jaskier’s ribs. Geralt growled, his thoughts turning dark and wishing he could punish the brigands a second time for daring to injure his lov-
Companion.
Jaskier’s boots were missing so the witcher unlaced his trousers and tugged them down. The bard began to shiver, but he did not wake. Geralt noted the bruises on his legs as he removed Jaskier’s smallclothes and lifted him up and towards the tub.
As he lowered Jaskier into the steaming water, the bard made a choking noise and flailed abruptly. He slid out of Geralt’s arms and into the tub, making himself grunt with surprise and pain as he landed on fresh bruises. He made a loud whining noise, tired blue eyes wide with fear as he cowered in the water.
Finally he looked straight at Geralt, recognition softening his expression as he instantly relaxed, eyes sliding shut. Something warm and soft buried itself in Geralt’s stomach, seeing his bard trusting that he was safe with Geralt. He lifted a soaking rag and cupped Jaskier’s cheek in one rough palm, taking the utmost care to clean his friend’s face. He scrubbed at his hairline where grime had collected, across cheekbones, swiping gently at Jaskier’s parted lips. Geralt paused, relief finally setting in. Jaskier was safe. Right here tucked away from the world with the best bodyguard. The witcher’s mood soured. If he were the best bodyguard then the bard would never have been taken.
When Geralt didn’t continue, Jaskier opened his eyes once more. He took in his friend’s pinched expression and swallowed to wet his throat.
“Geralt, thank you.”
“Hm.”
Jaskier snorted, suddenly coughing harshly. Geralt raised a cup to his lips, holding until Jaskier could take no more.
The witcher continued washing gently.
Jaskier’s mind was caught between melting at Geralt’s attentions just as the rest of his body did and his racing thoughts. Having Geralt take such delicate and thorough care of him was almost overwhelming. His heart ached, and hot tears brimmed behind his closed eyes.
Geralt eased his bard forward, until Jaskier’s face was pressed against the witcher’s neck. Geralt ran the soapy rag in circles across pale shoulders, down the dip of Jaskier’s spine. Pressed close, Geralt took deep, steady inhales of the bard’s scent, finally calm and happy. As he continued washing, Geralt suddenly became aware of the smell of salt in the air. Brows furrowing, he dropped the rag with a splash and cradled the bard’s jaw in one palm, leaning back just enough to see his face.
Jaskier’s blue eyes stared back at him, made more intense by the reddening around them and the wet clumping of his long eyelashes. Geralt rumbled low in his chest, pressing his forehead to the bard’s, his other hand rising to cup the back of Jaskier’s neck.
Jaskier’s breaths steadied, the reminder of his safety pressed against his face and filling his chest with warmth.
“Geralt, never ever let me get kidnapped again. It might make for a good song but look at my bruises! The women at court prefer a man who sings of his adventures, not one who wears them like embroidered robes!”
At the mention of his bruises, Jaskier noticed Geralt tense, hand lowering from the bard’s jaw to trace the purple and yellowing against his pale skin. He caught the witcher’s rough fingers in his.
“Hey, none of that. I knew you would come for me. Even though most days you probably wish I had never followed you and everyone says that witchers have no emotions but I know you could never leave an innocent behind-” Geralt covered Jaskier’s running mouth with a wide hand.
“You’re hardly an innocent, Jaskier. And I don’t. Wish that.” Orange eyes slid sideways, heat rising in the witcher’s face.
Wide blue eyes crinkled in amusement, “so you’re saying your life would be dull and lonely without me? You’re right, witcher! Not to mention you’d still be getting thrown out of inns, spit on in the streets, unsatisfied in the sheet-mmph!”
Geralt’s lips pressed firmly against Jaskier’s, lingering and then breaking away.
“You do not need to remind me of the joys you have brought to my life, nor the debts I owe you, I think on them often,” the witcher murmured, guiding the bard back to his mouth.
With a soft noise, Jaskier melted into his friend’s embrace, mouths moving together like missing pieces finally reunited. After a moment Jaskier wriggled away, panting.
“Geralt, if this is some kind of payment, I don’t want it. Not like this,” he shook his head, jaw clenching stubbornly, “not like this.”
Jaskier was lifted abruptly, strong arms carrying him to the bed and wrapping him in the witcher’s warm cloak. Fingers scrabbling at broad shoulders, Jaskier’s gaze locked onto Geralt’s. His copper bright eyes burned with intensity.
“I need you, Jaskier. I couldn’t let them have you, you’re mine.”
The bard was frozen for a moment, and uncharacteristically silent. Then his blue eyes sparkled and his grin shone.
“It’s about time you realized, witcher. I’ve been waiting on you forever.”
“Hm.”