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“What’s that?” Shiva leaned down to sniff at the bouquet in Jaskier’s hands.
“It’s a bouquet. Celandine, honeysuckle, spearmin—Hey! Stop that!” Jaskier pushed the suntanned witcher’s shoulder as he began sinking his nose into the flowers. “It’s not for you.”
“It’s smells…” Shiva paused, his pupils wide with interest, “really good.” He glanced up at Jaskier and a grin flooded onto his face. “Who’s it for?”
“Geralt,” Jaskier replied, “as thanks for letting me accompany him to Kaer Morhen this year.” He worried at the edge of the parchment in which he had wrapped the bouquet. “I collected flowering herbs I know he uses.” The bard used a book on practical medicine to identify the herbs. “You know Geralt, ever so practical. Figured he would appreciate a gift that was somewhat utilitarian.”
“Did you now?” Shiva appeared to be only half-listening to Jaskier, still seemingly intent on melting into the flowers, his nose twitching as he sniffed.
“I didn’t know you liked flowers so much,” Jaskier laughed lightly and dipped the bouquet out of the witcher’s reach. “I hope Geralt likes them half as much as you.”
Shiva straightened up and gave his head a little shake. “He’ll love anything from you,” he said with a kind smile.
Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up.
The cat witcher gestured vaguely out one of the windows. “I saw Geralt grab some tack that needed repairing after we finished sparring. My guess is he’s in the abandoned field above the paddocks messing with it.”
Jaskier plucked a sprig adorned with a fluffy purplish blossom from the bouquet and tucked it behind Shiva’s ear. “Thank you, Pussycat.” With that, he darted away, heading in the direction Shiva had indicated.
Behind him, Jaskier heard a happy rumbling hum. Had the bard glanced back before rounding a corner, he would have seen Shiva had grabbed the sprig and smashed his nose into the plush blossom.
Jaskier smiled to himself, and sniffed the bouquet. To him, it had the pleasant, fresh scent of newly cut leaves, and nothing more.
The bard exited the keep a few minutes later. Right where Shiva had predicted, Geralt worked diligently with a thick needle and sturdy thread. Various pieces of tack in need of repair were spread out on a large blanket in front of the witcher.
The witcher glanced up when he heard Jaskier approaching, stepping in an even, energetic cadence. Even the bard’s footsteps were musical. Geralt smiled softly as his eyes met Jaskier’s, nodding in greeting. Although he would not say so, he was pleased at the prospect of the bard’s music and banter to keep him entertained while he worked. He looked back down at the saddlebag he was sewing as the bard drew closer.
Just as Jaskier’s boots stepped beside the blanket he had laid out, the wind shifted and blew the familiar scent of his traveling companion to his keen nose, along with the scent of freshly cut celandine, honeysuckle, and another crisp, sharp smell that washed over him in a heady wave.
“For you, my dashing white wolf!” In one fluid motion, Jaskier knelt in front of Geralt and held out the bouquet of flowering herbs he had been hiding behind his back. “A token of my gratitude for allowing me to winter here, with you, and your family.”
Geralt’s response was not at all what the bard had expected. The witcher leaned into the flowering herbs and inhaled deeply. He dropped his needle and thread to reach for the bouquet.
The bard let Geralt take the bouquet of flowering herbs and beamed. “Shiva seemed to like them, too. I had no idea all witchers were so enchanted by flowering herbs.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt mumbled. “Where’d you find these?”
“I picked them all when I was exercising Pegasus this morning,” Jaskier said, tilting his chin up with pride.
The parchment crunched as Geralt smashed the herbs into his face.
“Whoa,” Jaskier’s hands fluttered over Geralt’s, “Hey, you might want to be a bit more gentle with that.”
“Witcher’s catmint,” Geralt said, without loosening his grip on the bouquet. He rubbed his cheek in the herbs, some getting caught in his long hair as he nuzzled.
“Excuse me?” the bard let his fingers delicately rest on Geralt’s wrists.
“What herbs did you think… you collected?” Geralt straightened up a bit, but the effect was rather ruined by his blown pupils and leaves sticking to his face and hair.
“Celandine, honeysuckle, and spearmint,” Jaskier replied, looking at the partially dismantled bouquet in Geralt’s hands.
“It’s not spearmint,” Geralt muttered.
“It’s not?” Jaskier asked. He took in Geralt’s unusually wide pupils, the way he was listing forward, and the way his breaths came a bit more quickly. With sudden alarm, he grabbed Geralt’s shoulders. “What’s happening?” Fear gripped his chest as Geralt languidly dragged his eyes onto Jaskier’s. “Have you been poisoned? Did I poison you?”
Geralt swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No. Not… Not exactly.” His pupils constricted and blew wide again in an odd way Jaskier had only seen once before, when he was patting Geralt’s cheek to wake him after he had been knocked unconscious by a stone that had been hurled from a shale cliff by a wyvern.
Jaskier shook Geralt slightly. “What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”
“It’s a subspecies of catmint,” Geralt explained slowly, clearly finding it difficult to focus on speaking. “It affects most witchers as it does cats.” As if to demonstrate what he meant, he nuzzled the flowers, leaning forward such that his weight began to tip into Jaskier. He nipped at the leaves, and Jaskier saw him grab a piece with one long fang and tug it into his mouth with his tongue.
“Oh,” Jaskier stared at Geralt, who was slowly tilting more and more into the bard. “Oh…” He bit his lip, letting Geralt lean his full weight on his chest and lacing his arms protectively around the intoxicated witcher. “I’m so sorry. What should I do?”
“Nothing,” Geralt rumbled, smashing the herbs on Jaskier’s chest with his cheek, onto his chemise through his open doublet, as if determined to use Jaskier’s pectorals as a mortar and his own cheek as a pestle.
Abstractly, Jaskier noted Geralt must be rubbing green stains into his chemise.
“Vesemir took… all the witchers who were… immune, and dug it all up,” Geralt said between heavy breaths and small licks and nibbles. “Found some… now and then... S’nice playing… if m’safe. Haven’t gotten to… in ages.”
“Y-You’re not angry?” Jaskier asked, looking down at Geralt, who had his hands splayed flat on his chest, pushing his doublet open wider.
“No,” the pale witcher hummed, “M’safe. Here. With you.” his next bite caught the bard’s nipple through his chemise, and Jaskier gasped.
Jaskier’s grip on Geralt tightened. “Geralt,” he said breathlessly.
“Jaskier,” a feral grin flooded onto Geralt’s lips and he nosed up until he reached Jaskier’s neck, where he licked a broad stripe before giving the skin there a playful bite.
Jaskier felt a heady rush and wondered if it was anything like what Geralt was feeling, though he could smell nothing beyond the clean scent of fresh cut plants. “Are you sure this is alright?”
The witcher pulled back momentarily, meeting Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes with a hungry stare. “Yes,” he said emphatically. With that, Geralt surged forward, pressing his lips onto Jaskier’s in a bruising kiss, and knocked them both back onto the blanket.