Like It or Not (The Witcher Fanfic)
Feb. 28th, 2022 12:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asphaltcowgrrlTitle: Like it or Not
Fandom: The Witcher
Pairing: Geralt + Jaskier
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,521
Summary: The boys are bedding down for the night but there’s a small glitch.
Author’s Note: Written for the weekend challenge at 1_million_words. My prompts were: “The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul.” And “you are Mine said she”.
You are mine, he thought, watching the Witcher tending to his horse, Roach. You don’t know it yet, but you are.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, drawing the bard out of his thoughts. “Go get us two rooms.”
“Sure,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “Fetch me some ale while you’re at it, Jaskier. Oh, bard? Find me a wench or two next.”
Geralt frowned, eyes narrowed. “Jaskier.”
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, waving an angry hand at his friend. “I’ll go get us a room.”
“Rooms,” the Witcher emphasized. “Two!”
**
Jaskier leaned an arm against the counter, waiting for the innkeeper to finish doing whatever on earth he was doing and get back to work. “Hello,” he called, then chuckled. “I could write myself a greeting song. Why hadn’t I ever thought of this before? Hello, hello, where are you hiding,” he sang, voice clear and crisp despite the dirt of the road in his throat. “Come out, come out, come and give me my room key!” He drew the last word out into a long, high note.
“If I give you a room, will you shut the hell up?”
The innkeeper emerged from the storeroom behind the desk, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. He was short and stocky, broad across the shoulders and round over the belly. His auburn hair was beginning to grey at the temples, but his blue eyes were bright and alert.
“Excuse me,” Jaskier said, slightly embarrassed at having been caught performing for no one. “I need two rooms.”
The innkeeper looked around. “For who? You and your invisible friend?” He let out a loud guffaw.
With a sigh, Jaskier forced his best customer service smile onto his face. The man was not winning any points with the bard at the moment. “My companion is putting his horse to bed in the stables. He’ll be here in a moment. Two rooms, please.”
Licking his lips, the innkeeper checked his log. He shook his head, checked again, then grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I only have one room left.”
“No,” Jaskier said, laying one hand on the book in front of him. “I need two.”
It wasn’t as if he and Geralt hadn’t ever shared a room before because they had. Numerous times, even. Which, unfortunately, was half the reason why the bard was on the verge of being in love with the old curmudgeon. Hunting monsters apparently did a body good. The problem was that Geralt had said two rooms and two rooms was what he needed to get or suffer the consequences. Dire consequences.
Jaskier paused as a thought stirred. No, no, he mustn’t think about being manhandled by the Witcher, by his best friend. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for Jaskier to dwell on those big hands, strong fingers, and thick biceps.
“Two rooms.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I need two rooms. Please.”
“I only have one left,” the innkeeper said with a shrug. “You can take it, or you can head out to the next town.”
“How far’s the next town?” Jaskier tapped his fingers on the countertop, waiting.
“About three hours on horseback,” the innkeeper said. Grinning, damn him.
**
“What do you mean there’s only one room?” Geralt unhooked a bag from Roach’s saddle.
Jaskier stepped back from the glowering Witcher. Friend or not, Geralt was not one to be trifled with. “It was all he had left,” Jaskier tried to explain. “And the next town is three hours from here.”
“You might want to start walking,” Geralt deadpanned.
Lifting his hands in defeat, Jaskier said, “I did what I could, Geralt. I wish you’d give me more credit.”
“I’d give you credit if you’d done what I’d asked.”
“I tried,” Jaskier reminded him. “I just didn’t succeed.”
Geralt glared.
“Look, there is a bright side.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“The open room is the honeymoon suite.” Jaskier beamed brightly at his friend, holding up the key, a frilly pink ribbon dangling from its end.
“Ah, that is indeed a bright side,” Geralt said. He gave Roach one last pat, whispering something in her ear before grabbing Jaskier by the arm and dragging him out of the stable.
“It is? I mean, I told you it was,” he stuttered. “Should I ask why you suddenly think so?”
Geralt did that thing that Jaskier supposed was meant to be a smile. “Because there will be plenty of room for you on the floor.”
Sighing, Jaskier took the saddlebag Geralt handed him and led the way to their room.
**
“Can I at least have a blanket,” Jaskier asked from the foot of the bed. It looked like the most comfortable place to ever exist, even if he knew better. But weeks of sleeping on the ground changed a man’s perspective, made him consider things differently. A straw mat with nothing but a scarf to cover himself with would have been a welcome change.
Besides, Geralt would be sleeping in that bed and that made all the difference.
“Here,” the Witcher grouched, handing over a blanket that was a tad thinner than the bard would have liked.
Jaskier took the blanket and demanded his mouth to keep still. One wrong word and he’d be sleeping in the stall with Roach tonight. Finding a spot on the floor where he wouldn’t be accidentally trampled by Geralt’s large feet, Jaskier fluffed his scraggy pillow and wrapped the blanket around himself. The disgrace of sleeping on the floor was immense, but no one would know outside of himself and the Witcher. And God only knew, Geralt was not a talker.
Small mercies.
**
Jaskier opened an eye and saw nothing but darkness. Which wasn’t too much of a surprise, but there should have been some fire in the hearth, he thought. Even if it was dwindling, he knew Geralt had built it up before they’d retired for the night. And damn but it was cold in the room.
“Geralt,” he whisper-shouted. “The fire’s gone out.”
The burly Witcher rolled in the direction of where the fire had been. “Shit. Rebuild it, Jaskier. It’s not that hard.”
“That’s what you think,” he muttered. Tossing his blanket dramatically to the side, Jaskier felt his way across the room to the hearth. Dropping to his knees, he moved his hand in the direction he remembered the wood box being. His fingers hit metal. “Damnit.”
“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice held a hint of worry, a speck of concern, and it warmed Jaskier’s freezing body.
“Box is empty,” he said. “No more firewood,” he added in case Geralt needed clarification. A shiver wracked his body. Somehow it was colder in this damn room than it had been on the trail. Or maybe that was his body reacting to the knowledge of what lay in the darkness on the other side of this hellhole.
“Hmm,” the Witcher murmured.
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, hoping that the whine that was so evident in his brain hadn’t made it into his words. “It’s colder than Yennefer’s –”
“If you finish that sentence,” Geralt growled, “you will find out how much colder the dead of night can be.”
Jaskier swallowed his comparison, even though he didn’t think it was particularly inflammatory. But he also wasn’t going to push his luck either. Not when his precious lute playing fingers were turning into icicles before his eyes. “Understood.”
He waited in the darkness for Geralt to tell him what to do. Geralt was always telling him what to do, where to go, how to act. Another shiver consumed him, his teeth chattering in the night. A sharp exhale cut through the air.
“Come here.”
“Wh-what?” Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“Get over here,” Geralt repeated, not sounding happy about any of it. “The bed has warmer blankets.”
And a smoking hot body in it, Jaskier thought. “Are you sure,” he asked, hating himself for giving the grouchy old bastard an opportunity to change his mind. “I can continue to lie on the floor and freeze.”
A muffled chuckle made its way across the room, bringing a fond smile to Jaskier’s face. Every now and then, he could do that, make Geralt laugh.
“I’m not asking again,” he said by way of confirmation.
Jaskier didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and crawled into the bed beside Geralt. The heat from his friend’s body already easing the chill in his bones. “Thank you,” he said, curling up beside the Witcher, careful not to touch that pearly white skin, no matter how warm and tempting it might be.
Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and jerked him backwards, so that he was pressed against the Witcher’s chest. A soft gasp, half surprise, half satisfaction, escaped the bard. He smiled and settled in against the solid wall of muscle behind him.
Oh yes, you are indeed mine.
Jaskier closed his eyes and sighed. He knew it wouldn’t last and that it meant absolutely nothing in the cold light of dawn, but for now, he was going to revel in the sweetness of his wish fulfilled.
Fandom: The Witcher
Pairing: Geralt + Jaskier
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,521
Summary: The boys are bedding down for the night but there’s a small glitch.
Author’s Note: Written for the weekend challenge at 1_million_words. My prompts were: “The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul.” And “you are Mine said she”.
You are mine, he thought, watching the Witcher tending to his horse, Roach. You don’t know it yet, but you are.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, drawing the bard out of his thoughts. “Go get us two rooms.”
“Sure,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “Fetch me some ale while you’re at it, Jaskier. Oh, bard? Find me a wench or two next.”
Geralt frowned, eyes narrowed. “Jaskier.”
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, waving an angry hand at his friend. “I’ll go get us a room.”
“Rooms,” the Witcher emphasized. “Two!”
**
Jaskier leaned an arm against the counter, waiting for the innkeeper to finish doing whatever on earth he was doing and get back to work. “Hello,” he called, then chuckled. “I could write myself a greeting song. Why hadn’t I ever thought of this before? Hello, hello, where are you hiding,” he sang, voice clear and crisp despite the dirt of the road in his throat. “Come out, come out, come and give me my room key!” He drew the last word out into a long, high note.
“If I give you a room, will you shut the hell up?”
The innkeeper emerged from the storeroom behind the desk, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. He was short and stocky, broad across the shoulders and round over the belly. His auburn hair was beginning to grey at the temples, but his blue eyes were bright and alert.
“Excuse me,” Jaskier said, slightly embarrassed at having been caught performing for no one. “I need two rooms.”
The innkeeper looked around. “For who? You and your invisible friend?” He let out a loud guffaw.
With a sigh, Jaskier forced his best customer service smile onto his face. The man was not winning any points with the bard at the moment. “My companion is putting his horse to bed in the stables. He’ll be here in a moment. Two rooms, please.”
Licking his lips, the innkeeper checked his log. He shook his head, checked again, then grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I only have one room left.”
“No,” Jaskier said, laying one hand on the book in front of him. “I need two.”
It wasn’t as if he and Geralt hadn’t ever shared a room before because they had. Numerous times, even. Which, unfortunately, was half the reason why the bard was on the verge of being in love with the old curmudgeon. Hunting monsters apparently did a body good. The problem was that Geralt had said two rooms and two rooms was what he needed to get or suffer the consequences. Dire consequences.
Jaskier paused as a thought stirred. No, no, he mustn’t think about being manhandled by the Witcher, by his best friend. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for Jaskier to dwell on those big hands, strong fingers, and thick biceps.
“Two rooms.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I need two rooms. Please.”
“I only have one left,” the innkeeper said with a shrug. “You can take it, or you can head out to the next town.”
“How far’s the next town?” Jaskier tapped his fingers on the countertop, waiting.
“About three hours on horseback,” the innkeeper said. Grinning, damn him.
**
“What do you mean there’s only one room?” Geralt unhooked a bag from Roach’s saddle.
Jaskier stepped back from the glowering Witcher. Friend or not, Geralt was not one to be trifled with. “It was all he had left,” Jaskier tried to explain. “And the next town is three hours from here.”
“You might want to start walking,” Geralt deadpanned.
Lifting his hands in defeat, Jaskier said, “I did what I could, Geralt. I wish you’d give me more credit.”
“I’d give you credit if you’d done what I’d asked.”
“I tried,” Jaskier reminded him. “I just didn’t succeed.”
Geralt glared.
“Look, there is a bright side.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“The open room is the honeymoon suite.” Jaskier beamed brightly at his friend, holding up the key, a frilly pink ribbon dangling from its end.
“Ah, that is indeed a bright side,” Geralt said. He gave Roach one last pat, whispering something in her ear before grabbing Jaskier by the arm and dragging him out of the stable.
“It is? I mean, I told you it was,” he stuttered. “Should I ask why you suddenly think so?”
Geralt did that thing that Jaskier supposed was meant to be a smile. “Because there will be plenty of room for you on the floor.”
Sighing, Jaskier took the saddlebag Geralt handed him and led the way to their room.
**
“Can I at least have a blanket,” Jaskier asked from the foot of the bed. It looked like the most comfortable place to ever exist, even if he knew better. But weeks of sleeping on the ground changed a man’s perspective, made him consider things differently. A straw mat with nothing but a scarf to cover himself with would have been a welcome change.
Besides, Geralt would be sleeping in that bed and that made all the difference.
“Here,” the Witcher grouched, handing over a blanket that was a tad thinner than the bard would have liked.
Jaskier took the blanket and demanded his mouth to keep still. One wrong word and he’d be sleeping in the stall with Roach tonight. Finding a spot on the floor where he wouldn’t be accidentally trampled by Geralt’s large feet, Jaskier fluffed his scraggy pillow and wrapped the blanket around himself. The disgrace of sleeping on the floor was immense, but no one would know outside of himself and the Witcher. And God only knew, Geralt was not a talker.
Small mercies.
**
Jaskier opened an eye and saw nothing but darkness. Which wasn’t too much of a surprise, but there should have been some fire in the hearth, he thought. Even if it was dwindling, he knew Geralt had built it up before they’d retired for the night. And damn but it was cold in the room.
“Geralt,” he whisper-shouted. “The fire’s gone out.”
The burly Witcher rolled in the direction of where the fire had been. “Shit. Rebuild it, Jaskier. It’s not that hard.”
“That’s what you think,” he muttered. Tossing his blanket dramatically to the side, Jaskier felt his way across the room to the hearth. Dropping to his knees, he moved his hand in the direction he remembered the wood box being. His fingers hit metal. “Damnit.”
“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice held a hint of worry, a speck of concern, and it warmed Jaskier’s freezing body.
“Box is empty,” he said. “No more firewood,” he added in case Geralt needed clarification. A shiver wracked his body. Somehow it was colder in this damn room than it had been on the trail. Or maybe that was his body reacting to the knowledge of what lay in the darkness on the other side of this hellhole.
“Hmm,” the Witcher murmured.
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, hoping that the whine that was so evident in his brain hadn’t made it into his words. “It’s colder than Yennefer’s –”
“If you finish that sentence,” Geralt growled, “you will find out how much colder the dead of night can be.”
Jaskier swallowed his comparison, even though he didn’t think it was particularly inflammatory. But he also wasn’t going to push his luck either. Not when his precious lute playing fingers were turning into icicles before his eyes. “Understood.”
He waited in the darkness for Geralt to tell him what to do. Geralt was always telling him what to do, where to go, how to act. Another shiver consumed him, his teeth chattering in the night. A sharp exhale cut through the air.
“Come here.”
“Wh-what?” Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“Get over here,” Geralt repeated, not sounding happy about any of it. “The bed has warmer blankets.”
And a smoking hot body in it, Jaskier thought. “Are you sure,” he asked, hating himself for giving the grouchy old bastard an opportunity to change his mind. “I can continue to lie on the floor and freeze.”
A muffled chuckle made its way across the room, bringing a fond smile to Jaskier’s face. Every now and then, he could do that, make Geralt laugh.
“I’m not asking again,” he said by way of confirmation.
Jaskier didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and crawled into the bed beside Geralt. The heat from his friend’s body already easing the chill in his bones. “Thank you,” he said, curling up beside the Witcher, careful not to touch that pearly white skin, no matter how warm and tempting it might be.
Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and jerked him backwards, so that he was pressed against the Witcher’s chest. A soft gasp, half surprise, half satisfaction, escaped the bard. He smiled and settled in against the solid wall of muscle behind him.
Oh yes, you are indeed mine.
Jaskier closed his eyes and sighed. He knew it wouldn’t last and that it meant absolutely nothing in the cold light of dawn, but for now, he was going to revel in the sweetness of his wish fulfilled.
