Jaskier realized that he sounded like a horny slut when he said "strip", but he thought it'd be funny. In retrospect, it wasn't hilarious enough to overcome the awkwardness of it all. Worse, Geralt gave him a look like he might be the next thing skewered on those famous silver swords. But lucky for him, the Witcher just kicked him out to wash his clothes, "since he so graciously offered".

Being downgraded to manservant was better than being dead, so he chose not to complain too much. He could pull the haughty noble shtick on him, but everyone hated the kind of guys that did that. And while hate wasn't the worst emotion a person could fling his way, he was sort of trying to be likable here.

And not sexy-musician-at-a-party likable. Real likable. It was harder than he expected.

He grabbed a spare basin and went outside, kind enough not to just toss the gear in the local river for cleaning. With how diseased the nearby people already were, he really didn't need to make the situation worse by bloodying the water supply. Throughout his laundry adventure, Jaskier was impressed how well-taken care of the worn leather was; especially considering how mangey the rest of Geralt seemed to be.

When he came back, he was also surprised to find the bathroom door open and Geralt sitting in the water looking particularly pissed off. Gesturing to his knotted mane, he said, "My hair won't untangle."

"Would you like help?" Even though he was the one who implied Jaskier should lend a hand, Geralt gave him this death glare that honestly ate through Jaskier's eyelids. While his pride normally would mean he'd tell the Witcher to suck his left nut, he was a little too fascinated with the white nest of hair to say no. "Fine, fine, I'll just do it."

Before he got close enough to actually sink his fingers into Geralt's locks, those piercing yellow eyes decided to grab him by the throat. Jaskier wasn't sure if he should stand still in terror or tell Geralt "harder".

Everything about interacting with a ruggedly handsome man in a bathtub was wildly confusing.

Geralt, clearly not having the same befuddled half-boner, said, "Tell me your name. It's weird for a stranger to have his probably disgusting hands in my hair."

Half-boner, dead. Jaskier recoiled his arms from the edge of the tub. "I'm mildly offended."

"You were just washing my bloody gear, weren't you?"

Looking down at this man, covered in fascinating scars he daren't ask about, Jaskier desperately wished he could remain a petulant, indignant asshole. But, he couldn't.

Against all logic, The Witcher had a point.

"Fair." He hadn't expected Geralt's reasoning to be as... reasonable that. It kinda threw off the "asshole, grumpy warrior man" persona he was building up in his head. It proved that there were actually very human parts hidden under all those rippling muscles.

How boring.

Sighing, Jaskier got on his knees and started detangling the course, thick hair with his fingers. If he didn't know any better, from touch alone he'd assume it was from a horse. But while he stuck up his nose and wondered if Geralt's hair had ever seen a droplet of softening soaps, he decided to placate the man's mistrust. "My name is Jaskier. Local bard by trade, until today, but I sing and compose songs better than anyone else I know. Granted, I avoid other Bards so that's always true." Though he tried to cover it up, Geralt chuckled under his breath. Good. Even brooding couldn't ruin the fact he was hilarious. Now, if he was lucky, Jaskier could get some quid pro quo. "Now give me a proper introduction, not the "mysterious Witcher" bullshit."

"You already know the basics. Geralt of Rivia, Witcher, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken. General asshole killer of monsters. Whatever title you want."

Was he going crazy or was this white horse hair starting to feel... nice? Maybe the less tangled it was, the less it felt like it wanted to kill a human with its bare strands. Jaskier focused instead on Geralt's stand-offish voice. It would be tragic if, because of hair detangling, he ended up thinking this walking adventure ticket was cute.

Handsome was obvious and acceptable. Adorable was a completely different game and much, much more dangerous.

Jaskier asked, trying to distract his wayward brain, "Nothing else to you?"

"Absolutely nothing."

How unhelpful. "There's always more to a person and you know that. But for now I'll let you keep your dirty little secrets, no matter how enticing and delicious they sound." Jaskier had to wonder, staring at the ivory strands in the palms of his hands, just how they ended up that way. He knew more than most, that Witchers were just children pushed to their limits until they mutated. However, the Witchers were fairly closed off about the processes themselves, and he was curious to know how some of them ended up looking like normal blokes and others ended up like this: white-haired beacons of their order.

Geralt, blowing air out his nose like a dissatisfied bull, interrupted his musings. "You're disgusting, you know."

"It's part of the bardic charm." Jaskier couldn't help but smile. Half the fun of playing out his shameless side was that he knew there was more. But it ruined the fun if he pointed that out to anyone else.

Best to just be a cad and giggle while the masses hemmed and hawwed like pastors and nuns clutching at their religious idols.

Instead of challenging Geralt, he just hummed, satisfied with disgusting a man who just had guts stabbed through his sword. One would think he had other things to be more disgusted about.

The Witcher seemed to enjoy interrupting his innermost thoughts and moments, though. And to think, he insisted that he wasn't chatty or enjoyed the company of others. It seemed Jaskier couldn't get him to shut up.

Geralt asked, "Why did Tybalt take you? Did he say?"

Exhaling slowly, hoping Geralt could feel his annoyance with all these logistical questions breathing down his thick neck, Jaskier answered, "He said I was the first person you bothered to talk to in weeks, so I had to mean something to you." In response, Geralt did his rumbling growl. "I know, he was very desperate. Now, please don't chop my very nimble bard fingers off for saying this, but it's a little sad if he was telling the truth. Was I really the first person you talked to in all that time?" Not missing a beat, Geralt only growled lower. Jaskier wondered if it was inappropriate or perverted to think the sound was kinda hot. Even though he made it a bit too often, it had that depth to it, the kind you felt from the bottom of your belly, that just made Jaskier wonder what it might feel like against his neck.

...Shit, did he need to get laid the second they got to the next town. He'd already exhausted all the available options in Upper Posada and was starting to get turned on by grumpy man noises.

Clearing his throat, Jaskier said, "Nevermind. I'm happy he was right about you coming. You intrigued me in that tavern. But not nearly as much as you saving me does."

"Sure."

"Really. A monster hunter is a fascinating find for a bored bard, but one willing to save me from the price of my own curiosity? Now that's a true treasure."

Geralt gave a low laugh, a few pitches higher than that groan. It mixed gravelly and melodic a little too well. But Jaskier wasn't quite sure if the Witcher was laughing with him or at him. "Your curiosity will kill you with that attitude."

"But if someone like you were around..." Swallowing, Jaskier prepared himself for the sales pitch. He detangled his hair, got him a bath, comforted him with company. Now he (hopefully) just had to pull the trigger and this Witcher was a warm, malleable lump of clay in his hands. He just needed to form him into his personal travelling partner.

Jaskier pulled free a few more strands of hair before saying, "Tell me. What compels someone like you to save people for fun and not coin? And if you won't tell me that, what brought you to the dreadfully boring Upper Posada?"

After the words left his lips, the room seemed to still. And not because the clay was moving right, but because Geralt seemed to have suddenly hardened into something he had no control over. Jaskier's fingers falling away from his hair, the Witcher turned and looked straight into his eyes, cutting through all his pretenses. "I know what you are, Jaskier."

The bard felt everything below his neck turn to a statue under the yellow gaze. While no one knew who he was, who he really was, he couldn't help but feel every layer of his lies jump off his bones, revealing the skeleton of a man he long-ago left dead. Trying to chuckle it off, Jaskier asked, "D-do you really?"

With a nod, Geralt turned back to his bath. "You're the kind of person who pretends to not give a shit, but you do."

Jaskier could almost cheer. It wasn't anything real or terrifying; it was all just an intuitive assumption. And a bad one, at that. Geralt was a perceptive man, but he was off the mark. Relaxing his shoulders, Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt's long mane of hair, removing all those final kinks. "The gentleman doth project his own personality too much. I always give a shit about people. All on my own I approached you, the scary, brooding Witcher, for a review of my music because I care. Now do I push people away despite liking them very much? Probably. But giving a shit and being a distant cad are two very, separate beasts." Shaking his head, Jaskier could take a deep breath again. His skeletons were safely secret inside his body, and again he was just a simple, handsome bard playing with the hair of an annoyingly captivating Witcher. "However, if you prefer to pretend that is who I am, I'll play the part to entertain a handsome man."

Geralt snorted, like he was trying to brush him off. Oh, if only he knew how impossible that would be. "Whatever. You're still a nosy asshole."

"Try to tell me this isn't the most fun you've had in weeks."

"Easy. It isn't."

"You wound me. But I won't hold it against you." As Geralt relaxed his shoulders into the bath, Jaskier almost laughed. How did he end up here, invading the life of a Witcher? And odder, why did he let him? It was baffling.

Any other time, he'd love to contemplate how dumb this all was, how even immortal people were gullible idiots the second people started caring for them, but he had a mission. This was the perfect time to set his plans into motion. Time to pull the trigger, release the trap, get exactly what he wanted. After all, where did he have to go?

Okay, well, he had a few houses in other cities if he really needed them, but he meant other than those boring options.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier said, "Just hear me out. You said my songs were wrong. Well, if you let me travel with you, I'll write everything right, down to the smell of their black and bubbling guts."

"I wasn't that torn up about your dumb song."

Jaskier pouted, but his heart started racing. He needed Geralt to say yes. "You either agree tonight or have me follow you like a proper stalker for weeks until I wear you down so much you might lose your mind before you say yes. I find that behavior reprehensible when used in the pursuit of romance, but I feel no guilt using it on the adventure of a lifetime."

"Fine."

"...That was easier than I expected."

Geralt ducked his head under the water, soaking his hair, before surfacing and saying, "I just wanted you to shut up already. The bath is getting cold."

"I can't wait for you to get tired of telling me to shut up." Grabbing the soap next to the tub, Geralt groaned. And Jaskier wasn't a huge fan of this guy getting annoyed by everything he said, but he'd met enough people to know there was something special underneath this asshole that he'd find worthwhile. He just had to play the long con.

When Geralt actually frowned after looking at him, Jaskier accepted the truth.

A really, really long con.

Hopefully the Witcher would be too oblivious to figure out his own secrets.

It wasn't long before Geralt finally shooed him out of the room. While Jaskier probably could have watched those large, strong hands rub all over his body the whole night, he figured he already coerced enough out of the man for one evening

Anyway, was it really wise to hit on the guy with the swords who was giving him the most exciting life he'd had in centuries?

Exactly. It wasn't.

The next hour or so they did frighteningly boring things: preparing for bed, turning off the candlelight, going to sleep. But even in the pitch black darkness Jaskier was restless. He could hear the slow breathing of the Witcher, snoring just enough for it to be endearing but not so much that he wanted to smother his face with a pillowcase.

What captured his heart in this restlessness the most, though, wasn't the handsome, intriguing man, though he'd call that a serious bonus perk of this decision he'd made.

No, it was the fact he was finally doing something with his life again. Not just accumulating money or laying low or playing games with occupations and people. He was on an adventure.

Jaskier didn't remember his early years well, but he could feel the echoes of memories that promised they were full of excitement, daring deeds, real storybook-type things. He wished he could have those stories again. The only thing he truly remembered from that time was the worst of it, the parts that hurt, that reminded him of what he risked if he ever dared touch his own power.

And he remembered there was a reason he didn't get very close to anyone, despite how much he liked people. Didn't need anymore collateral if he slipped up.

Lucky for him, even if he was attracted to Geralt, the Witcher was doing both their shares of pushing Jaskier away. It was disappointing, when everything about the man was mesmerizing. But in the end, it was probably for the best. A hot and steamy roll in the hay wasn't worth missing out on the monsters and legends he might get to see, the new stories he could be a part of and sing about to kings and queens.

He could dazzle everyone, without having to ever meet them.

So he and the Witcher? They would be travel companions, a means to an end, nothing more nothing less.

The bard didn't need a Witcher in the deepest parts of his life, anyway. Jaskier needed to do something for himself; he needed to be interesting. After all, if he was the only person he really knew, he needed to be someone goddamn worth knowing.

Another snore from across the room interrupted his thoughts and made him stifle a laugh. A stubborn, helpless, amusing oaf this one was. But he kinda liked him.

Even if this Witcher would only ever see him as a fool of a bard, as a fraction of the man he really was, it was better than no one ever seeing him at all.

/

I love the title of this chapter, I love more of Jaskier's inner monologue, I love how Jaskier totally thinks he and Geralt will JUST be travelling companions.

I didn't expect it, but I like this story so much. Other than the settings and characters, the plot is completely original and all my own. I can't wait to show what I have in store for these two :)

Thank you for reading and extra thanks to my lovely patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly