Geralt was too old for this shit.

He'd only agreed to go clubbing because Yen had asked (well, begged) him to go. It was her first night out in over a year—not surprisingly since being the mother to two preschool age kids stunted one's social life somewhat. But tonight, Istredd was at home with the girls and Yen had dressed to the nines: wearing her signature black from head to toe with her lips painted ruby red, she looked like a veritable femme fatale. As their taxi trundled through the heavy London traffic, she checked her reflection in her compact mirror.

"How do I look?"

"You look great," he replied automatically.

"You're not even looking at me."

"I don't need to," he argued. "You always look great."

"Are you sure?" she asked uncertainly. "'Cause I feel like I'm too old to be doing this."

"That's because we are," he teased, finally turning to face her. "But you do look beautiful."

Yen rolled her eyes. "If you say so. How much farther? I'm gagging for a drink."

"You do realise it would have been quicker for us to walk there than take a taxi," Geralt pointed out.

"In these shoes?" Yen laughed. "Not bloody likely."

"We're not too far away now," the taxi driver chipped in.

The rest of the journey passed in amicable silence. Geralt stared out of the window at nothing in particular as the city streets, crammed with tourists, traffic and stony-faced Londoners, slid past his vision. Geralt had always liked living in London because he enjoyed the anonymity of the city; nobody here gave you a second look. Here, you were free to go about your business without any trouble. Which was ideal, given his line of work. In the world of private security, discretion was everything.

As their taxi pulled up outside the entrance of The White Orchard Club, Geralt handed the driver a couple of notes and told him to keep the change. The line for the club snaked around the corner of the building and out of sight, but Yen assured him that wouldn't be a problem for them. Smoothing out her dress, she approached the bouncer at the door and smiled at him.

"Hello Lambert," she preened. "Long time no see."

"Yennefer," Lambert, the bouncer, flashed a toothy grin at Yen and kissed her on the cheek. "How've you been keeping?"

As Yen and Lambert exchanged niceties and engaged in small talk, Geralt checked his watch and attempted to cast a casual glance at the long queue of prospective clubbers, several of them shivering from the cold as they waited patiently for admission. It didn't escape his attention that there were a few good-looking blokes in the queue; a couple of them even caught his eye and winked at him. Geralt suppressed a smirk: well, that was a promising start to the night.

The White Orchard Club was an old haunt for him and Yen; one of the longest-running gay nightclubs in London, it was where they had met in their early twenties, while she was a politics student and he was on leave from the army. It's where they had spent their formative years, and they always had each other's backs, acting as mutual wingmen and faux beards when the need to do so arose. It was a place that they had both felt safe and welcome, a couple of freaks at home with like-minded people who just wanted to have a good time. Although they'd long since put their serious clubbing days behind them, he and Yen had remained the best of friends.

He'd had a lot of fun at this club over the years, met more than a few boyfriends and even more one-night stands here. It had been a while since he'd slept with anyone, and even though he'd been taking hormone suppressants to control his monthly heat, the prospect of meeting someone tonight excited him. He worked long and unsociable hours and the opportunities for a night of fun, let alone having a relationship, were few and far between these days.

Geralt's wandering gaze came to an abrupt halt when striking cornflower blue eyes met his own. The guy at the front of the queue gave Geralt a small smile and averted his gaze. It amused Geralt how bashful the man was considering he was wearing a sheer mesh shirt and leather trousers that were so tight that they were in danger of cutting off circulation to his lower extremities. But Geralt found his reaction endearing. He wondered if he had chosen the outfit himself, but he suspected that a friend had picked it out for him. Not that he needed it—with that tousled dark brown hair and cupid's bow lips, he could be wearing a burlap sack and have everyone, man or woman, eating out of the palm of his hand.

Just then, Lambert unhooked the rope barrier and beckoned Geralt and Yen inside. Yen placed her hand on Geralt's elbow and steered him into the nightclub, bypassing the queue entirely. The shouts of protest from the other would-be clubbers were quickly drowned out as the music inside grew louder, the deep bass of a club anthem pulsing in Geralt's ears. As they entered the main hall, he and Yen bypassed the dancefloor and headed straight for the bar. The floor was already sticky with spilt booze and he counted his blessings that his feet weren't exposed to the elements like Yen's were in her strappy stilettos. He knew that even thinking that way betrayed the fact that he was too old to do this shit anymore—clubbing was a young man's game. And yet, despite his initial reluctance to go out, he was glad to be here. What harm was there in him and Yen reliving their heyday for the night?

"It's bloody freezing out here," Jaskier whined, dancing on the spot with his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth.

"You've said that already," Triss snapped. "About a dozen times already. That's not going to make the queue go any faster."

"I knew I should have worn a coat," he muttered.

"And ruin the impact of that glorious shirt that I bought you?" she cried, waving wildly at the sheer mesh shirt he wore. "You're welcome, by the way. You look very shaggable."

Jaskier pulled a face. "How many gins did you have before we left the flat?"

"Not nearly enough," she quipped. "Don't give me that look. You might not be my type but I'm not blind! You're a good-looking bloke. Use it to your advantage."

"I look like a rent boy," he grumbled. The shirt paired with the skin-tight trousers was a far cry from the soft cardigans and skinny jeans he usually wore.

"A very sexy, very available rent boy," Triss joked before adding more gently, "Look, I know you miss Gareth, but you've been moping about the flat for weeks now. I hate seeing you so miserable over someone who's not even worthy of your time."

"I haven't been moping," he protested weakly. "I've just…" His sentence trailed off at the bemused expression on Triss's face. "Okay, maybe I've felt a bit sorry for myself. I think that's understandable given the circumstances."

Triss nodded in agreement. "Completely. Gareth was a dickhead that broke your heart. But since you won't let me castrate him, the next best thing I can do is take you out to get a new dick to take your mind off of him."

Despite himself, Jaskier couldn't help but smile. He hooked their arms together and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "Where would I be without you?"

"Sitting at home alone, being miserable."

Jaskier couldn't disagree with that. He turned to see how the queue was faring. It felt like they'd been stuck out here for hours, but the cold weather always had a way of making it feel like time was moving slower. Just then, a taxi pulled up outside the club and a statuesque woman with long, raven black hair exited, closely followed by a man with hair that shone like silver under the harsh streetlights. While his female companion chatted with the bouncer, the fair-haired man stood off awkwardly to the side. He didn't look particularly keen to be there, which Jaskier could relate to. Jaskier took in the sight of him: tall, broad-shouldered, pale as moonlight with a pink scar across his left eye. The scar, however, didn't diminish his beauty. On the contrary, it gave him an air of mystery that made Jaskier all the more interested to know this man.

Just then, the man turned his attention to Jaskier. Jaskier flinched, feeling as though he had been caught red-handed doing something that he ought not to. Embarrassed, he smiled and lowered his gaze.

"Mmm, someone's interested," Triss whispered conspiratorially. "I told you that shirt would come in handy."

Evidently, she hadn't been the only one to notice the handsome stranger. Jaskier snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I doubt it," he said quietly. "He's here with that woman."

"And you're here with me," she pointed out. "This is a gay club, Jaskier. There's a fairly high chance that he is, too."

Just then, the bouncer unhooked the rope barrier and beckoned the man and woman into the club, bypassing the queue entirely. Outraged, Triss gasped and tapped the bouncer on the shoulder.

"Oi! How come Morticia Addams and her mate don't have to queue like the rest of us?" she fumed.

"They're VIP guests," he drawled.

"That's bullshit!" she cried. "We've been standing out here for ages! Look at my friend," she said, shaking Jaskier lightly by the shoulders. "His nipples are about to fall off with the cold!"

"Well, then your friend should have worn a coat," the bouncer retorted. "If you don't like it, go somewhere else."

Triss bristled at being brushed off, but she didn't move from her spot in the queue. Jaskier patted her on the shoulder and consoled, "Don't stress about it. In a few minutes, we'll be indoors. We'll grab a couple of gin and tonics, and shame ourselves with our slutty dance moves."

Triss huffed out a sigh and some of the tension left her shoulders. "Fine. Better make mine a double."

When they finally made it into the club, Triss went to find them a table while Jaskier went to get their drinks. As he approached the bar, he saw the fair-haired man and his companion. He was leaning against the bar with one elbow while she was typing furiously on her phone. Playing it cool, Jaskier stood next to the man and tried to catch the attention of the barman. He smiled and waved a couple of times, but the barman's eyes glazed over him like he was invisible and served other people instead. Jaskier frowned and lowered his hand. This was another reason he hated clubbing.

"I'm having the same problem," rumbled a low voice in Jaskier's ear. "I've been standing up here for ages and I'm still waiting to be served."

The hairs on the back of Jaskier's neck stood to attention as he realised it was the handsome stranger that was talking to him. He blinked a couple of times in an effort to compose himself and fixed what he hoped was a charming smile across his face. "Really? Well, if you're having trouble getting served, I've got no chance."

The man huffed out a laugh. "I wouldn't take it personally. He's literally ignoring this half of the bar."

"He is, is he? Hmm." Jaskier thought for a moment and asked, "Do you want a beer?"

"If you're offering."

"What about your friend?"

The man glanced at the dark-haired woman and smirked. "She's not much of a beer drinker, but at this point, I don't think she'd turn anything down."

"Cool, just give me a sec…" Making sure the barman's back was turned, he balanced on his tiptoes and leant across the bar, grabbing four bottles of beer from beneath the counter.

"Oi!" shouted the barman. "Whatchu playing at?"

Jaskier hopped back onto his feet and slammed a crisp twenty pound note onto the bar. "For your troubles. Thanks very much!"

The barman shook his head and snatched the money off of the bar, stuffing it into his bum bag before stomping away to the other end of the bar again. He turned back to the handsome stranger with a cheeky grin.

"Is there anything else that I can get you—a cocktail? Peanuts, perhaps?"

The man laughed and shook his head. "This is great. How much do I owe you?"

He reached for his wallet, but Jaskier shook his head. "Oh no, it's on me."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me, I very rarely look cool. This is a big moment for me."

The man's smile broadened. "Well, then...thanks very much."

"No problem." Jaskier twisted the screw top off of his drink and clinked their bottles together. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

The two men took a swig from their bottles as the dark-haired woman sniffed hers cautiously before taking a sip. "Hmm, it's not an Old Fashioned, but it'll do. Thank you uh...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Jaskier," he said, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she drawled, taking it into her own. "I'm Yen and this is Geralt. He's single, by the way."

Geralt shot Yen a mutinous glare at those last words, but she smiled innocently and took another sip of her drink. Jaskier pretended that he hadn't heard that last, very interesting piece of information and shook Geralt's hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Please excuse my friend," said Geralt. "I think the beer's went right to her head."

"I'm perfectly sober—unfortunately," she replied coolly, pulling her phone out of her bag again and tutting. "Istredd's trying to call me. Please, excuse me a moment."

Jaskier and Geralt watched Yen disappear through the crowd to find a quieter spot to talk, leaving the two men alone. Jaskier turned back to Geralt, feeling that familiar nervous excitement he experienced whenever he spoke to someone new and completely out of his league. But he figured since Geralt hadn't told him to get lost yet, he was off to a good start.

"So, are you having a good night?"

Geralt shrugged. "I'm not sure yet." His eyes dragged over Jaskier's body. "I think things could be looking up, though."

It took all of Jaskier's willpower not to punch the air then. No, it was better to play it cool for the time being, lest he send Geralt running to the hills. He mirrored Geralt's stance and propped one elbow up on the bar, but regretted it immediately when he put his elbow in a puddle of spilt booze on the bartop. Hopefully, it was dark enough in here that Geralt wouldn't notice the wet patch spreading up his sleeve.

"I know what you mean. My friend, Triss, dragged me here tonight, but now I'm glad that she did."

"You're here with a friend?" asked Geralt interestedly.

Jaskier's smile fell. "Shit! Yes, I came here with my friend. Oh god, and I'd completely forgotten about her."

"I didn't think my company was that good," Geralt joked.

"Would you mind waiting while I go check on her? I need to give her the beer and…"

"I'll meet you back here," Geralt assured him. "I'll see if I can get us another drink while you're away. What're you having?"

"A gin and tonic, please," said Jaskier. "I'll be right back!"

Reluctantly, Jaskier turned tail and ran across the dancefloor to the seating area where Triss would be waiting for him. He managed to weave through the crowd of dancers with relative ease but it took him a couple of minutes to find his friend in the dimly lit seating area. When he finally spotted her in the farthest corner of the club, she was already sitting with another girl and a large cocktail in her hand. Jaskier approached the table brandishing the beer.

"I don't suppose you'll be needing this?" he asked.

Triss looked up at him and grinned. "Nope. Vara here has me covered, thanks."

Vara tossed her waist-length dreadlocks over her shoulder and asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Jaskier," he said, introducing himself. "Sorry it took me so long, the service at the bar…"

"Atrocious," Vara nodded. "You're better going to the other bar upstairs, it's a bit quieter there."

"Cool, thanks for the heads up." Jaskier turned to Triss. "Well, you look like you're busy…"

"You're more than welcome to join us," said Triss, earning her a bemused look from Vara. Evidently, she was less keen for Jaskier to join them, but he shook his head.

"I'm good. I think I made a friend up at the bar. I'm gonna see how that works out."

Triss's eyes widened. "Really? Who is it?" Jaskier pointed across the dancefloor at Geralt and her mouth fell open. "Him?"

"Yup."

"The hot guy that was giving you eyes at the door?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then what the hell are you doing standing here talking to me?" she cried. "Get over there before someone else starts chatting him up!"

"Good point," Jaskier turned to leave but Triss cried 'leave the beer!' so he slammed the bottle on the table and hurried back across the hall to where Geralt stood waiting patiently for him with a fresh drink in his hand.

"Find your friend?" he asked, handing Jaskier a tall glass with gin and tonic. Jaskier took the proffered drink and nodded.

"Yeah, she's busy getting chatted up at the moment, I was happy to leave her to it. If I'm being honest, I don't think she'd even realised I was gone." He took a swig from his drink and asked, "Speaking of, where did your friend get to? She's been gone a while."

"Unfortunately, she had to leave," said Geralt. "Her partner called to say one of their kids is feeling sick, so…"

"Oh. That's a shame."

Geralt shrugged. "Part and parcel of having children, I suppose. They take over your entire lives."

"Mmm, I can imagine." Wanting to steer the conversation away from boner-killer subjects like children, Jaskier asked, "So, have you been here before?"

"Not for a long time. It hasn't changed much though, the service is still atrocious."

Jaskier laughed, "Yeah, I think unless the barman's interested in taking you home at the end of the night, you're doomed to spend half the night standing up there trying to get his attention."

"I'm surprised you didn't get his attention with that shirt of yours," said Geralt silkily, running his hand down Jaskier's arm. Despite the heat inside the club, goosebumps erupted across Jaskier's skin at his touch. "It certainly caught mine."

Jaskier made a mental note to never doubt Triss's fashion advice ever again. "Do you like to dance?"

"Not particularly."

"Me neither," he admitted. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Geralt grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."