Chapter 1: Her Sweet Kiss

Thinking back on it, he should have known it would have ended the way it had. Geralt had put up with a lot from him. He listened to him whine. He saved him from being castrated by nobles. He even took care to feed and water him along the trail. That being said, he definitely still liked Roach more. Though, he thought he might at least be growing on him. ...An inkling...a smidge. At the very least he considered the fact that Geralt may at least not hate him anymore.

They had entered into an almost civil arrangement. Geralt would let him tag along for weeks sometimes before they were separated. They even threw their coin together and shared rooms from time to time. Those times, Jaskier could admit how satisfying it was to help the witcher with his bath. He thought they were friends, but then she had come and ruined everything.

Yennefer, that hair in the back of your throat. That papercut smeared with citrus. It was her fault. If he hadn't had her, if he hadn't fallen in love with her, what had happened up on that mountain would have never occurred. Geralt had been a lot of things to him before, but he had never been that cruel.

Every time he closed his eyes he could still hear the words echoing around in his brain, he could still see those enraged yellow irises. He had hated him in that moment. Geralt had well and truly hated him. Now he was well and truly alone.

Sure he had fans.

Sure he had fame.

But he didn't have his short tempered, arrogant, surly, crazy gorgeous, witcher.

Not to say he also wasn't into the fairer sex, but there was just something enthralling about a man who could rip apart a striga with his bare hands. Utterly terrifying, piss your trousers inducing, but enthralling.

It had been six months since he had seen him. In the back of his mind, Jaskier had been sure Geralt would have come after him. He was positive he would have stopped him. Apologized. Shown even the slightest gesture so that Jaskier could have come crawling back. He hadn't though. He was probably balls deep in his sexy and terrifying sorcerous to ever even give him a second thought.

He had been thinking of him though. He had been dreaming of the witcher, but he hadn't been singing of him. He didn't know if the words had gotten caught in his throat like the Djinn, but he couldn't bring himself to strum a single cord to help his friend's notoriety. It wasn't bitterness, though he felt plenty bitter towards what had happened. It was that every time he started to sing, he remembered how happy he had been to be by Geralt's side, and how he would never be again. It was pathetic really. He needed to dig himself out of this slump. Moping didn't get him a warm bed to sleep in after all. Plus, his taste in clothes was expensive.

Jaskier downed the last of the pint of ale, feeling more maudlin than drunk at this point as his fingers strummed along the lute. Had Geralt escaped the massacre by Nilfgaard? Had he found his child surprise? Was Yennefer currently warming his bed as they traveled to their next great adventure?

"This is just sad," Jaskier mumbled to himself, slipping out of the booth as he stumbled out to take a piss. He was humming to himself as he got to the back alley, pulling himself out of his trousers. "I'm weak my love…" he sang, "And I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge. I welcome my sentence…"

"I give you my penance," were the words spoken behind him, and Jaskier startled, spinning as urine shot in a spray.

Jaskier's mouth dropped open in both shock and horror as he realized Geralt was standing behind him. Their eyes met, before Geralt looked down in disgust at his now wet leather pants. The bard could do nothing but stare with his cock still clasped in his hand as he realized exactly what had happened. "Did I just piss on you?"

"Hmm," Geralt agreed, mouth set in a hard line. "I've had worse on me, however, not really the kind of greeting I had in mind."

"What?" Jaskier questioned, tucking himself back into his trousers. "Thought I would spit in your face instead?"

Geralt arched a brow in thought. "Something like that," he agreed.

Jaskier looked around, eyes wide as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Geralt of Rivia, his White Wolf, was standing in front of him after all this time. Not only that, but… "Did you quote my song?" His mouth was hanging open slightly at that thought, nervous pride swarming in his belly along with the week old bread and flat ale.

"I do listen to you sometimes," Geralt managed. "It's hard not to, what with you never shutting up."

Jaskier almost smiled wantonly at that, missing the familiar jibes almost more than he could bear. Then he remembered that they weren't playful. Geralt meant every word. "I apologize for my brashness. Luckily, I'm not your problem anymore."

"Jaskier," Geralt began placatingly, causing the bard to glare at the dismissive tone.

"What?" Jaskier bit back, realizing he was a bit drunker than he had let on. "Think that just because I pissed on you, I forgot how you pissed on me? I'm all of the bad things in your life, Geralt. Your wonderful life!"

Geralt hummed in his throat, looking away, and Jaskier was more than a little aware of the acrid smell now coming from him. "Nothing to say for yourself?" he continued, having more than a little bottled up anger. "You don't have to, I suppose. That's the beauty of being so stoic and mysterious."

"Are you done?" Geralt questioned, tilting his head as he watched him.

"So done," Jaskier wholeheartedly agreed, going to push passed him to head back into the pub. He would never admit the relief that went through him when Geralt grabbed his elbow before letting him pass.

"Wait," Geralt murmured, hand a vice on his arm. "I need your help."

"My help?" Jaskier questioned distrustfully, noticing how the grip on his arm hadn't lessened a bit.

"Do you see any other loud mouthed bards around?" the witcher questioned.

"Could probably find one for you," he suggested, not believing Geralt had come all this way not to apologize, or because he missed him, but because he needed his help.

"Hmm," the White Wolf managed. "Think I'll stick with the one I already have."

"Fond of him, are you?" Jaskier questioned with an arched brow, noticing the way that strong grip tightened even further.

"Could say that," Geralt agreed. "Except I haven't gotten him housebroken quite yet."

Jaskier felt his cheeks redden as his eyes were focused on the droplets dripping down onto Geralt's muddy boots. "I'm sorry I peed on you."

"I'm sorry about a lot of things," Geralt managed in a gruff voice, causing the bard's neck to snap up at an almost painful quickness.

"Did you just apologize to me?" he hated the eagerness that suddenly filled his tone, as if begging the witcher to say yes. To make the emptiness go away. To bring back his music.

Yellow eyes looked away in annoyance, that perfectly sculpted jaw set in a hard line. "Let's get a drink."

"I've had enough," the bard denied, not wanting to give in quite so easily after he had spent the last six months in miserable desolation.

"One more." He motioned back towards the entrance. "Never known you to turn down free drink."

"Never known you to buy," Jaskier shot right back, not fighting as he was pulled towards the pub, and back into the thrum of noise. He allowed himself to drown in it as he was pulled back towards the booth, still not able to believe Geralt had come after all this time. He had come to ask him a favor.

The noise quieted down as he sank into the booth, glancing around at all the curious faces with their eyes on his witcher. "Forgot how you really know how to kill the mood."

"Hmm," Geralt murmured, grabbing for the pitcher that was set in front of them and pouring two cups. "Your fault."

"Isn't everything?" Jaskier questioned, but he knew what Geralt meant. You couldn't travel the countryside anymore without hearing about the White Wolf. He hoped it helped Geralt to find work, for he sure hadn't managed to help him with anything else in his life.

The witcher sighed heavily, grabbing for the ale as he downed it within a few drinks. "The job—it pays well."

"Doubtful it pays enough," Jaskier assured him. "Given the cost."

"Cost?" Geralt questioned with a raised brow, pouring a second glass.

Jaskier hesitated, not wanting to get into it when his friend had just come for his help. He hadn't come for him. Despite how much he may have wanted him to. "How's your witch?"

A frown crossed that perfectly formed face, and Jaskier almost felt guilty for the jab. "Yen?"

...The guilt faded exponentially at hearing that pet name leave his mouth in such a longing tone.

"Do you have more than one witch now?" he bit out sarcastically. "Well it has been awhile. I suppose they start to add up."

"Jaskier," he scolded reproachfully, voice always keeping that annoyingly calm tone, and the bard sneered at the jealousy that he had allowed to escape him.

He grabbed for the pitcher of ale, frustrated and heated as he filled his own cup, drinking just as quickly as the alcoholic surly wolf.

"And what of your child surprise?" he questioned him, not putting the reproachful tone away now that he unleashed it. "Did you ever find her?"

"Ciri," Geralt confirmed, and Jaskier's eyes widened at the confirmation.

"You found your kid?" He let go of his bitter anger for just a moment, to replace it with blind fascination for everything the witcher was.

"I found her," he agreed. "She's a handful. I think you'd like her."

"Oh?" Jaskier questioned in surprise, bitterness lacing in as he remembered the hate that had spewed from this man after his love had left him. "Thought you didn't like handfuls. What with them causing so much shit in your life?"

Geralt gave a small huff, smirking as he took a drink. "I like a few handfuls...from time to time."

"Right," Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Until they inconvenience you."

The witcher exhaled through his nose, frustrated eyes turning towards the bustling crowd. "I have a temper."

Jaskier actually laughed at the dismissive tone, taking another drink, feeling the knot in his stomach begin to tighten. "Yeah? And I have a high sex drive." Geralt knitted his eyebrows in question, and the bard decided to take pity on his confusion. "Sorry, I thought we were just pointing out the obvious."

The other exhaled his frustration, jaw clenched as he stared up at the ceiling. "Are you interested or not?"

Interested? He had been interested since that first moment he had laid eyes on him in that pub. He had been interested after the first love ballad he had written about him and masked as a noble woman. He had been interested the night of the winter storm when they had shared a bed roll, and Geralt had rolled close behind him, snoring in his ear. He would always be interested.

"I'm not," he denied. "Find some other bard."

"As I said," Geralt interjected. "I'm fond of this one."

"How fond?" Jaskier pushed him.

It was too much, Geralt looked away and hummed under his breath in frustration. "I'm trying Jas—"

It was that same tone he had used to speak of Yennefer. If Jaskier lied enough to himself he could almost convince himself it was fondness. "Try harder." He met stern unyielding yellow eyes, refusing to back down from their splendor as his jaw was set just as Geralt's was.

"I need your help with a king," Geralt started, seemingly past the point of groveling. "I need to get into his court."

"You're a witcher," Jaskier argued. "Why don't you go find some beastie to slay and make yourself the hero?"

"I think he's the beast," Geralt murmured. "Hard to be heroic when you're bringing down a kingdom."

"I"m sure you'll manage," the bard assured him. "What does slaying a monstrous king have to do with me?" He didn't ask what kind of beast this king supposedly was. He had never been one to question the witcher's judgement of his trade.

"He's looking for a bard to write him songs to woo his mistress," Geralt informed him. "I happen to know one who is skilled at just such a thing."

"Flattery now?" Jaskier questioned. "You really must be desperate."

Geralt shrugged, pouring them two more glasses. "Think what you will about me."

"I think about you a lot," Jaskier managed, knowing the ale was getting him into very dangerous territory.

Those molten eyes trailed down him, Geralt taking another drink as he seemed to be calculating what that statement could mean. "Good things I hope?" he finally asked, his voice holding a tone of suggestion. If it was anyone else besides this man, Jaskier might almost think he was flirting. Good thing he knew better.

"Sometimes," he relented. "Depends on the goal of my thoughts."

Geralt smirked, rolling his eyes as he glanced away. "You never change," he downed his ale, and Jaskier questioned if he was drinking so much out of nerves. Though, what would the White Wolf have to be nervous about?

"Thankfully," he managed, standing up and reaching into his chest pocket to pull out a coin. He flipped it to Geralt. "Toss a coin to your witch for me, Geralt. I'm sure she can write you a song...what with all her innate...talents…" Geralt gave him an annoyed look, but he ignored it as he grabbed at his lute, strapping it unsteadily over his shoulder. "Thank you for your patronage in buying me a drink…" He bowed unsteadily, turning his back on the only thing he longed for in this world, and going up the stairs to pass out. He may be stupid, needy, loud, crass, annoying, but damn if he was about to let Geralt add desperate to that list. ...Even if he was.

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