Chapter 3: To Love a Moon
Jaskier followed after Geralt as they headed to the local tavern. It was a small village, but then you didn't really need much. Mostly just whores and drink, both usually found in abundance as the sun went down. He stretched as he trailed the witcher, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had fallen asleep against his chest. Not only that, but Geralt had been acting so strangely. He knew he was trying to win back his trust, but he was almost being...nice.
"I smell like horse," he complained, scratching the back of his head. "I need a bath."
Geralt glanced back at him with an amused look. "Still smell like chamomile and cloves to me."
"And a thick layer of horse on top of it," Jaskier remarked. "You know those senses of yours can be scary sometimes. Animalistic almost."
"Animalistic to you, only because you have the dull senses of a human," Geralt pointed out.
"Just saying," the bard mused. "People smell bad enough as it is without the creepy witcher sniffing." He didn't need to look at Geralt's face to know he was rolling his eyes. "Geralt?" he questioned curiously. "Are your other senses just as enhanced?"
"Obviously," Geralt murmured, slowing his gait to look over at the bard. "Why do you think we're so fast? Strong?"
"Oh I don't mean that!" Jaskier waved off, pretending to yawn. "Snoozefest. I meant the things that matter. Does wine taste sweeter? Do you feel things more?" before he could stop himself he added. "Is the fucking better?"
Geralt stopped at that, eyebrow arched as he turned to look at him. "I've always been this way since I've had the occasion to learn. Suppose it's no different in my eyes than it's always been."
Jaskier made a face, nose curling. "Well that's disappointing. Think they'd give you at least one bit of good cheer to go along with all the scars and the murder."
"I wouldn't describe it as disappointing," Geralt assured him, before pushing into the inn.
"Hmm," Jaskier said to himself, taking a page from the witcher's repertoire as he considered just how not disappointing it probably was.
Shaking off the thoughts of just what it would be like to bed a witcher with superhuman fucking abilities, Jaskier followed him inside.
The moment he entered the tavern he could feel his spirits lifting. He hadn't forgiven Geralt by any means, but after being forcibly manhandled onto a horse and dragged across the country, he had gotten over his silence at the very least.
"Hello!" he greeted the barmaid with a wave, heading up to her. "Any music tonight?" he questioned her, holding up his lute. He smiled at her, and to his pleasure she smiled back with almost perfect dimples. Her hair was done up in a messy bun, and he bosom was practically pouring out of her burgundy dress.
"Not a one bard," she answered, eyeing him up and down, and obviously taking in his instrument. "There hasn't been much cause for celebration around here lately."
His face fell in distaste as he realized what exactly they had walked in to, but he hid it quickly. "What's happened?"
The barmaid glanced over to where Geralt had sunk into a booth and pulled over a bowl of stew. "Do you know that man?"
He glanced behind him to where the witcher was downing a pint of ale. "We're somewhat acquainted, yes."
"Is he who I think he is?" she questioned, fascination mixed with hope were shining in her dull brown eyes. "The White Wolf?"
"Some would say," Jaskier agreed with a charming smile. "So what seems to be your trouble?"
She glanced around suspiciously, sliding forward a drink and Jaskier's own bowl of food as he slid back coin. "As it so happens...we have a problem with wolves."
"Wolves?" he asked back, confused. "Surely there are people in the village capable of handling such matters."
She sighed, a darkness overtaking her. "It's not that kind of wolf." She leaned in. "This one howls like a beast in the night, and hides amongst us during the day. It's killed five of our people. Ripped them to pieces."
Jaskier made a face. "It's always with the messy bits and pieces, isn't it?" he asked with distaste. "How much does a good ole werewolf slaying fetch you in these parts?"
"We don't have much," she said, and it was typical...they never did. "We could pay ten crowns."
"Twenty?" he tried to bargain with little hope of success, and at seeing her face fall he nodded his understanding. "Well it was worth a try." He reached out, grabbing for the food and ale. "I'll bring the proposition back to the brute."
Jaskier sank down in front of Geralt. "Soo…" he started awkwardly. "I may have slightly agreed to go on a little side quest."
"What?" Geralt bit back, annoyance covering his face.
"And by me...I of course mean you," he stated awkwardly, pulling a face as he stared at Geralt's surly expression.
"Jas…" Geralt growled out. "We don't have time." He glanced up towards the barmaid. "What even did you agree to?"
"Werewolf I think," Jaskier shrugged.
"Werewolf?" the witcher asked back in annoyance. "They're sure?"
Jaskier shrugged. "I suppose there's only one way to find out." He thought about it for a moment. "I don't think I've told a werewolf story before. Could be quite romantic."
"Romantic?" Geralt asked skeptically, brows raised.
"Have you no imagination, witcher?" Jaskier questioned, grinning at him. "Of course it's romantic! A man so in love with the moon that he'd change his own shape to be with her?"
Geralt grinned at him, shaking his head. "That's quite possibly the dumbest thing I've heard you say...and I've spent quite a good deal around you."
"Come off it!" Jaskier rebuked the insult. "To want something so badly that you'd be willing to change form to have it? To be with who you don't belong with, and yet ache for in every cell of your marrow?"
Smouldering yellow eyes stared into him at that, and Jaskier saw pain behind their depths. His face fell once he realized why, the openness fading as he remembered what had happened between them. "Right," he spoke softly. "Of course you know all about that." Him and Yennefer had been doomed from the start, and yet, still drawn together.
"Jas—" Geralt started.
"Ten crown for the job," Jaskier covered with. "It's not much, but five people have been killed, and so it seemed more than enough for such a tragedy." For some reason, he no longer felt like singing.
Geralt glanced down at the table, jaw clenched in what Jaskier had learned to interpret as frustration. He was probably about to start insulting him again. He let the uncomfortable silence between them linger as he considered the fact that Geralt had actually wished for her. He had wished to tie himself to that witch forever. There had never been any hope.
"Are you going after it tonight then?" he asked, watching the other patrons as they all looked so exhausted and scared. The werewolf must have really been wreaking havoc in their small village.
"They aren't creatures to generally be found in the daytime," Geralt remarked, still staring at him strangely.
"Ah! Even I knew that one." He picked at the strings of his instrument, staring forlornly down at it as he couldn't seem to get the picture of them in bed together out of his head.
"You've seemed to have set your mind to me doing this." Geralt murmured."Why?"
Jaskier rose an eyebrow as he glanced up. "Do you mean besides the murder happening here, and the crowns offered?"
The look of suspicion only grew. "You'll have to stay here."
"I gathered," Jaskier pointed out, now beyond curious as to what Geralt was getting out.
"Convenient," the witcher bit out, and those eyes were hard with anger.
"For who?" Jaskier asked back. "The people being mauled? I daresay they would disagree with you."
"You'll run," the witcher bit out.
"I'll run?" Jaskier asked in utter confusion, before realization hit him. "Ohhhh…" he stared up at the ceiling. "I suppose it does afford me the opportunity of escape."
The witcher let out a sigh of frustration, and Jaskier glanced over as his fists were clenched on the table. He seemed to be debating something as he looked back and forth in his anger, before turning those cold angry eyes once more on him. "You'll stay here, and wait for me."
Jaskier gave a scoff at that, grinning as he shook his head. "Geralt...You can't tell me what to do."
"I can," Geralt argued right back, and Jaskier thought his teeth might crack from how hard he was clenching his jaw.
"No, darling wolf," Jaskier teased him, never knowing when to quit. "You can't. You can ask me, however, that might be the first step."
Geralt exhaled through his nose in irritation, motioning Jaskier close. He gulped at that look, leaning forward in trepidation. He gripped his chin, pulling him so that his mouth was against his ear. "Stay put."
Jaskier twisted in the grasp as his heart pounded, locked in those molten pools. "Or what?"
"Hm," Geralt considered, not moving back. "Best leave that to your imagination."
"Dangerous," the bard managed, throat dry as the tips of Geralt's fingers began to trace along his pulse. "I can imagine quite a lot."
Geralt hummed another agreement. "I'm counting on it," he assured him before slipping out of the booth.
Jaskier exhaled shakily, bracing himself on the table as Geralt walked up to the barmaid and grabbed for the bag of coin, before heading out of the tavern. Seeming to be unaware of the absolute disaster he had left in his wake.
Had he… no...certainly not. Geralt wasn't hitting on him. That thing with the ass slapping had been playful. Practically cradling him against his chest while he slept had been convenient...he could have fallen off the horse. He had just misconstrued what those words he had just spoken meant. Hell, he had probably just been threatening his imminent death.
It couldn't have been any more than that, because Geralt didn't do flirting. He did surly stares of horniness sometimes, but he didn't do flirting. That would be construed as weakness. That would be construed as having emotion beyond wanting to kill and fuck his way through life. With the occasion of saving a few princesses and kingdoms.
He was reading too much into things. He was seeing what he wanted to out of the witcher, because otherwise it meant that he really had just come to find him for some silly job. A job that they had immediately gotten distracted from. Though, to be fair, that had been mostly his fault this time he supposed.
He was being an idiot to even consider the possibility that Geralt might want him in that way. He had grown delusional in the witcher's absence, that was all. That's all it could ever be between them...a delusion.
In the meantime. He could distract himself by other means. The barmaid had been quite pretty, and now that he had taken up the role of her protector by proxy, well, maybe she would give him more than free drink.
There was always a point when working on binge drinking when you cross a fine line between browning out and blacking out. Blacking out of course being the point where you remembered nothing. The foolishness of the previous night was lost to you, and your conscience could rest easily. Browning out could be trickier. Browning out allowed you bits and pieces of the night before, without any sort of cohesive timeline. It was a nightmare...and he was well on his way.
Jaskier remembered singing You Think You're Safe amongst a rowdy crowd while clashing glasses with the locals. He faintly recalled taking the previously surly barmaid to the back of the bar, and getting to see some of her more favorable skills. He had vague snippets of a man named Charlie leading him up the steps towards the inn...and after that, well...it was up to his non-existent conscience to decide he supposed.
Geralt was...distracted. That was the best word for it. He would never admit to the guilt he had felt upon saying what he had to the annoying bard. Jaskier, for his part, had caused every single one of those things to happen. He had in fact dragged him to Calanthe's castle to help him with his promiscuity problem. To which, he had gotten a literal child surprise out of the deal.
Of course, then that child had turned out to be Ciri. Ciri, who was his destiny. Who would change the world. He was always meant to protect her...to train her. Had he not been at that banquet, she would have no doubtedly been murdered. Had he not been at that banquet, her father would have been murdered as well. At least he gave her real parents for a short while. At least in that sense she had been happy.
Vesemir had her at Kaer Morhen now. She was quick as a whip, but her fighting skills left something to be desired. They would work on her lore, and then Geralt would be back for her combat training. He just had something to take care of in the meantime.
The only upside about what had happened with the djinn, had been that when Jaskier had awoken, he hadn't remembered him losing his temper. He suspected Yennefer had a hand in that, but he had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That meeting had also brought Yennefer into their lives, a fact that Jaskier hadn't let him forget. Yennefer, he knew she was the next stop. He had heard tale of what she had done during the Battle of Sodden Hill. Everyone had. She had burned an entire army. These women in his life were powerful enough to change the course of the world. He cared for her. He may even love her...if his kind could feel what humans describe as love. There was passion at the very least. There was also frustration. Indignation. They liked to hurt one another. It wasn't the makings of a good pairing. He also hadn't forgotten the dragon's words. He would end up losing her.
Damn destiny. He had let it rule too much of his life already, despite not even believing in it. He would make things right with what had happened between him and Yennefer. First, however, he would make things right with the pain in the ass musician he just couldn't seem to get rid of. Despite the fact that this time he had been the one to seek him.
He hadn't meant to hurt him, and yet he couldn't say the words that he knew Jaskier wanted to hear. So what had he done? Kidnapped the bard, and then agreed to hunt a werewolf for him. Naturally. He had wronged Jaskier. It may be hard for him to express that fact, but it didn't change the fact that it was true.
Geralt sighed, reaching into his pocket as he pulled out a vial. He had tracked the wolf across the countryside. He stared piteously as its long jagged teeth tore through the flesh of a sheep. He was curious whether or not the villagers knew that by asking him to slay this creature, they were in turn asking him to slay one of their own. It wasn't the man's fault the moon's affliction had been placed upon him. It wasn't the man's fault that he turned this way. The curse was passed down from person to person with violence and blood.
There was the distinct possibility that whoever the creature turned to when the full moon wasn't shining wasn't even aware of what he was doing. It seemed wrong to slay him for it. Nevertheless, he couldn't exactly allow the creature to roam the countryside and kill again. He hefted the silver chains further over his shoulder as he downed the tonic. He just needed to subdue the creature for the night. They could worry about teaching him how to manage his affliction in the morning when he was human.
A surge of adrenaline and power coursed through his veins, and he could feel the inky blackness flood his eyes as his vision took on a sharper hue. He crouched down as he approached the beast, trying to be as quiet as possible as he gripped the chains. If he could sneak up on it, this may not need to end in bloodshed. He couldn't risk such a thing. He knew exactly what would happen if he let the creature hurt him. One cursed fate was already quite enough for him.
He was nearly there, only 3 meters from the wolf when his boot snapped a tree branch, and glowing orange eyes turned right into his. The thick matted fur bristled, and Geralt could see the caked on blood clumped in it. He wondered if that was from the transformation, or his kills. It could have very well been both.
Snarling teeth turned to him, and Geralt curled his nose as the scent of rotting flesh from that warm breath hit him. "Calm…" he tried, but the growls got louder as it arched its back to strike. He exhaled his frustration as he grabbed for the chains. "Don't make me do this." The wolf pounced at him then, and he barely had time to get the chains up to block that snapping fangs as the wolf screamed at the silver pressed into its mouth.
He used the creature's surprise to press both feet into its chest and propel it off of him. Using the slight reprieve to his advantage, Geralt rolled away and got back to his feet. He swung the chain over his head to get momentum, tossing it towards the wolf as it ran at him for another attack. Steaming blood was now gushing from his muzzle from where the silver had touched it, but Geralt couldn't be overly concerned with its pain, what with it still trying to rip his face off.
The creature barreled back into him just as he tossed the chain. It wrapped around that mangled fur as the wolf began to howl out in pain. Geralt did everything he could to avoid the ripping claws, narrowly avoiding getting scratched as one tore through the leather of his thigh. He tightened his hold on the chains, yanking as warm bloody spiddle covered his face and the wolf's teeth tried to rip him apart.
Using the momentum afforded to him by the lunge, Geralt rolled them over until he was straddling the wolf's back, tightening the chains as he used his witcher strength with the tonic to pull tight with both arms. If he could just make the thing pass out he would be able to subdue him until the morning.
Geralt pressed his knee hard into the wolf's scruff, holding it through the struggle as they thrashed along the ground. His silver sword was ready on his back if it came to that, but he could already feel the wolf relenting.
The creature collapsed into a heap as Geralt panted with exhaustion. He allowed himself a few calming breaths, before working to secure the chains more tightly around the wolf. After securing it he hefted the weight over his back, a bloody snout hanging over one shoulder as he considered the fact that if it were to wake up it would be in prime position to tear out his throat.
He didn't think it would be a problem though. It had taken him nearly six hours to track the creature down. Sunrise was in an hour, and he just had to hope that he was human again before he regained consciousness. That, or he was going to have to explain to Jaskier why he had to chain him up once a month going forward. He smirked at the thought. The bard would probably enjoy that part.
Geralt was exhausted by the time he got back to the tavern. An hour previous the 300 pound wolf had shifted into a 150 pound man, giving him at least some reprieve. The man couldn't be older than 25. He had dark hair that looked very similar to Jaskier, his build thin. It made him consider the fact that this very thing could have happened to anyone. He hadn't asked for the curse, and yet his friends and family wished to butcher him for it because he dared be different from them. Humans made him sick sometimes in their callowness.
No one was in the tavern besides the drunks who had passed out there the night before, and so he didn't feel too terrible about slamming the body down on the bar. He reached over him to grab at the barrel closest to him, pouring out a drink as he downed it with his thirst. The witcher potions always made his throat so dry.
Geralt took care in undoing the man's bindings so that no one woke up to see him strapped to the bar. That was a sure fire way to get him beheaded by his so called friends and neighbors. He poured another glass of ale, setting it in front of the wolf man to help him wash the taste of sheep entrails from his mouth when he awoke.
The witcher sniffed the air as the vaguest scent of cloves filled his nostrils. The bard hadn't run, but that wasn't the only smell he could discern. He frowned at the smell of salt and sex that was mixed with the calming chamomile as he climbed the stairs. He supposed he shouldn't be at all surprised. It's not as if Jaskier was ever pious when it came to traveling. It was probably just the fact that he was exhausted from the hunt. The fact that he was actually climbing the stairs knowing exactly what he would find when he got to the rented room was something he would have to examine later. After he found Jaskier, and ripped whatever tavern wench he had decided to bed for the night out of his arms.
He was very wrong, however, he could actually be surprised. For when he entered the room it wasn't a wench he found in the bard's arms. It was a middle aged red headed male. The man hard curled himself around Jaskier, his arms were snaked beneath the sheets, no doubt grasping at his waist. His mouth was pressed familiarly to the back of the long angular neck. His nose was buried in that soft hair, inhaling the scent that his senses should only be able to unmask.
Rage overtook his senses as his gut felt like it had been punched. He moved without stopping to think of the consequences as his bicep strained grabbing hold of that lecher's leg and ripping him away from the singer.
The man cried out at being startled, alerting Jaskier to the intrusion as he sat up in bed. "Geralt what are you…"
Geralt didn't let him finish as he yanked the asshole off the bed, grinning slightly as his chin banged against the floorboards. "Get out," he managed, teeth clenched in fury as madness took over for reason.
The redhead stumbled to his feet. "Are you mad!?" At this moment, he'd very much say so.
"Would you like to find out?" he growled right back, eyes wild as he stepped closer. The man stood in his nakedness, and Geralt saw the cock that had no doubt been inside the bard earlier. The fact only enraged him more.
"Geralt!" Jaskier snapped from the bed, but he ignored him as he faced down that man.
"I'm not afraid of you!" Jaskier's bed mate spoke brashly.
"Oh, you very much should be…" the bard said in nervous trepidation, before the redhead swung at his face.
Geralt sighed in utter annoyance, catching the fist easily and using the propulsion to spin the naked idiot towards the door frame. His face collided with a sickening crack as his nose broke. Blood sprayed across the floor as the man began to scream. To get rid of the noise Geralt grabbed him by the back of the shoulder and tossed him in his nakedness out of the room. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him, locking it as he turned his rage on Jaskier.
He was met with a resounding slap. Geralt's head had snapped to the side in his surprise, but he slowly drew it back to face the anger in those grey eyes. Jaskier had wrapped the sheet around his hips, crawling on his knees to the edge of the bed to meet him as fury burned in his eyes. "Why you overbearing, faithless, brutish, ogre of a witcher!" the bard hissed between his teeth.
The witcher for his part couldn't focus on the insults, because he was too narrowed in on the state of Jaskier. His neck was peppered in bruises, there was flaking cum on his belly, and handmarks on the bit of thigh not covered in the sheet.
"Did he fuck you?" he asked, knowing the answer, and knowing hearing it from Jaskier's mouth would just enrage him even more. He never did learn how to quell his temper when it came to the bard.
Jaskier shook his head incredulously, and he watched his jaw clench. "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Geralt questioned with raised brows. "You really want to know?"
"I asked, didn't I?" Jaskier questioned, never being one to back down from him even after he had just witnessed him pummel his lover's face.
"You did," Geralt agreed. "But the last time I told you what I thought you ran hiding for half a year."
"I'm not hiding from you," Jaskier denied, and Geralt took a step closer so that he was looming over the bard.
"Liar," he assured him, knowing why the bard had ran. Just like deep down he knew why he had dragged that man out by his ankles.
Jaskier shoved at his chest then, and Geralt didn't let himself be moved. "Get out," he bit.
"No," Geralt said easily, grunting as he was shoved again.
"I said get out!" Jaskier's temper was flaring, and Geralt didn't blame him, all things considered. "You can't do things like this! You can't confuse me!"
"Not trying to," Geralt spoke honestly, because he hadn't planned any of this. He had just gone to find Jaskier because he felt guilty. He was just trying to make things right.
"Yeah?" Jaskier questioned, shoving at him again. "Well you're failing!" The brunette hiked up the sheet as it began to fall. "Why did you come find me? Why?" He motioned to the bloody door. "Why did you do that?"
"I told you," Geralt started, but Jaskier cut him off.
"Yes yes... your evil king! But that doesn't explain you ripping a man from my bed, does it?" he pressed.
"He was beneath you," he argued, causing Jaskier to scoff.
"No Geralt, I assure you, he was very very much on top."
Geralt reacted then without thinking as he saw red at Jaskier's insinuation. He grabbed the back of shaggy brown hair and the same hip that was covered in finger marks as he pulled the body close. He didn't hesitate then, as he had so many times previously with his bard, and yanked him hard to his lips to finally shut him up.
Jaskier didn't melt into him like all the women he had chosen to bed had. He instead fought him, not pulling back from the kiss, but pressing closer against him for dominance as their teeth clashed together.
Fisting his hand into that hair, Geralt pulled it taught as he took control of the kiss enough to make the bard submit as his tongue pressed against his, moaning at the sweet taste. The hand on Jaskier's hip tightened, and he groaned as hands trailed up his chest, nails digging into his flesh as the kiss deepened.
He poured out his aggression and jealousy into that kiss, not realizing how achingly deep he had missed his singer. Geralt's hands had moved to the sheet to rip off just as a resounding scream filled the air coming from downstairs.
"Fuck," he cursed, pulling away, and gave a fond smile that Jaskier would never see at the sight of the bard's eyes being closed in bliss with a look of wonder etched across his features.
Jaskier blinked it off a moment's later as the screaming continued, his fingers flexing along Geralt's clavicles. "What is that?"
"I imagine they found the wolf," he answered with disdain, pulling Jaskier's hands from him as he reluctantly stepped back, not releasing his wrists. "I have to go take care of this." He hesitated, finally relenting as he leaned in and stole one more kiss. "Make sure his scent is off you by the time you come down." he spoke, letting go entirely, and without another glance headed out of the door to deal with his wolf problem, ignoring the incapacited body he had to step over in his wake.
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.