"What are you scribbling there, bard?" Geralt asks, looking over his friend's shoulder. "That doesn't look like a new song or poem."

"Actually, it's not. It's a bill."

"A bill? What for?"

"For you." Jaskier gazes up from his notebook with his most serious business face. "For my invaluable services as your barker, a coin—"

"What?" Geralt interrupts, staring at the bard, dumbfounded.

"49% of your profits. Didn't you read the small print? It's a real bargain. Valdo Marx would charge a full 50%."

"Come on, fuck you, Jask!"

"That would be a rather unconventional method of paying debts, but not unheard of. I might even consider—"

"You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"

"What would I want with your leg? However, I believe I could settle for a kiss or two." Jaskier grins at the Witcher.

Geralt rolls his eyes.

"Alright then, come here, bard. I guess that's an offer I can't refuse."

Jaskier does not need to be told twice. Dropping notebook and quill, he jumps up and into the Witcher's arms. Then they kiss. Not only once or twice, but so often that it will cover any possible debts for at least a century, or two.