Jaskier relaxes back into the pillow, looking at his companion next to him. He admires Marek’s hair against the sheets and the rise and fall of his chest, still fast from their exertions earlier.
Marek’s hair looks almost white in the moonlight, and Jaskier pushes thoughts of Geralt from his head. He really needs to stop thinking about Geralt in conjunction with sex. Never mind the fact that Marek’s calloused hands felt exactly the same way Jaskier’s imagined Geralt’s would feel on his body.
Marek rolls over to face him, catching Jaskier’s eye and jerking him from his thoughts. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.
A small blush starts to heat Jaskier’s face. “What for?”
“I’ve never done that before. It was…nice.”
“Just nice, hmm?”
Marek laughs, and Jaskier likes the way it sounds. Not as good as coaxing out a hard earned chuckle from Geralt, but close. He wonders what Geralt’s occupying himself with this evening, anyway. Geralt had told him as he left their shared room not to get into trouble, and Jaskier would say he’s doing a pretty excellent job of that, if he says so himself. Keeping himself busy, indeed.
Geralt had accepted a rotfiend contract that would keep him occupied for the night. What else was Jaskier supposed to do? It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault that the contract issuer’s son was so handsome, so after Geralt left, Jaskier set himself to wooing Marek.
Jaskier’s attention is jerked back to Marek as he stretches and amends, “Great. Amazing, maybe.”
“That’s more like it.” A smug grin flashes over Jaskier’s face. Another satisfied partner, even if this one didn’t have much to compare it to.
Jaskier eyes Marek contemplatively, considering suggesting another round. If this was his first time, it would only be the gentlemanly thing to do to let him continue to draw from Jaskier’s vast experiences.
The post sex haze flies from Jaskier’s head as he hears a loud voice on the other side of the door. The door knob rattles, and Marek jumps out of bed, searching frantically for his clothes. Jaskier tries not to sigh in dismay, but Marek has a look of terror painted across his face, so apparently he’s not as used to the being angrily chased from bed part as Jaskier is.
Why does this always happen to him?
The feeble lock gives out as a man bursts into the room. “Hey! What are you doing with my son?”
Jaskier internally curses as his mind races, trying to think how to get himself out of the scrape this time. Geralt’s going to give him the even-more-silent treatment for at least two weeks if he loses out on his contract pay because of this.
“It’s not what it looks like?” he tries feebly.
-
another train fic! tune back in tomorrow for the next installment, which will be linked here!
part two | a witcher fic collaboration
part three | a witcher fic collaboration
In times like these, Jaskier cannot help what words will spill out of him. Well, truthfully, it’s almost always difficult to predict what, exactly, he’s going to say. But this time, he truly has no power in what comes out of his mouth.
He hopes it’s creative enough to be memorable, as well as simple enough so the fucking bigoted toadwill understand just how much trouble he’s in. Oh, the ballad that will be written. Jaskier will ensure that it will be even more catchy than the Fishmonger’s Daughter.
“Henceforth! No witchers will deem their time worthy to slay anymonsters around these parts, for they will be well informed about the absolutely ludicrous nature of the feckless half-wit who– Geralt?!”
Pushing Marek’s tomato faced father out of the way is Geralt, looking nonplussed about everything that’s happening. He just marches his little witcher boots all the way up to Jaskier, bends at the knee, and throws Jaskier over his shoulder.
“Whathappenedback there?” Geralt growls. He sets Jaskier on his feet, stabilizing him with a hand to his shoulder when he wobbles on his single-booted foot.
From Jaskier’s state of undress, Geralt can guess what he had been doing before the shouting started, and from the other half-dressed man running around in the alderman’s house, chasing a sobbing woman, Geralt also has an idea as to who Jaskier had been doing it with.
A resigned sort of jealousy settles in Geralt’s stomach.
It would be easy to continue the argument, but with a soft sigh, Jaskier lets it go… for now. He hates being left behind, especially like this. It’s not as if Geralt is about to embark on a dangerous hunt that could end with Jaskier losing his life. No, this is just the witcher cleaning up his mess and it isn’t fair on either of them. Jaskier prides himself on being eloquent, a wordsmith, a charmer to the very highest degree, and yet it is so often Geralt picking up the pieces after he loses his temper.
Not this time, Jaskier vows silently as Geralt leads Roach further off the path to a more suitable camping spot.
He wakes an hour or so after he falls asleep, unsure exactly what roused him. He goes for his sword, sheathed at his side as always, because when a witcher wakes in the night it’s almost always for a good reason. The edge of the forest is silent, the little clearing they’d created hushed and heavy with darkness. The brush rustles faintly with the nocturnal movements of small creatures, going about their nightly routines. A cricket hums off to his left, but falls quiet as Geralt sits up.
