#lee!jaskier

“Hide,” Geralt hissed, pushing Jaskier aside. The bard quickly moved behind the nearest tree as the Witcher took a cautious step forward. The fog seemed to come to life around them, obscuring their surroundings. A way stone appeared with what appeared to be a shrine in disrepair beside it. Geralt realized they were at the site of the wraith’s attacks and its origins as well. He started to backtrack to Jaskier’s location. 

“Jaskier. The necklace–” As the Witcher turned he was confronted with the translucent, rotting face of a pale woman, baring a hideous mouth of sharp teeth. “Fuck.” 

With an ear piercing screech the wraith lunged at Geralt. 

“Necklace!” The Witcher barked, barely dodging the wraith’s attack. “Throw it! Now!” 

“What?!” Jaskier called back, trying to discern Geralt’s demand over the spectral shrieking. 

Frustrated, Geralt growled and rolled away from the wraith towards his companion. That was enough to make the wraith hesitate, which allowed Geralt to cast a sign at her feet once he was up. As the wraith screamed in fury within the trap, the Witcher ran to Jaskier, only to find that the necklace was no where in sight. He cursed and grabbed Jaskier, looking for pockets, pouches or any where that the necklace might be hiding on the bard’s person. 

Jaskier screeched from Geralt’s assault, suddenly panicked by not only fear but confusion. And not only that… “What are you doing?! W-Wahahait! G-Geralt!” He yelped when Geralt found a pocket in his doublet, “thahahat tickles! Ah! Stop it!” 

Ignoring Jaskier, Geralt pulled out the necklace and made for the wraith… only to find that she was gone. The Witcher grit his teeth, stifling his anger in favor of concentrating on the environment. His medallion now quietly humming, the wraith sure to appear again at any moment. 

“What the fuck was that about?!” Jaskier cried, stomping over to Geralt, his face flushed. 

“Shut up,” Geralt growled through his teeth, trying to step away as his cat eyes stared at the fog. 

Unfortunately, Jaskier followed, griping about his ruined sash and Geralt’s “wandering hands” as if the danger had already passed, “–and do you have any idea how much this cost?!”

Geralt had enough of Jaskier’s whining. Without a word, he grabbed the bard’s arm and led them to the shrine. “Ow! What are you doing now, you sodding pervert!?”

“Remember that superstition you brought up last night at the bar?” Geralt gladly let go of Jaskier to set the necklace on the shrine’s altar. 

Jaskier blinked, barely noticing that Geralt removed his silver sword from its scabbard and plunged it into the dirt. “Ah, my apologies, but I think you need to refresh my memory, dear Witcher. I said a lot of things last night,” the bard chuckled, his tone already changed to something more suggestive.  

Geralt rolled his eyes. And somehow Jaskier had the nerve to call him a pervert. “I’m not talking about what you said to the barkeep’s daughter. I meant your little tale about how a man’s laughter can keep away evil spirits.” 

“Oh! Yes, I remember now!” Jaskier laughed just as Geralt noticed something quivering beneath the leaves. “I wrote a ballad about it, actually. Would you like to hear it?” 

“No.” Geralt cracked his knuckles. “But there’s some truth to that superstition.” He looked at his companion. “We’re going to lure out this specter. And you’re going to help me.” 

Geralt’s direct gaze paralyzed Jaskier in place, as well as the realization that the wraith was still a threat. “Surely you’re not suggesting I perform a comedy act in the middle of a specter-cursed forest, are you?” He giggled nervously. As the bard rambled on, Geralt moved behind him. “That would be silly! Besides, you never laugh at my jokes. In fact, your laughter is so rare that the last of this poor altar would collapse upon hearing–EEK!” 

Geralt said nothing as he grasped Jaskier’s sides and squeezed them repeatedly. The bard yelped again, grabbing the Witcher’s hands to try and pry them off. “Have you gone mad?!”  

“You said you wanted to help,” Geralt stated, keeping alert even as his fingers began digging into the bard’s sides. “That’s why you came along, isn’t it?” 

Failing to remove Geralt’s hands, Jaskier could only writhe and yelp. “I am hehe– I’m h– I’m hehehehere to observe y-y-your heroism!” Not help you bait monsters at my expense, he wanted to shout but he was too tickled to finish. Of all the Witcher’s many skills, he never expecting tickling to be one of them…

“And this will be a great tale for your next performance.” Geralt smirked, unable to help himself, “The Mighty Witcher and His Ticklish Bard.” Then his hands quickly ascended to dig into Jaskier’s armpits. 

“GAHAHAHAHA!” Jaskier fell back against Geralt, cackling and squirming. “D-DAHAHAMN YOU!” With his arms clamped down, he was now helpless with hysterical laughter worthy of upsetting any ghost. 

A gust swept by their feet moments later and Geralt’s medallion rattled viciously. The wraith manifested before them. Geralt shoved Jaskier out of the way and spun out the specter’s reach, grabbing his sword in the process. Jaskier whimpered and scrambled to hide behind the way stone. 

Geralt performed a series of slashing towards the wraith, drawing her closer to the altar as he removed a pouch of moon dust from his belt and threw it at the ground. She shrieked as the dust settled, recoiling from its effects. Geralt raised his sword once more and plunged it into the necklace, shattering the dark orange gem. 

The wraith dissipated with a bone chilling howl, leaving a fleeting image of a kneeling priestess at the altar before the autumn wind whisked it away. 

Jaskier poked his head out from behind the way stone, “did it work?” The dismal fog around them was fading, revealing a warm-colored forest coated in twilight. “Ha! It worked! It actually worked!” 

“Of course it did,” Geralt sighed, sheathing his sword. He walked over to the altar, scooping the necklace’s remains into an empty pouch. 

Jaskier pondered, “‘the key to a specter’s demise is a little chuckle… enough to make one’s knees buckle’… hm, I think I’m onto something here.” 

“Your laughter didn’t do anything besides make my ears ring,” Geralt said as he approached Jaskier, furrowing his brow as usual. 

Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “You must be joking, surely…” But when Geralt did nothing but stare, Jaskier instantly blushed. “Then why–why did you–?!” He held his head and shouted, “you were fighting a monster, Geralt!” 

“Because you pissed me off,” Geralt said, shoving the pouch of broken necklace into Jaskier’s hands. “Next time I’m given anything to help with a job, don’t touch it, understand?” He started to walk away, grumbling, “I don’t care how much it matches your boot laces.” 

Jaskier looked at the pouch in his hands, simultaneously troubled and amused by the events of their recent adventure. Perhaps they were both mad…

Truthfully, it was nice to have company. She often locked herself away in one of the numerous abandoned rooms in the keep, sifting through the things mages had left behind. She would have her daily lessons with Ciri, but other than that, no one sought her out unless they needed her skillset. Things between her and the witchers, particularly Geralt, were still a little tense, and she could certainly understand their hesitation after what she nearly did.

But Jaskier seemed to have no preservation instinct, as always. She thought he’d be off on his mischievous and merry way once she checked over and healed his burned fingers, but he just kept coming back. Sometimes he’d sit and watch her sort through things in silence (though that was rare), sometimes he’d bring the lute he’d dug up from another abandoned room and write in her company, and quite often he would come in and find ways to goad and annoy her into conversation.

Such as today.

Jaskier had fooled her into joining in on some question game, and though she was loath to admit it, it was almost kind of fun. Not to mention, though they had known each other for years by this point, it was a little surprising to Yennefer how little she actually knew about the bard. Especially considering how much he talked.

Yennefer had lost track of how long they were playing this question game, but it had to have been hours. She’d cataloged almost the entirety of the room’s magical artifacts, and through the filthy window she could see that the sun had sunk rather low in the sky. Dinner would be called for, soon. And good thing, too, considering it seemed they were both running out of questions. And Jaskier was certainly taking his sweet time coming up with his next one, groaning obnoxiously as he thought it through.

“Oh, I know!” He said at last. He pranced toward her with a leering grin. “Yennefer of Vengerberg. Are you… ticklish?”

Yennefer jerked back, furrowing her brows and looking at Jaskier like he was insane. “What kind of a question is that?”

“That’s not an answer,” he sang.

Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest, hoping the move didn’t look too defensive. “No,” she lied.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “I believe we had a no lying rule in place?”

“What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Everyone’s ticklish, Yennefer.”

Yennefer raised her own eyebrows. “Then what’s the point of asking if I am? Why not ask where, or how much?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Fine, where–”

“Ah! Not so fast, bard. You already used your question.”

“Then answer it.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Fine, yes, is that what you wanted?”

Jaskier gave her a smug smile. She returned it.

“Good luck finding where, though.”

Jaskier frowned. “Dammit.” He sighed. “Fine, your turn.”

Yennefer smirked at him. “Where are you ticklish, Jaskier?”

She watched in satisfaction as blood rushed to Jaskier’s face and he started awkwardly stammering out excuses.

“You can’t just–”

“Oh, but you can? Tell me, bard, what were you about to change your question to a moment ago.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together and scowled at her.

“No matter,” she continued. “If you cannot answer honestly, I’ll simply have to find out for myself.”

Jaskier’s face dropped in shock. “Wait, Yennefer–!”

Yennefer did not wait. And frankly, Jaskier was doing a poor job of defense. He just stood there, a grin tugging at his lips, as he held his arms out in front of him like that would stop her. Her fingers easily skirted past to deliver nibbling little pinches on his sides, slipping up to skitter at his ribs before moving back down once more.

Jaskier doubled over on top of her arms, laughing heartily and stumbling backwards until he hit a table. She stepped in front of him and started scritching at his hips through his ridiculously colored clothing and he positively howled.

“This does not bode well for you, bard,” she teased, an undeniably giddy grin tugging at her own lips. “It seems the answer to my question may just be everywhere.”

“Yenna– wait!”

“Wait for what? For the dinner bell to ring so you can make your escape? I think not. No, we’ll be staying right here until it’s time for us to go and eat.”

Jaskier yelped and giggled as she moved her wiggling fingers to his stomach. He finally seemed to gather his senses enough to clutch at her wrists, but he made no further moves to push her away. She smirked again.

Not that Jaskier could really finish any fights, considering his boyfriend was as immovable as a stone wall and as strong as a dragon– well, maybe not that strong, but it certainly felt that way when Jaskier was being tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

Jaskier let out a wordless shout when Geralt clawed his hand into Jaskier’s vulnerable underarm, tossing his head back with a laugh. He struggled to pull his hand out of Geralt’s grip, tugging at Geralt’s tickling fingers with the other with no luck. Geralt grinned and tickled down the taut skin of his ribs and sides, not protected at all by Jaskier’s thin chemise.

Jaskier gasped in a breath and managed a particularly strong tug to Geralt’s wrist, making Geralt twist to grab that hand as well. Jaskier panted for breath as he shot a nervous glance up at Geralt’s face. His expression was absolutely devious.

He tugged gently on both wrists. “Can’t we talk about this?”

Geralt stared. His nostrils flared, and Jaskier knew he was scenting the air, checking for discomfort. Damn him. They both knew Jaskier wasn’t uncomfortable, that he loved this. They both knew if Jaskier actually said stop, then Geralt would without hesitation. But Jaskier didn’t, nor did he want to, and Geralt could clearly smell his giddiness (once, he managed to get Geralt very drunk and sleepy and stupid, and got him to admit that Jaskier’s joy smelled like a field of blooming flowers and fresh, crisp apples), so his torment continued.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at Jaskier and, with a quick tug of his trapped wrists, rolled Jaskier onto his stomach. At first, Jaskier thought it was a mercy, blocking off so many sensitive spots with the mattress. Then he realized Geralt’s true intentions: it was a lot harder to defend himself or fight back when he was on his stomach. It became all the more evident when Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s sides from behind, vibrating them into the sensitive muscle.

Jaskier shrieked and let out frantic laughter. He tried to reach behind himself to stop Geralt, but without being able to see, and with the awkwardness of trying to reach behind himself, he couldn’t maneuver his arms the way he needed to. Apparently, Geralt had been counting on his futile defense, because his fingers quickly tripped all the way up Jaskier’s sides and ribs and back into his helpless armpits. Jaskier wheezed out laughter as he tried to press his arms to his sides, but it felt even less effective than usual. He tried to roll over, but Geralt quickly swung a leg over him and straddled his hips, trapping him face-down.

“Damn it!” Jaskier shouted through his laughter.

He kicked his feet behind Geralt, searching for any way to free himself. He tried to kick up at Geralt’s back, and not only could he not reach, but Geralt reached back and snatched his foot, tucking it up under his arm and pinning it there. He used both hands to tickle the newly trapped limb and Jaskier howled, spitting out curses as Geralt worked his fingers underneath and in-between Jaskier’s toes.

After several moments of that, Geralt finally freed his leg and slid off Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier rolled over and grunted as he kicked out again, trying to shove Geralt off the other side of the bed so he could make his escape, insinuating another chase. He really should’ve learned from his most recent torment, because Geralt easily snatched his kicking feet, pulling him across the bed by his ankles.

“Shit!” Jaskier said and kicked more frantically, but Geralt’s grip was too strong to free himself from.

Then, when Jaskier was close enough, Geralt grabbed his wrist again. Jaskier expected another pin, but instead, Geralt dragged him even further across the bed.

“Wait— Geralt, wait! Don’t! Hey—“

Jaskier yelped as Geralt pushed him over the edge of the bed, carefully controlling his fall with the grip on his wrist and pinning his legs. When Jaskier found his bearings after his world was upended, he found himself just barely hanging off the bed, his head the only thing touching the ground. The rest of his torso was stretched out, dangling from the bed, as his hips and legs still rested on the mattress, pinned there with Geralt’s weight on his knees.

Geralt’s fingers landed on his thighs, just a few inches above his knee. Jaskier sucked in a harsh breath. He tried to sit up, he certainly had the strength for it, but Geralt started pinching at his muscles right at that moment and all of Jaskier’s strength wooshed out of him with his ticklish laughter.

With Jaskier sufficiently weakened and his escape attempts sufficiently thwarted, Geralt really went to work. His devious fingers crawled up Jaskier’s legs and moved inward, searching for sweet spots on Jaskier’s horribly sensitive inner thighs and using them to draw out every ounce of laughter Jaskier had stored up in his body. He howled and cackled and shrieked and screamed. Frankly, he didn’t know how he was staying sane through it all. He felt like he would go mad from the unbearable sensations zinging through his body, consuming all his thoughts.

Eventually, Jaskier hit his limit. He drew in a big gasping breath as Geralt lifted his hands briefly to switch spots, and just before Geralt started in again he managed to call out, “Okay! Enough!”

Geralt immediately dropped the claws his fingers had formed into. He let Jaskier catch his breath slightly before reaching down and slowly pulling him up, holding him upright as the blood rushed away from his head.

“Okay?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed out a small, breathy laugh. “I’m great, dear heart.”

Geralt hummed, pulling Jaskier to lay down with him on the bed. “I believe I won.”

Jaskier scowled, opening his mouth to retort before stopping, blinking up at the ceiling. “Uh, Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“What were we fighting about again?”

Geralt didn’t respond for a few moments. “I have no idea.”

Jaskier snorted and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt chuckled and squeezed him tighter.

“Either way, though,” Jaskier continued, “you cheated, therefore your win is forfeit.”

Geralt grumbled under his breath, but didn’t refute it. Instead he settled in against the pillows, seemingly gearing in for a nap, and Jaskier certainly had no complaints on that. He curled up onto Geralt’s chest and slipped into sleep in only a few minutes, making a note to get his revenge when he woke.

Now, Geralt never shied away from bringing the fangs into play, especially when it made Jaskier moan like that (and maybe the first few times Jaskier had exaggerated his noises, wanting to make sure Geralt knew he was into it, but they certainly weren’t faked now that Geralt had confidence). There was only one issue with the fangs, now, and it was that Jaskier was incredibly, debilitatingly ticklish.

Which, it wasn’t actually an issue for the most part, except that it meant that Jaskier couldn’t stop giggling when Geralt was trying to tease him in a completely different way.

Geralt nipped at Jaskier's lip in the middle of their kiss, tugging at it a little so that he could feel the pinch of the sharp teeth against his skin before slowly releasing it. Jaskier let out a quiet little moan and dove in for another kiss, burying his hand into Geralt’s tangled hair, except Geralt dodged his lips and leaned down to kiss at Jaskier’s neck instead.

Jaskier bit his own lip as Geralt mouthed at his neck, having memorized the exact spots to target to make Jaskier shiver. Then, Geralt brought out the fangs. He nibbled and nipped at Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier tried desperately to hold himself together. One hand stayed tangled in Geralt’s hair while the other flew up to press against his mouth. He was trembling with the effort it took to not shrug his shoulders up or scrunch his neck down. It wasn’t that it felt bad or that he didn’t like it, he was just too ticklish.

He felt Geralt chuckle against his neck, the warm air fanning against the cooling saliva on his skin and making goosebumps prickle across his body.

“Really?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier risked pulling his hand away from his mouth to answer, “I can’t help it!”

Geralt hummed. “I know.”

Then, he grabbed Jaskier’s hands and pinned them down next to his sides before diving back in to nibble at his neck once more.

Jaskier’s resolve broke with the surprise of it. Ridiculous, high-pitched giggles tumbled out from his lips as the fangs dragged across his skin. He tried his best not to scrunch up his neck, but it was a fruitless endeavor. It felt like every new scrape of those teeth got more and more ticklish. When he did give into the urge, he tried his best not to slam his chin into Geralt’s head.

“Please!” Jaskier cried, even though he didn’t even know what he was pleading for. “It tickles!!”

Geralt just hummed, moving around to the other side of Jaskier’s neck, where the skin was fresh and sensitive and ripe for ticklish nipping. Jaskier squealed and shook his head, tugging at his trapped wrists even though he knew there was no way he could overpower a witcher.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Jaskier said through his giggling.

“What gave it away?” Geralt asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jaskier snorted and flinched as Geralt targeted an especially ticklish spot, just behind his ear. “I thought you wanted to make out!”

Geralt pulled back so that they were nose to nose and grinned down at him. “I don’t see why I can’t do both.”

Jaskier leaned up and captured Geralt’s lips in a languid kiss. “Both it is, then.”