#ler!jaskier

A bard and their instrument are normally inseparable - this is a golden opportunity for mischief, surely. If not, then certainly a means of occupying yourself for a moment, at least.

It’s easy enough to pick the lute up without him noticing. You hold it on your lap. Having seen him play almost every day, you manage to guess how you’d play a fairly simple melody.

“There…” You start, count a single beat, and trot out a brief melody to get the feel of things. Jaskier whips around. “Oh?”

“...once was a bard,” You grin, standing up so you can sway around as you play, making words up on the spot.

“Who found it hard,

To sing a decent song!

His name was Jaskier,

And he wished it were easier,

But alas,

All his lyrics...were wrong!”

It is very difficult not to laugh at Jaskier’s insulted expression. You press on and break into a hesitant backwards jog when Jaskier gets up and takes a step towards you. 

“Ohoho,” He laughs, pocketing his notebook. “You have some nerve.”

Hopefully the disjointed chords you’re strumming out between verses manage to hide the snort of laughter you let out. He walks a little faster when you make to get away, and the pair of you begin a slow, halting, winding pursuit around the campsite; one of you concerned about a performance, and the other with protecting their instrument.

“You...are playing a dangerous game,” He warns.

“Want it back?” You brandish the lute and give it an extravagant strum. He scowls, and breaks into a run. You run too, crying out the final few lyrics over your shoulder and trying as best you can to play an accompaniment.

“And try as he might,

Composing all the night,

Jaskier’s singing-

Is like ordering a pie

and finding it has no filling!” 

“Oi! Take that back right now!” He yells, footfalls growing faster and louder behind you. You cackle, removing the lute’s strap and brandishing it above you, still running.

“You want it? Come get it!” You crow, having decidedly too much fun. 

And then you trip. Destiny’s intervention, perhaps. It’s not enough to knock you over, but you stumble, and that’s all it takes for Jaskier to catch up with you. He grabs you, and a small fight breaks out between the two of you for the lute.

“You're going to pay for this,” He growls, grappling with your arms for his instrument. “Insulting a high ranking bard such as myself? Unacceptable!” 

“What’s the matter?” You huff, twisting in an attempt to keep the lute out of his reach. “My musical talent make you jealous?”

“Well, you weren't bad actually- but no! Absolutely not! How dare you!” He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you into his reach; you hold the lute away from you. 

“How dare you! I- composed a masterpiece! You- ah! - don't know what good music sounds like, obviously!”

 Jaskier's hand keeps squeezing your side in an attempt to keep his hold on you, and it really tickles. If you're lucky, he won’t notice your stuttered sentences and increased squirming - but then he does it again on your last sentence, his thumb inadvertently catching a sweet spot below your ribs. A giggle escapes.

“Take it back~,” Jaskier wraps his other arm around you.

“Or what?” You move one hand to pry at his wrists. He grips you tighter. You twitch and choke back a yelp.

“Or,” A pause. His fingers place themselves against your sides one by one, poised to attack. “I’ll tickle you.”

“You wouldn’t. I'll drop the lute.”

“Really? Perfect! Two birds with one stone!” His hands give two quick squeezes to your sides. The lute has grown heavy in one hand, so it falls out of your grasp almost immediately. Jaskier moves swiftly, reaching one hand out for just a second to catch the lute and place it gently on the ground before returning his focus to keeping you trapped, pinching up and down your sides. He picks up the pace when you immediately dissolve into laughter and protests. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out which spots on your torso make you squeak or yelp or laugh harder, and there’s not much you can do to stop him with the way he’s trapped you in a hug. You try to twist out of his grasp, away from his wriggling fingers, but it’s no use - laughter comes tumbling from your lips and a wave of giddiness hits; you’re cackling, giggling, yelping - but your pleas fall on deaf ears, and Jaskier’s very set on tickling you into apologising...which you’re not sure you want to do. Partly because you shouldn’t have to take back such an amazing song, but also because being able to laugh freely like this makes a nice change - not that you'd ever admit it. 

None of this stops you from pretending to hate your current predicament, though - Gods know things would be a lot worse if Jaskier realised how you enjoy this. Best to pretend you detest it. So in amongst your increasingly hysterical giggles, you throw in as many pleas for mercy as you see fit, peppering in a few insults and retorts every so often just to hear his insulted little gasps at your attitude. This doesn’t make things any better for you, admittedly - only spurs Jaskier on. The pair of you sink down onto the ground when your knees buckle; Jaskier's quick to pin you, thumb drilling into your hip and grinning as you throw your head back in hysterics.

“No!” You gasp, speech promptly dissolving into unmitigated laughter as Jaskier darts between tickle spots before eventually settling on one that has you arching your back. 

“No? No what?” He laughs, leaning in and grinning at you. You hide your face in your arm to avoid looking him in the eye. 

“Not there!”

He speeds up, encouraged, and your laughter grows more desperate.

“Not where? Not heeere?”

A string of pleas and curses immediately fly out of your mouth, which earns a chuckle from Jaskier.

“Apologize, and I’ll stop. I could do this for...well, however long it takes, really."

You shake your head, laughing too hard to do much besides push at him weakly in your hysterical state.

"Come on. I’m waiting~” 

Your sides are starting to hurt from laughing now, so it’s with some reluctance that you cave and decide to apologize between giggles.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!”

“For…?” He slows down his onslaught, but keeps his fingertips skittering over your sides. You grab onto his wrists, but don’t push him away enough to deter him.

“For tarnishing your precious ego! Let me go!”

“Hm. Not quite, but close enough. And…?”  His hands pull away, poised to attack again if you say anything untoward. You keep your grip and take a deep breath.

“I...won’t do it again?” 

“Alright. That’ll do.” He grins, letting you go and twisting his hand to hold your wrist in return to help you up from the grass. Residual laughter still clings to your system, and a warm sort of contentedness lends a glow to your smile.

“That was uncalled for.” You lament, fixing your hair.

“Ohoho, no. No, it wasn’t. I could've been much meaner. Count yourself lucky, Giggles.” He reaches out and ruffles your hair. You shove him gently on the shoulder, tutting. The lute is retrieved from its place on the ground as you both make your way back to the campfire, exhausted, giggly, and a little less bored.

Geralt grunted. Jaskier gave a teasing hum in response as he lifted his hand once more so only his fingertips were touching Geralt’s skin. He slowly stroked across Geralt’s stomach and sides once more, sweeping down a few times to add his hips to the mix. Now more awake and aware, and with his eyes open, he could see the way muscles jumped under his touch, the way Geralt’s body would try to slowly and silently shift away when Jaskier hit a particularly sensitive spot, carefully enough that Jaskier hadn’t noticed it in his previous haze.

Jaskier was tempted to tease, to trick Geralt into admitting this tickled and just how badly it did. But at the same time, he wanted to see just how far he could push Geralt before he admitted it himself. After all, Jaskier had no reason at all to think that Geralt was lying, absolutely not.

Jaskier knew he couldn’t add a wiggle to his fingers without Geralt realizing his intentions; he needed to be more careful than that. Instead, he paid attention to his next several passes, watching for the patches of skin that Geralt seemed to react to the most. Then, he changed his pattern to trace lines between those little patches of skin specifically. He continued this, watching the way Geralt subtly squirmed and listening to his carefully even breath, until he thought he could get away with the next phase of his plan.

Jaskier targeted a specific sensitive spot, directly to the left of Geralt’s belly button, tracing swirls and doodling little nonsense shapes there. He felt more than heard Geralt’s breath hitch, with his head resting atop Geralt’s chest. He toyed with this spot a few moments more, feeling Geralt get more and more tense, until he suddenly switched back to connecting all the particular patches of skin he had found.

He kept this up, targeting one small place until it seemed Geralt was on the brink of giving in, and then suddenly giving him relief by going back to broader motions. Jaskier had to give it to him, Geralt was holding out far longer than Jaskier could’ve. He would’ve been giggling with the first targeted attack.

But eventually, everyone breaks.

Jaskier had gone through his routine three times before he decided that enough was enough. He strayed back to the first spot in the order, that sensitive little spot right next to Geralt’s navel. He swirled and traced and tickled, but this time he didn’t stop when Geralt started getting tense. He kept going, keeping his touch maddeningly light, allowing only the lightest brush of his fingertips against skin.

Geralt let out a low hum, shifting in a way that was probably meant to dislodge Jaskier. Luckily, Jaskier was stubborn, following the movement so Geralt couldn’t find a reprieve. It was only a short few moments before that low hum turned into low giggles, puffing out through Geralt’s nose. Jaskier’s head bounced on Geralt’s chest with his giggly breaths.

Only a moment later, the hand that Geralt didn’t have wrapped around Jaskier’s back started reaching for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier darted out of the way, targeting instead the small place in the divot of Geralt’s right hip. Geralt snorted, his hand spasming midair as his giggles finally pushed out from between his lips. He tried to wiggle out of Jaskier’s way, but Jaskier followed just as easily. When Geralt’s hand came for him again, he switched to the next spot.

Their dance continued until Geralt was full-blown laughing from even the lightest touch. Jaskier finally allowed Geralt to catch his hand (though it was obvious that Geralt hadn’t been trying very hard at all to do so), interlacing their fingers and resting their joined hands on Geralt’s chest. Neither spoke as Geralt’s breath and heart rate slowed under Jaskier’s head.

Then, calloused fingers crawled over Jaskier’s back and side and onto his stomach with the lightest, most torturous touch possible. Jaskier gasped and jerked away, only pressing himself further into Geralt’s body.

“Sorry,” Geralt murmured, the grin clear in his voice. “Was I tickling you?”

Geralt had gotten himself mixed up in yet another messy contract. It wasn’t a cut and dry “kill the monster, get coin” contract like it had originally seemed. Instead, thanks to the lying bigot who wrote it, he got tangled up in a web of lies and untrained, minor sorcerers and sorceresses. Sometime in the fray, Geralt had managed to get splashed (or, more rather, absolutely drenched) by one of their rather large potion vats.

It turns out, Geralt had gotten splashed with a rather potent sensitivity potion. Based on the information they had been able to wring out of the few people left conscious, the group had been making rather good money off the potion. It had become quite popular in many of the nearby villages for less-than-innocent reasons.

The thing was, the magic users had no idea how it would affect Geralt after covering his entire body, and especially with how much had soaked into his clothing and skin. A little went a long way with that potion, and it was meant only for small surface areas over a short period of time.

And of course, being untrained as they were, the sorcerers and sorceresses had no clue how to help Geralt neutralize the effects. Luckily for Geralt, Triss was only half a day’s travel away and was able to whip them up a neutralizing oil while Geralt squirmed away in his seat.

And now, as Jaskier helped Geralt apply the oil, locked away in a soundproofed room of Triss’s residence, he finally got to see the full effects of the sensitivity potion.

Geralt was outstandingly ticklish.

“The oil isn’t working!” Geralt grit out, flinching away from Jaskier’s hands once more.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “It would work, if you would actually hold still enough for me to apply it, or rub it into your skin. Plus, Triss said it could take upwards of an hour to work thanks to how much of that potion soaked into your system.”

Geralt growled, then cut himself off with another yelp and flinch as Jaskier tried once more to place his oily hands on Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt wasn’t even particularly ticklish there, on a normal day, but thanks to the potion, Jaskier couldn’t even set his hands there without Geralt leaping across the room.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll have to tie you down to treat you.”

Geralt seemed to be debating that for a moment. Taking the chance while he was distracted, Jaskier quickly latched his hands onto Geralt’s shoulders and began trying to massage the oil in. Geralt immediately doubled over where he sat on the edge of the bed, giggling helplessly and clutching at his upper arms, probably to keep him from throwing Jaskier across the room.

Jaskier sighed. “You know, if it wouldn’t put you in danger thanks to the nature of your job, I would consider leaving you like this.” Just to be mean, he fluttered his fingers up the side of Geralt’s neck and earned himself a desperate shriek. “It would be so much easier to make you smile.”

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier waited a few more moments until he felt the oil was completely massaged into Geralt’s shoulders before pulling away. Geralt slumped and panted for breath, still squirming and letting out little huffs of chuckles from the lingering ghost tickles. A fond smile pulled at Jaskier’s lips as he draped himself over Geralt’s back. Geralt flinched and giggled at the brush of his clothing.

“We could always ask Triss to put a sleeping spell on you for this part,” Jaskier said, twirling a finger in Geralt’s hair and humming at the resulting shiver. “I know you love it on any other day, but if it’s too much...”

Geralt shook his head. “I can take it.”

Jaskier placed a gentle kiss against Geralt’s ear, laughing when his head immediately jerked out of reach of Jaskier’s lips. He sat up and reached for the oil once more.

“And that wasn’t even one of your ticklish spots.” Jaskier grinned mischievously, running his currently-unoiled hand up Geralt’s back with a barely-there touch. “Think of how it’ll feel when we get to your sides, or your thighs, or--” Jaskier cut himself off with an exaggerated gasp before whispering, “your underarms.”

Geralt shuddered and growled. “Next time we fight a mob of insane spellcasters, you’re getting drenched in the sensitivity potion.”

Jaskier laughed. “Alright, Geralt. Next time.”

And then he dunked his hands in the pot of oil once more before clutching at Geralt’s neck.

Geralt was surprised the innkeep even let Geralt in. In fact, he looked like he wanted to kick Geralt out until he was more decent, but instead he led Geralt up to a room where a bath had already been prepared. Jaskier turned as he entered, wrinkling his nose at the stench Geralt dragged in with him.

Jaskier brought a hand up to pinch his nose closed and gave Geralt a once-over. “Next time you fight a zoo-zoo,” Jaskier said, “we’re rinsing you off outside first before your bath.”

“Zeugl,” Geralt corrected.

“No matter,” Jaskier said. “Get in the bath before I decide to do that anyway, how did you even make it through the streets.”

“Far more easily than usual,” Geralt grumbled, stripping off his armor as best as he could with his fingers still slick from waste.

Geralt sank into the bathwater with a sigh, his frozen-cold and sore muscles finally finding some respite. He’d spend the next week in the tub, if he could. Last time he fought a zeugl, he nearly had, and probably would have if he could. Vesemir still teased him about spending half a day in the bath, scrubbing away.

Jaskier made a dramatic retching sound. “These boots have seen their last days, Geralt. We ought to just throw them out the window right now, there’s no saving them.”

“They’re fine,” Geralt lied. Even with the coin from the zeugl job, he couldn’t wisely afford spending the coin on new boots.

“They are absolutely not, your feet were swimming in shit and piss, look at these! You can’t tell me you’re going to wear these again.”

It wasn’t like Geralt wanted to, he did rather enjoy being clean.

Jaskier made direct eye contact with him and picked up his boots with a ripped up, old rag. Geralt narrowed his eyes, hoping to silently threaten Jaskier into obeying. Jaskier dangled the pair of shoes out the window.

Geralt darted forward in the bath. “Jaskier, don’t you dare--”

Jaskier dropped the boots, and the now-soiled rag along with them.

Geralt growled. “And how do you expect me to walk around, now?”

Jaskier placed his hands on the edges of the tub and leaned over so he loomed over Geralt. “I will personally go and buy you a new pair in the morning, calm down. Now, let’s get this filth off you.”

Geralt sat with a scowl on his face as Jaskier scrubbed him down thoroughly, the water turning murky with all the muck. He scrubbed Geralt until his normally-dull skin was pink and pristine, lathering soaps into his hair with his fingernails, the strands finally turning white again under his touch.

Jaskier kept up his usual chatter the whole time, but most of it went in one ear and out the other. Geralt simply allowed himself to enjoy the warm water and the feeling of finally being clean again. And maybe enjoying the fingers scratching his scalp and combing through his hair, too. Not that he’d admit that

And then, when Geralt was boneless and relaxing back in the bath, eyes closed, he heard a splash and calloused fingers wrapped around his ankle, pulling his foot from the bath, yanking him deeper into the water in the process. He shot a glare up at Jaskier.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, replacing the filthy rag in his hand with a scrubbing brush. “You were sloshing around in who the hell knows what, there’s no way you’re getting away just rinsing off these feet.”

Geralt grunted, but that grunt quickly turned into a loud, deep shout of, “Fuck!” as Jaskier dragged that terrible brush down the length of his foot. He jerked in the bath, the murky water sloshing and splashing up to soak Jaskier, the bard himself standing dumbstruck and dripping and glaring.

“And just what was that?”

“Nothing,” Geralt growled, trying unsuccessfully to take his foot back. He didn’t want to tug too hard and hurt Jaskier, but his grip was too strong otherwise.

Jaskier tightened his grip, tugging Geralt back toward him again. “That was not nothing, and now I’m wet. What do you have to say for yourself, hm? You best behave when I’m trying to help, you big grouch, now hold still.”

Jaskier dragged the brush down his foot again, and Geralt couldn’t help the deep yelp that escaped from his lips, clapping a hand over his mouth and tugging at his leg once more, though this time far more frantically. Jaskier grumbled and tightened his grip again, going so far as to pin Geralt’s ankle under his arm to get the leverage he needed to scrub the gunk off.

“Ah,” Jaskier said after a moment of Geralt’s barely-controlled squirming, smile evident in his voice even if Geralt couldn’t see his face. “I see what’s happening, now. A bit ticklish, hm?”

“No,” Geralt lied, voice strangled.

Jaskier paused and turned to give Geralt an unimpressed look. “You, my dear witcher, are a terrible liar.”

And then Jaskier pushed the brush deeper against Geralt’s skin and started scrubbing once more, and Geralt couldn’t hold himself together any longer. He snorted and let out deep, rumbling laughter, making every effort to keep it quiet. He buried his face in both hands, sinking deeper into the tub. The witcher mutagens prevented him from blushing, but Geralt felt himself heating up nonetheless.

“Teach you to make such a big fuss,” Jaskier muttered. “And to make such a big mess!”

“Jaskier--”

But Geralt’s protests were cut off by Jaskier scrubbing the brush under his toes, the bristles sneaking between them to torment the sensitive skin. All of Geralt’s focus went to trying not to screech, aside from a small portion that went toward trying not to hurt Jaskier as he struggled to take his leg back, kicking gently to get Jaskier to release him.

And, to his surprise, Jaskier did. Geralt’s foot splashed back into the tub, and his laughter tapered off into embarrassed chuckles. He still refused to look up out of his hands.

“Who knew,” Jaskier laughed. “Even witchers can be adorable!” He gave Geralt a wry look as he reached into the bath for Geralt’s other ankle. “Well, I already knew, of course. Can’t hide anything from the eyes of a bard.”

“Can hide plenty,” Geralt bit out, splashing Jaskier to try and convince him to leave his feet alone.

Jaskier gasped, affronted, and wrenched Geralt’s foot out of the water. He lifted the brush threateningly and Geralt froze.

“Couldn’t hide this,” he replied cheekily.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Put the brush down.”

“And how are you planning to make me, Giggles?”

The brush scrubbed harshly against the arch of Geralt foot and he jerked, sloshing bathwater onto the floor once more. He gripped the sides of the tub as he cackled as quietly as he could, hoping the rest of the inn couldn’t hear him. 

“You really ought to smile more,” Jaskier said. “It suits you, makes your face less harsh.”

Geralt didn’t bother trying to reply, he simply lifted his free foot out of the bath and tried to shove Jaskier’s hand away at the very least, if not shove him away entirely. He was unsuccessful, snorting as Jaskier took a brief detour to his heel to scrub it clean before moving back up toward his toes.

Enough was enough, Geralt decided as he swallowed another mirthful screech. He tugged hard, pulling Jaskier down into his murky, smelly, lukewarm bathwater. Jaskier surfaced as Geralt caught his breath (quickly, thanks to his mutagens), sputtering and slicking his hair out of his face. His chemise was so soaked that it had become transparent, and the scrub brush had thankfully been lost in the tub.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “Well, now I need a bath. And you still reek, you could use a second one.”

“I was swimming in the sewers.”

“I’d like to suggest a new rule,” Jaskier said, hands searching the bottom of the tub. “No more taking jobs in sewers and trash heaps.”

Geralt shrugged, catching Jaskier’s wrist with inhuman speed as his hand shot forward, scrub brush raised threateningly. “Never said being a witcher was clean work. Or that it smelled nice.”

Jaskier grumbled and dropped his hand. “Fine, I’ll call for a second bath. Hand me that towel over there, will you, dear heart?”

Geralt sighed and reached up and behind his head to tug the towel off it’s hook. Of course, he should have learned by now not to let his guard down around Jaskier, as there was suddenly a terribly ticklish scrubbing against his armpit and upper ribs. 

Geralt cried out, the laughter practically startled out of him, and yanked his arm back down to guard the sensitive spot. Jaskier was laughing in the bath across from him, and Geralt had to resist the urge to dunk him back under the water.

“Go call for the new bath,” he growled, reaching for the towel much more carefully. “We’ll see who’s laughing then. Maybe I’ll decide you need some help cleaning yourself, next.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, cheeks going pink as he clambered out of the tub. “Right. I--I will go and do that, then.”