#satan statue

The newly hired curator for the statuary portion of the museum followed Yennefer into the next room. but his mind stayed stuck on the mussed stone curls and the manacled marble ankle of the handsome Lucifer. He seemed almost too lifelike to be made of stone. 

Almost, Jaskier thought, jotting down more notes as Yennefer droned on about maintenance schedules and alarm systems, but not quite.

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“Fuck!” Jaskier cried as he tripped. He fell sideways, slamming into the rope barrier of the Lucifer statue and catching his hand on the sharp edge of one golden clasp. A line of bright red bloomed across the back of his knuckle and he shook his hand on instinct to ease the pain. A few drops of blood flew off; one landed directly on the base of Lucifer’s pedestal. Jaskier licked the wound clean and grumbled, “Oh, shit. I have to clean that up.”

The curator turned to look for a towel or a dust rag or something that could be used to wipe up his little biohazardous mistake and took a few steps away from Lucifer. When he finally located a paper towel and turned to wipe the smear away he nearly passed out. 

Sitting where the statue had been only moments before was a living human person. Well...not human. Not if the two enormous, black leathery wings fluttering gently behind this stranger were real anyway. 

“What the fuck?” he breathed incredulously. “Is this a prank? Am I being punked?”

The statue-person had long white hair that fell in gentle waves to the tops of his shoulders. He had the gold crown and wooden scepter still clutched in his hand and his ankle, now flesh instead of marble, was attached to the base of the statue by a strong steel manacle. The statue-person shifted and the chain jingled quietly, breaking the otherwise fraught silence. 

The statue glanced up and cocked its head to the side. “Where-?”

“Uhm...yes, uh. Hello there, Mr. Lucifer, Sir. I am uh...Jaskier. I’m the night curator at the museum. I’m working on classifying some ancient Roman statuary and organizing an exhibit in a few months. Hello,” the nervous young doctor bowed. “My apologies for the uh...accommodations.”

“You bled for me?” Lucifer blinked owlishly.

“Unintentionally, yes. Oh god, am I going to hell? Am I going to go to hell now because I bled on the weirdly sensual statue of Satan at work!?” Jaskier was close to hyperventilating. The statue-person was watching him with curious yellow eyes. His pupils were slit like a cat’s. “Please tell me I’m not going to hell.”

“Geralt.”

“Wh-What?”

“I’m not Lucifer,” the statue reiterated. “I’m Geralt.”

“Oh. Well they’ve been selling you back and forth between churches for years thinking you were just an incredibly delicious-looking statue of Satan,” Jaskier rambled. His eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth when he realized what he’d said. Geralt, as he was apparently called, was smirking from atop his pedestal.

“I can smell you from here,” the demon (was he a demon?) stated. “No use trying to hide it. I can tell that you’re attracted to me.”

“Well yes. You’re very...attractive,” the curator muttered lamely. There was no excuse; this was a fever dream, anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. Well, I’m clearly on drugs or lying in a pool of my own blood hallucinating my mortal end because this cannot be happening for real.”

“Well believe me, Jaskier,” Geralt practically purred from his seat across the room. “It is definitely happening. It is definitely real.”

“No. No, thank you.”

“Come here,” the demon ordered, flicking a few of his fingers in a come hither movement. Jaskier crossed the floor against his own will to stand before the mostly naked and very muscular previously-stone man. “Touch me.”

Jaskier’s hand went straight for his pectoral. The statue smirked again, more confidently this time, and placed his warm hand over the panicking curator’s. 

“Calm down, little human. You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing that fast.”

“I- but this- but you can’t-”

Jaskier’s eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the floor, still bleeding lightly from his hand. Geralt sighed and rearranged his clothes a little to make them sit more comfortably against his skin. The sun would be rising soon and he would return to carved marble as the curse demanded. Hopefully the clumsy mortal boy would spill his blood here again so they could talk some more; Jaskier was as interesting as he was a danger to himself. 

The demon, for that is exactly what he was, allowed himself to observe the human as he lay, prone and stupid, on the floor before him. His face was peaceful and soft. Cute, the demon decided. He looks innocent and sweet and positively cute.