#vicious bard

Summary: At a tavern Geralt hears one too many jabs at his bard. He decides then and there, they’re going on a holiday.

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Masterlist                Asks

“Piss off bard.”

“I never missed the silence more.”

“Fuck off back to where you came from!”

That was the last straw. Geralt rose from the bench shrowded in darkness and leisurely strolled over to where Jaskier had stopped playing and was now arguing with the three men.

He wrapped his hand around the back of the bard’s doublet and gently tugged him backwards, carressing the side of his neck with his thumb.

“There’s hot stew and ale at the table for you. Go and fill up.” Geralt told rather than suggested to Jaskier.

“But I still need to-”

“Eat, Jask. I’ll be over in a minute.”

The bard relented, with great amounts of groaning and begrudging, but went to fill his boots anyway. He didn’t hear exactly what Geralt had said to the men who had insulted him. All Jaskier knew as he was shovelling stew into his mouth was it musn’t have been a light threat, or an empty one where a Witchers concerned. 

Although Geralt did walk back over smugly with an odd swing in his step. When Jaskier rose his eyebrows in a questioning frown all the Witcher responded with was, “We’re leaving in the morning.”

“What?” Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

“We’re leaving in the morning so eat all the stew, and drink all the ale. Don’t know when we’ll next have the chance.”

“But why? There’s still contracts here, still audiences to woo, money to be made-” 

“Jaskier.” 

The bard fell silent and ate his stew and drank the ale as request. It was only later when they had retired to their room for the night that Geralt decided to address the quietness in his bard. He knew he’d been brash downstairs and Jaskier didn’t deserve that, but he couldn’t divulge his plan unless they were away from prying ears.

Jaskier was stood by the side of the bed in just his trousers when he felt Geralt move in behind him, his body heat instantly staving off the chill of the room. 

“Won’t you talk to me bard?” 

Jaskier lightly snorted and grabbed his night shirt from its position on the bed. “I was under the impression you weren’t fond of my talking.”

“I’m always fond of your talking.”

“Of course you are.” He replied sarcastically. 

Geralt grasped his hips and turned Jaskier to face him instead of being turned away. The Witcher was shirtless as well, which now explained why Jaskier was able to feel his body heat so effectively. 

“I am,” The Witcher insisted, dipping his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes, “You’re my favourite kind of noise.”

The bard smiled smugly and went back to putting his nightshirt on when Geralt snatched it away. “You won’t need that.” 

Jaskier sighed good naturedly and put his hands on his hips. “So why are we leaving in the morning?”

“Because-” Geralt started unbuttoning and stripping Jaskier of the rest of his clothes, along with himself - “We, are going on holiday.”

“A holiday?” Jaskier repeats incredulously while being pushed into bed by Geralt and then wrapped up in his arms. 

“We are going to the coast. Get away for a while, do what pleases us before heading up to Kaer Morhen for the Winter. One last feel of the Sun.”

“My dear Witcher, I shall make a romantic out of you yet.” Jaskier yawned, lulled to sleep by Geralt’s warmth and the steadiness of his heart.