Witcher Summer Camp

Eskel never ventured much further south than Toussaint. He had no love for Nilfgaard and he liked to drift through the sunny hills, varying his route although he inevitably ended up at Corvo Bianco at some time during the season. He’d be assured a bed and a good fuck and then he’d go off on his merry way again. He and Geralt, while devoted to each other, didn’t put much stock in monogamy. A witcher learned to take their pleasure where they found it and he loved his white wolf enough and was loved in return to know that a fling or two would never dent the lifelong bond they had, even if Geralt’s little plaything with the lute thought differently. 

Eskel had taken great pleasure in demonstrating that very fact not even two weeks ago. He wasn’t cruel but he did take issue with people who thought they could take liberties with what was his, and Geralt had been his since they were fourteen years old. The look on the bard’s face when he’d crept into Geralt’s bed chamber to find him impaled on Eskel’s huge cock (there was a reason they called him the Dragon of Kaer Morhen and it wasn’t his Igni) had been priceless. Eskel could only lament the fact that Lambert and his Cat weren’t there to join them. The four of them had spent some very interesting evenings together. Aiden had a very louche attitude to fucking, taking it from all three of them at the same time without blinking an eye. He’d told Eskel how the Cats fucked anything that would stand still for long enough and how it wasn’t unusual for all fo them to cycle through each other’s beds as the year passed. 

Now Eskel pondered things and shifted in his saddle as his cock hardened. Even for a witcher he was highly sexed, his mutagens driving him to fuck and be fucked as often as he could manage. It was often difficult with the way he looked and he had often turned to the creatures that humans shunned in pursuit of pleasure, finding kinship in their monstrosity. The succubus had been but one of his conquests. 

The sun was dipping down below the horizon when he rode into the small hamlet. There was an inn to the right of the road and he headed there, smiling at the sound of rather ribald singing coming from inside. These rural places were more forgiving of their kind and he pulled Scorpion to a stop and dismounted, handing the stallion off to a gawping stable boy and going inside. The inn was crowded and thankfully, aside from a few curious glances, Eskel found himself being largely ignored as he made his way to the bar, placing a coin on the polished surface and getting a tankard of dark ale in return. He took a long pull and regarded the landlady, a tall rawboned woman with iron grey hair and biceps that looked like she could probably lift a man or two overhead. 

‘A room?’ he asked and she shook her head. 

‘’Tis summer harvest.’ she replied, waving a hand at the room full of revellers. ‘You’ll be hard pressed.’ 

‘Hmmm.’ Eskel considered his options. ‘I’d be glad to bed down in the loft.’ 

‘That you could,’ the landlady agreed. ‘Will you be wanting supper?’

Eskel nodded and she sent a maid scurrying off to fetch it. When it arrived it was plentiful, if plain - dark bread, a wedge of cheese and plenty of thick cut ham with pickled relish on the side. Eskel leaned on the bar and set to, completely focused on the food and not really realising he was being approached until he noticed that there was a body on each side of him. He glanced up and his brain ticked over when he saw slitted pupils and paired swords. He straightened up and looked his new companions over. 

The man was almost of a height with him, broad shouldered and deeply tanned. He had a crooked nose that spoke of being broken one to many times for even his mutagens to keep up with, a thick lush black beard matched by a riot of black curls and a smile that set a pleasant lurch going in Eskel’s stomach. He leaned on one elbow, his light leather cuirass and linen shirt doing little to hide the thickness of his arms and chest and gave Eskel what could only be described as a look, his bright green eyes alight with interest. 

One his other side, the woman was so short she barely made it to Eskel’s nipples. Her face was smothered in freckles and her hair was the oddest shade of silvery blonde and a warm blush that reminded him of the wild roses that were scattered through the Blue Mountains. Her arms, every bit as muscled as the man’s, were inscribed with stark black tattoos that Eskel recognised as being Dwarvish. If anything, her eyes - bright yellow shot through with streaks of green - were even more appraising than her fellow witcher. 

Eskel gave back as good as he got, noticing the Cat medallions on their chests. Something pinged in his memory of a conversation with Aiden about a pair of Cats who rode the Path together, convention be damned. He grinned and set down his tankard. 

‘Well met.’ he said, dropping his voice to a husky drawl. ‘It’s not often I get to meet another witcher this far south.’ 

‘Indeed.’ The woman grinned, showing the sharp little fangs all Cats seemed to have, much smaller than a Wolf’s. ‘We couldn’t help but notice your arrival. You don’t know us, but we’ve heard enough about you Eskel of Kaer Morhen.’

Eskel chuckled and ripped off a chunk of bread with his teeth and shifting it to the good side of his mouth to chew.

‘I could say the same,’ he replied. ‘Aiden is a talker.’   

The Cats exchanged delighted looks. 

‘I’m Jöel.’ the man said. ‘That’s Kiyan.’ 

Eskel wiped his hands off on his pants and shook hands as was their way. They both had a grip that could bend iron and he started thinking just how much fun he could have it caught between them. His lust must have leaked into his scent because they both tilted their noses up and inhaled, their pupils dilating visibly. 

‘You said you needed a room.’ Jöel said it casually but then he leaned in and bushed the backs of his fingers along Eskel’s forearm, leaving a bright trail of sensation in their wake as Eskel’s chaos reacted to the touch of another witcher. ‘It just so happens that we have one.’ 

‘We do.’ Kiyan had moved in to effectively corner him against the bar. One hand ran along his bicep, squeezing appreciatively. ‘And we’d be very happy to share.’ 

Her voice dropped into a purr at the end and she locked eyes with Eskel, her look direct and unmistakable. Eskel smiled, for once completely uninhibited in baring his own fangs and his scarred mouth. 

‘Lead the way.’ he said. 

-

They drank a few more pints and let Eskel finish his supper before leading the way upstairs. They were both good company, he’d decided, open and friendly and making him laugh with an outlandish story of their last contract. He was getting in some excellent views now, taking his time to climb the stairs behind Jöel and admiring the dip of his narrow waist and the rounded curve of his ass. Behind him, he heard Kiyan purr and knew she was probably happily objectifying him at the same time. 

Their room was right under the eaves and away from most of the other patrons. Jöel opened the door and made a flowery gesture to wave Eskel through. He laughed and proceeded, waiting for them both to come in before he set his gear down and waited. 

The Cats came to prowl around him in a circle. 

‘Aiden told us a lot of good things.’ Jöel grinned, his green eyes fixed on the now noticeable bulge in Eskel’s pants. He smiled back and nodded thoughtfully. 

‘Likewise,’ he replied. ‘Mostly about how Cats are horny fuckers all of the time.’

‘He’s not wrong there.’ Kiyan ran a hand across his lower back, her fingers light and playful. ‘And Jöel and I like a good three way.’

Eskel’s cock twitched. He loved fucking withcers because it meant endless stamina and enough experience to not be thrown by anything. Judging by the way the two Cats were sizing him up, they were of a similar mind. 

He stripped off his swords,moving to set them down with his pack. The Cats’ gear was already stowed in a corner and they mirrored his movements as he began to undress, taking off their light leather cuirasses and vambraces. Next were their gloves, drawn off fingers and cast side. The Cats wore dark blue linen undershirts, sweat damp from the heat. Eskel took off his jacket and let his eyes linger when they pulled them over their heads. The tattoos on Kiyan’s arms ran across her shoulders and Eskel eyed the scars that marked her as an experienced witcher. One particularly livid one ran below her collar bones and down between her breasts, constrained in a linen corset. He imagined tracing the silvery line with his tongue and he growled as heat started to fill his chest, a slow lingering arousal that would burn until sunrise if he had his way. 

Jöel stepped in behind him, his bare chest and shoulders as darkly tanned as his face and crisscrossed with scars. He was smooth, much like Aiden. Eskel wondered briefly if it was a Cat thing before he lifted his arms to Jöel could strip his own shirt off of him, making a low rumbling noise when he took in Eskel’s own chest, as scarred as his and pelted with thick hair. Jöel threw the shirt into the growing pile of clothing and stepped in close enough their chests were touching, one strong arm going around Eskel’s waist. 

‘You’re fucking magnificent.’ he purred. ‘Aiden really didn’t do you justice.’ 

Eskel smirked. Up close like this, he could smell Jöel’s musky scent and he leaned in to run his nose along the other witcher’s stubbled cheek. Jöel took that as permission and reached up to catch Eskel at the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair to pull him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. Eskel growled and opened his mouth, giving as good as he was getting. Jöel kissed hard and fast, his tongue drawing Eskel’s in and then pushing back. He could feel Jöel’s hard cock against his thigh and wanted to purr as well at its proportions. The Cat was certainly big enough to satisfy him. 

‘As nice as this is to watch, I’m going to get bored if you ignore me.’ Kiyan said and they broke apart to see her reclining on the bed, easily big enough to accommodate the three of them. She was naked, her skin marked by the sun to leave delectable stretches of creamy white. Her body was a map of hunts long past and she was stocky in the way dwarves were with clearly defined muscles. There was a thatch of reddish curls between her legs and she grinned when Eskel’s eyes dropped, spreading her legs to reveal the glistening folds between them. 

‘Fuck.’ Jöel snarled and then he was kicking off his boots and pants in his rush to get to her. Kiyan watched him, laughing as she ran her hands over her lush breasts to toy with her nipples, they were surprisingly pink and pert and Eskel’s mouth started to water. He wanted to ut it all over her and he stripped off  the rest of his clothing as well, preening at the way both Cats ran their eyes over him. 

‘I want him first.’ Kiyan said, reaching down between her legs to wet her fingers. She dragged them over her mouth and licked off the wetness with a flick of her tongue, the scent of her permeating the space between them. Eskel had never fucked a female witcher but he knew she’d give him one hell of a ride. 

‘Whatever you want, kitty cat.’ he said and moved to climb onto the bed, crawling up next to her. Kiyan reached for him, her hand in his hair like Jöel’s had been and he took her mouth, tatsung her on her lips. Kiyan kissed with little grace but a lot of passion and Eskel trailed his fingers up the inside of her splayed thigh and found her clit, toying with it and enjoying the way she gasped into his open mouth. He felt the bed dip and then Jöel was on her other side. His fingers joined Eskel’s, easing inside Kiyan and making her shudder. She was very wet now, their fingers sliding through the slickness easily. They switched places and Eskel smiled at how easily his own sank right into the knuckle. He started a slow rhythm, pulling back to see how blown Kiyan’s pupils were. 

‘Isn’t she amazing.’ Jöel purred. He pinched Kiyan’s clit gently and she made a soft yowling noise, arching back into the bed. ‘Her cunt is always so wet.’

‘She is.’ Eskel took the opportunity to see what else he would be dealing with and pleased with what he saw. Jöel’s cock was thick and leaking steadily and he caught the Cat’s eye and smirked. ‘But you’re not too shabby either.’ 

Jöel bared his teeth at him and they came back together, kissing over Kiyan while they made her squirm on their fingers. She mewled impatiently and Eskel pulled back to kiss her again, quicking the pace he was fucking her on his fingers. 

‘She’ll take it in the ass too.’ Jöel panted, his voice rough. ‘She likes that.’ 

Eskel bit down on Kiyan’s lower lip, pulling back before he met her eyes. 

‘Yeah?’ He smiled. ‘You want me to fuck you in the ass, kitty cat?’

‘I want it all.’ Kiyan caught him behind the neck, licking at his mouth. ‘I want that big cock of yours in my cunt and my ass and my mouth.’ 

Eskel snarled and dove back in, kissing her and curving his fingers up. Kiyan whined and pushed into his hand and he felt Jole duck down enough that he could suck her clit while Eskel kept up the punishing pace. Kiyan started to shake, her cunt pulsing around his fingers. 

‘That’s it.’ Eskel breathed in her ear. ‘Come on my fingers, pretty thing. Then I’ll fuck you good and hard.’

He waited for her to hit the crest, shaving his tongue back into her mouth as she came. She moaned and writhed on his hand, shoving her cunt into Jöel’s mouth. They let her ride it out and then pulled back. Eskel was hard enough to cut gems and he thrust up against her side, enjoying the friction. He looked at Jöel, who was in the same state, and grinned. 

‘How do you want to do this?’ he asked and Jöel smirked. 

‘I want to watch you fuck her.’ he said, crawling up the bed so his cock was level with Kiyan’s slack mouth. Eskel nodded and rolled on top of her, getting her under the thighs as he rose to his knees. Her cunt was shiny and her pubic hair matted with slick and he had no trouble guiding himself into her, letting just the head of his cock kiss her cunt a few times to tease. She growled at him before Jöel took her by the head and dragged her mouth first onto his cock. Kiyan took it easily, moaning as he started to fuck her mouth and Eskel tilted her hips up and slammed home in one brutal thrust. 

It felt so good, the way her cunt rippled around him. She was hot, more than a human whore would be, and so wet that it coated his cock as well as the slick Eskel used with Geralt. He held her thighs wide, hips pistoning in time with Jöel’s and watching how she bucked between them. He rested one leg against his shoulder and reached down to flick her swollen clit, catching it between his fingertips and working it until she was whining steadily. 

‘That’s it.’ Jöel hissed. ‘Fucking take it.’ He slowed, going deeper on each thrust. Kiyan looked up at him, her eyes almost all black and full of adoration. Eskel slowed as well, watching his cock slide in and out of her. He was nowhere close enough to come just yet but he wanted to make her come again before they switched things up so he reached for her hand and drew it down to between her legs. Kiyan caught on quickly, rubbing her clit in lazy circles so he could grab her by the ankles and hoist her legs into the air to drive powerfully between them. This way he could work out just the right angle and her stifled groan told him he’d hit it. Kiyan’s hand sped up and she spasmed hard enough to nearly throw Eskel off. He tightened his grip on her, watching the way she started sucking frantically. Jöel held her head and let her, his face contorted in pleasure before he pulled out and unloaded on her face. Kiyan snarled and followed him over the edge, her cunted contracting around Eskel’s cock. He threw his head back and let himself fall, spilling inside her. It had been a week since he’d fucked Geralt and this load was enough to leak out around his cock, turning frothy with his thrusts as he brought himself down. 

He stopped, turning his head to kiss her ankle and then eased out, watching his come ooze out of her cunt. If it had been Geralt, he would have licked it up and started all over again, his cock still hard and the heat inside him already building back up. As it happened, he was too slow. Jöel moved down to lap between Kiyan’s legs, cleaning her cunt up with a gentle tongue.

‘Your come tastes good.’ he purred up at Eskel. ‘My turn on your cock next.’ 

Eskel grinned and sank his fingers into Jöel’s thick curls, guiding him back to Kiyan's cunt. 

‘Whatever you want, kitty cat,.’ he replied. 

If Lambert had thought the days would get easier as the kittens were worn out, he was wrong. He was also falling into a dangerously complacent set of mind, which was proven when he woke up that morning to a suspiciously empty bed. 

Kiyan and Jöel had proclaimed it too hot to sleep indoors the previous evening and gone out to hang a pair of hammocks from the rafters of the porch. Schrödinger had disappeared into the woods and the Vipers had set up the bedrolls around the dying fire, managing to find a comfortable spot on the grass. That had left him, Aiden and the kittens to share the bed. There had been veritable acres of space and Lambert had had a surprisingly good night’s sleep. Now he blinked bleary eyes and peered at the empty space and then back at Aiden, who was on his back and snoring loudly. 

It was the giggles that tipped him off. 

Lambert froze as something slithered around his ankles. He elbowed Aiden as the muffled giggling intensified. 

‘Aiden.’ It was hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Wake the fuck up.’ 

‘Mrrrp?’ Aiden cracked open one eye. ‘Whazzat?’

‘There’s something in the bed.’ Lambert hissed again and this time whatever it was did a full turn around his ankles. 

‘Really?’ Aiden frowned and then flopped back onto the pillow. ‘Ignore it. It’ll fuck off eventually.’ 

Lambert glared at him, but Aiden was clearly not interested. He inhaled sharply as the slithery thing started making its way up his leg and then shrieked when it got to his braies. He was fucked if he was letting some unseen creepy crawly slither its way into his undergarments and he threw back the sheets and kicked out violently and the poor unsuspecting snake that had been simply exploring it’s hairy surroundings flew through the air and landed on the floor where it coiled into a heap and hissed back as malevolently as a serpent could. 

Now, here was the thing. Lambert hated snakes. He could handle any number of weird beasties but snakes had always given him the shivers and he backed up on the bed and yelled and hurled the pillows at it one after the other while Aiden, who had been rudely jolted out of his snooze by all the excitement, flailed wildly and fell off the other side to land with an audible thump. 

‘You! I’m going to strangle each and every one of you!’ Lambert bellowed at the gleefully gawping kittens and they scattered, scampering out the cabin with shrieks of laughter. 

Lambert flopped back on the bed as the snake followed suit and then rolled to the side to glare at Aiden, who was now curled up giggling every bit as loudly as the kittens had been. 

‘I’m sorry, Puppy.’ he wheezed between peals of laughter. ‘But your face.’ 

‘Ha fucking ha.’ Lambert grumbled, getting off the bed and managing to give his Cat a good kick as he went past. 

-

‘You know it’s a compliment.’ Kiyan told him later, as they rode deeper into the valley than they had the previous day. ‘They wouldn’t tease you if they didn’t like you.’

‘In that case, I’d hate to think what they would do to me.’ Lambert muttered. He and Kiyan were riding at the head because he was still ignoring Aiden, who hadn’t managed to stop chortling all the way through breakfast. 

‘They’d ignore you completely.’ Kiyan replied. ‘We really don’t bother with people we don’t like. We’re very particular about who we feel comfortable playing with. Besides, a snake in the bedroll is nothing compared to some of the shit Jöel and Magda and I got up to when we were kittens. Once we put a whole bunch of dead rats in Brehan’s bedroll and then pissed all over it.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a prank.’ Lambert pointed out. 

‘No, you’re right.’ Kiyan tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. ‘We did that because he was an insufferable fuck.’ 

‘Well it wasn’t appreciated, regardless.’ Lambert muttered, even as a slight curl of something suspiciously like guilt over the way he’d torn a strip off the kittens after coming out of the cabin started to form in his stomach. 

‘No, and you were right to tell them off.’ Kiyan grinned. ‘They should have checked about the snake thing first. We have a rule that we don’t use what you are truly afraid of against you and they were sloppy in their preparation.’ 

Lambert glanced back over his shoulder and then sighed at the abundance of huge round eyes he got. The kittens could melt the heart of a Bear with those ridiculously sad eyes. 

‘It’s okay.’ he relented. ‘I guess they meant no harm.’ 

Kiyan threw back her head and roared with laughter. 

‘Oh, you are a sucker if you think that.’ she cackled. ‘They’re a bunch of malicious little shits and we wouldn’t have them any other way.’ 

-

‘Does he hate us?’ Axel pleaded, his lower lip wobbling. He was pressed to Jöel’s back and his litter father purred in reassurance, ever the soft touch.  

‘No.’ Aiden said. Gaetan was behind him and sulking like mad after Lambert had yelled at all of them. ‘You just caught him off guard and he really doesn’t like snakes that much. Remember, he’s not a Cat. You can’t always tease him the same way you do me.’

‘But he’s almost one of us.’ Dragonfly protested, her blue eyes huge and shiny. ‘I mean, he loves you so that means he must at least like us, right?’ She was riding behind Auckes, who was chuckling quietly to himself at the drama.  

‘Oh kitten.’ Aiden smiled at her. ‘He’s a Wolf. He doesn’t do emotions the same way we do. Trust me, the fact that he’s here and helping me take care of you means he likes you just fine.’ 

That seemed to appease the kittens a bit but when Lambert turned around to look back at them, it didn’t stop them from giving him their most pathetic faces. As someone who had a lifetime of experience making pathetic faces to get his own way, Aiden was impressed by their commitment. 

‘All right, give over.’ he told them. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

As quick as anything, the huge eyes went back to normal and the wobbling lips were replaced by smiles. 

Aiden rolled his eyes at them and grinned. He had a plan to get Lambert back into a good mood anyway and it was a good one too. 

-

The sun was high in the sky by the time they got to their destination. The lake was massive, stretching from one side of the valley to the other, and with clear blue water that looked very inviting. Lambert, however, was on his guard. He’d noticed that the adult Cats were all geared up, wearing their light leather armour and all their weapons. The kittens each had their own sword but these were old and battle worn, obviously used by countless generations of kittens in training. He’d also noticed that the adult Cats had brought along various potions and his nose twitched in anticipation. 

This was not some jolly to have a fun little swim, this was clearly a hunt. 

He gave Letho a questioning look. Letho had ridden up to the front, leaving his hatchlings to talk with the kittens. Auckes and Serrit were both quiet and reserved in the way that Vipers seemed to have, their bright yellow eyes watchful. Now they seemed ready to vibrate out of their skins as they dismounted and Lambert noticed that the kittens were much the same. It reminded him of training with his cohort, the last they Kaer Morhen ever saw Grassed, and he decided to ask. 

‘What exactly are they doing?’ He directed it to Kiyan. As clowder queen she was responsible for the kittens’ training and she grinned and nodded at the rocky islands that stuck out the lake roughly in the middle. 

‘There are caverns underneath.’ she explained. ‘And there’s a…’

‘Selkimore.’ Lambert finished, his eyes widening. Now the conversation from before all made sense. ‘I realise that you are all probably going to laugh at me, but are you insane?’ 

‘It’ll be fine, Lamb.’ Aiden said from where he was checking over his gear. ‘We all did the same when we were their age. It’s been like this since forever and we’ve never lost a kitten.’

‘How?’ Lambert was aghast. Selkiemores were no picnic and he’d nearly been killed the first time he’d tangled with one. 

‘He’s very old.’ Jöel said. ‘And he knows us.’ He nodded at Letho. ‘The Vipers have been coming here with us for a few years now and you know Letho would rather chew off his own foot than let his hatchlings be put in deliberate danger on our part.’ 

‘It’s true.’ Letho rumbled quietly when Lambert looked at him. ‘They’ll be fine. I had my doubts but those two love it.’ He nodded at the hatchlings, both of whom looked up from where they were sporting out a selection of potions and grinned. 

‘Kittens! Line up!’ Schrödinger was standing at the edge of the water, beckoning them in with his hands. They clustered around him, faces eager and bouncing on their toes. He started going over their armour and gear, tightening a buckle here and there and checking if they could draw their swords easily.  Seemingly happy with their turn out, he stepped back so that Letho and hatchlings could distribute the potions they had brought with them. Lambert recognised the pillar shaped bottle of Killer Whale and watched the kittens tuck them into their belts. They were then handed clear bottles filled with pink potion that looked a lot like the camomile brew Lambert had cooked up and he inhaled sharply. 

‘Tawny Owl?’ He turned to Aiden. ‘That’s pretty harsh for an adept.’ 

‘They’re Grassed.’ Aiden said and now his eyes were stern. ‘We don’t baby them, Lamb. A witcher that can’t cope with potion toxicity is a dead witcher. Are you trying to tell me that Vesemir didn’t do this too?’ 

Lambert shut his mouth. He had been through worse at the Wolf School and Aiden probably could tell that from the way he’d spoken about his own training. His own introduction to Potions had been awful, the way that Rennes had them brewed taking little account of aftereffects or taste. It was one of the easons Lambert worked so hard to make his potions better. He’d had enough of puking his guts out when he was young. 

‘He’s worried about us?’ It was Gaetan. He was grinning and Lambert put his grumpy face back on and snorted, not seeing the way Aiden was nodding with a smug look on his own face bhind his back. 

‘No.’ He folded his arms. ‘Just surprised that you can handle something this strong.’ 

The kittens sniggered as one.  

‘We’ve been taking potions since before we were Grassed.’ Dragonfly declared. ‘Like them.’ She nodded at the Vipers. 

‘Half strength, of course.’ Kiyan said, coming to tug on Dragonfly’s braids affectionately. ‘It’s a hazard having adepts that can’t stay away from snakes that we have to account for.’ 

‘Okay, enough chitchat.’ Jöel was peering out over the lake, one hand shading his eyes. ‘So, just to go over the rules again. First one down and back with something of value wins. Value is to be determined by the queen. The queen’s decision is final. No trying to drown each other and if you get accidentally swallowed, cut your way out.’

Lambert caught Aiden’s eye. He chuckled. 

‘Jöel is also not the sharpest sword in the armoury.’ he explained. ‘But like Geralt, he is pretty enough to make up for it.’ 

-

Ten minutes later, Lambert was watching with what could only be described as a look of pure horror on his face. He turned to the spectating Cats and Letho and waved his arms frantically at where the kittens and the hatchlings were treading water around what had turned out to be the largest selkiemore Lambert had ever seen. 

‘What in the actual fuck?’ he yelled. ‘It’ll eat them all like they’re those stupid little snacks you get royal banquets!’ 

‘Relax.’ Aiden had both hands held up. He looked far too at ease for a man whose own kitten was currently paddling and waving his training sword around and making an ungodly noise as he tried to evade the massive tail flailing around him and setting off waves that had all the young witchers squealing as they bobbed up and down like corks in a harbour. 

‘Relax?’ Lambert bellowed. ‘Relax? Have you all lost your minds?’ He stopped and regrouped. ‘I mean, more than fucking usual?’

He heard a scream and wheeled around to see that the selkiemore had curled its tail around one of Kylar’s ankles and was waving him sound in the air. Lambert bit back a desperate noise, waiting for the beast to drop the young Cat into the yawning teeth lined maw that had opened beneath it, the sickening crunch as Kylar was eaten alive and turned into so much selkiemore shit. He closed his eyes, not wanting to witness what would be a terrible death. 

Another scream, this one of clear delight, was not what he expected. 

Lambert’s eyes flew open. He saw the selkiemore whip its tail around and then Kylar was soaring through the air, his laughter ringing out like bells in a town square as he ended up splashing into the water closer to shore. He came up drenched and grinning and started swimming back towards the creature and his litter companions. 

Lambert was lost for words and that did not happen very fucking often. He stood and stared as the selkiemore did it again and again, hurling the kittens away so they had to swim back and now the reason for the Tawny Owl was apparent. He felt Aiden come up next to him, chuckling softly as he wrapped an arm around Lambert’s shoulders. 

‘Do you see now?’ he asked and Lambert nodded, still dumbstruck. ‘It’s a game for it as well. He’s been here who knows how long and we think it gets a little bit lonely.’

‘So what exactly is happening here?’ Lambert asked, still watching. 

‘There used to be a castle on that island.’ Aiden explained. ‘The ruler was a man who had a lust for treasure and he kept it all in deep caves underneath the castle. One day the place was sacked, the people were slaughtered and the treasure was lost. We think the selkimore moved in and broke through to the caves and now they’re flooded. The kittens will have to get past the selkiemore to get into the caves and find something to bring back.’ He smiled and held up one slim brown hand, the brilliant emerald in the chunky gold signet ring he wore glittering in the sun. ‘That’s where I got this from when I was just Grassed.’ 

‘Oh.’ Lambert let out a deep breath. He saw how the other adult witchers were now settling in on the soft sand, chattering and making bets between them. ‘I think I’d like to sit down now, in that case.’ 

Aiden laughed and kissed him. 

‘Come on then,’ he said and led him to the others. ‘I’ll tell you who to bet on.’ 

-

In the end, it was Kylar who paddled back to shore first. He had a pear shaped ruby hanging from his left ear and a smug smile on his face. Schrödinger cowed and yowled happily and hoisted him into the air. 

The rest of the adepts came in one after the other, the twins last. It made no difference that they were last as Jöel subjected them to the same treatment. Each adept had something shiny to show for their troubles and apart from a series of scratches from the undoubtedly sharp rocks, they were completely unharmed if completely exhausted. They all collapsed giggling onto the sand and Lambert watched the black drain from their eyes as the adults fussed over them and fed them water and dried fruit to get their energy back. 

Lambert flinched when he found himself with a damp kitten on each side of him, wriggling under his arms and pressing into his sides. He glanced down to see how Gaetan and Dragonfly were eyeing him speculatively. 

‘We heard you, you know.’ Dragonfly’s blue eyes were sparkling. 

‘I don’t know what you;re talking about.’ Lambert muttered, trying to bluff his way out of what she was insinuating. 

‘Lies.’ Gaetan was as smug as anything. ‘We know you like us. You were worried we’d get eaten.’ 

‘That’s stupid.’ Cedric snorted from where he was draped over Kiyan’s lap, her fingers twisting in his tight black curls. ‘Selkimores only each plankton.’ 

‘Ugh.’ Lambert couldn’t take the kitten eyes anymore. ‘Fine, I may have been a tiny bi apprehensive.’ 

That was clearly the right thing to say because both kittens started purring furiously and wriggled up to rub their faces on him while he tried to pry them off. Eventually he gave in and let them scent mark him all they wanted. He saw Aiden watching them, his yellow eyes glowing with happiness. 

‘Guess you’re stuck with us now.’ he laughed. ‘Sorry, Puppy.’ 

Yennefer finds a seat at the bar, squeezing in between a canoodling couple and a rowdy group of U Novigrad students. Neither of the bartenders seem to notice her, so she takes a glance around. Ideally, she’d like to have a couple of drinks and find someone to spend a pleasant hour or two with. Either Geralt or Renfri would have been happy to help her take her mind off things tonight, but she’s in the mood for something quick and anonymous.

The club is packed with interesting options. There’s a bachelorette party at the other end of the bar and the woman in the “Maid of Honor” sash reminds her a little bit of Renfri, if Renfri grew her hair long and lost the murderous glint in her eye. The canoodling couple next to her look like they could be fun if they’re looking for company. There’s a broad-shouldered redheaded man a couple of stools down that catches her eye and smiles crookedly.

She’s distracted from her perusal by a loud conversation from behind the bar.

“I can’t be expected to work under these conditions, Essi,” the first bartender, a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties, grouses. He’s wearing a violently orange flowered shirt, which is unbuttoned to his navel, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.

“It’s not that bad.” Essi, a curvy little blonde, rolls her eyes as she pours a line of shots for the U Novigrad students.

“Valdo is butchering a modern classic.”

“It’s ‘Call Me Maybe.’”

“A classic! This is personally offensive to me, as it should be to anyone with functioning ear drums.”

“Is unemployment personally offensive to you? Because that’s what’s going to happen if Dave sees you complaining about the entertainment and not serving drinks.”

The bartender sniffs disdainfully and turns towards Yennefer. “Apologies for the delay. What can I…” He trails off when he claps eyes on her, bright blue eyes going wide. For a moment, Yennefer worries that her cover has been blown and he’s recognized her as the Raven. Then a flirtatious smile crosses his face and he leans against the counter. “Let me guess. You look like a bay breeze type of girl.”

Yennefer blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

"Ah." He grimaces, though his eyes glitter with amusement. The name tag pinned to his chest reads, Jaskier. "Miss the mark?"

"If you were playing darts, the dart would be lodged in your own foot,” she says dryly.

"I suppose you're a woman of mystery."

"I'm a woman who refuses to ingest anything with the word 'breeze' in the name."

Jaskier smiles, wide and unabashed. "My friend, Essi, can always guess what people are going to order." He nods to Essi, who is now making a margarita with astonishing efficiency. "Impresses the hell out of people."

Yennefer arches an eyebrow. "So you're trying to emulate her?"

"With mixed results," he says.

"How mixed are we talking?"

"There's a reason I've never played the lottery." He tilts his head to the side with a self-deprecating twitch of his lips. "So, what would you like to drink, Oh Mysterious Lady?"

Yennefer would like wine, but something tells her she'd be better off ordering a shot of straight vinegar. "Whiskey. No ice."

Jaskier’s eyes flicker over her again, appraising. "Something tells me you don't want the cheap stuff?"

"Look at you," Yennefer says. "Maybe you should play the lottery."

He curtsies and goes to fetch a bottle of whiskey from the wall, pouring her a generous double. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“You haven’t. I’m not much for clubbing.” The last time she was in a nightclub, she killed every single one of Novigrad’s mob bosses in the VIP section of Wiley’s club before taking over their organizations, but she doesn’t think Jaskier needs to know that.

“Celebrating something special?” Jaskier’ glances over her shoulder, as if checking to see if she has company.

“Just needed to get out.” She lifts one shoulder into a shrug.

“Well, whiskey is an excellent cure for whatever ails you.” He slides her the glass. “First drinks for new customers are always on the house.”

“Are they now?” Yennefer looks at him from over the brim of her glass.

He has dimples when he smiles, she notices. “It’s my own personal policy.”

“Well, then.” Yennefer toasts him with the glass and takes a sip. She wouldn’t normally hit on waitstaff—it makes her think of the pretty young waitresses grimacing as they dodged Wiley Sr.’s groping hands before she blew his head off. After all, they have to be charming for tips. But a quick glance into his mind shows nothing but interest.

“Can I get a drink over here?” a man calls and Jaskier sighs dramatically.

“Duty calls,” he says and hurries away to do his job. Yennefer eyes his ass appraisingly as he saunters towards the other end of the bar. It’s cute. A little bony, but not everyone can have Geralt’s sculpted glory. His shoulders more than make up for it.

She sips her whiskey idly as she watches Jaskier hurry around, preparing drinks in the most chaotic manner she’s ever seen. He nearly drops a pitcher full of pina coladas, hands a glass of wine to a bemused man who ordered a gin and tonic, and seems to forget about the whiskey sour he’s making halfway through to complain more to Essi about Valdo’s performance. By the time he returns to Yennefer’s little corner of the bar, she’s nearly done with her whiskey.

“Want to know a secret?” he asks with what he probably thinks is a rakish grin. “I’m not a very good bartender.”

“I think everyone at this bar knows that,” she tells him.

His laugh is rich and warm. She likes it. “I’m an even worse barista Monday through Thursday mornings. I just can’t get the hang of the latte art.”

“Actor or musician?” At his puzzled look, Yennefer elaborates. “Every bartender and barista with a pretty face in Novigrad came here to be an actor or musician.”

“You think I have a pretty face?” Jaskier bats his eyelashes.

“You sure think you do.”

He grins wickedly. “Musician. I studied music theory at Oxenfurt. As I’m sure you can imagine, the job offers were throwing themselves at my feet as soon as I got my diploma. Essi was in my class. So was Valdo.” He casts a dark look at the stage.

“Not a fan?” Yennefer asks.

“He once accused me of pandering to the masses. Like playing a ukelele, growing a goatee, and playing sad deconstructed covers of pop songs makes him an artiste.” Jaskier sniffs. “Anyway, enough about me. What do you do?”

For an instant, Yennefer considers saying “mob boss” just to see the look on his face. “I'm a freelancer.”

She’s spared from having to give details by someone waving at Jaskier to close their tab. When he returns, it’s with another whiskey.

“Is there a point to celebrating the end of summer?” Yennefer asks him.

Jaskier shrugs. "Do we need a reason to charge people an arm and a leg for watered down frozen drinks?"

She arches an eyebrow at him. "I don't think you're supposed to tell me that they're watered down."

"What can I say?" He puts a hand over his heart, adopting an angelic expression. "You make me want to be an honest man."

Yennefer nearly snorts whiskey up her nose. Jaskier hands her a napkin, looking very smug as she dabs at her upper lip.

"Is the comedy routine part of the welcome package for new customers?" she asks.

"But of course. We offer only the best at The Chameleon."

"I suppose you don't get many repeat customers?"

Jaskier throws his head back to laugh, a little more dramatically than the joke called for. "You're a little mean."

Yennefer swirls her whiskey around in her glass. "Something tells me you like that."

That earns her a crooked grin. "You're not wrong."

"I'm usually not," Yennefer says.

He leans his elbows against the bar. "The club closes at ome. I need to help clean up, but I'll probably get out of here around 1:30."

"Oh?" Yennefer tilts her head to the side.

"You just seemed like you might be interested in that information."

"Did I?"

"You're even worse at playing coy than I am at playing bartender."

Yennefer's lips twitch. She likes it when people aren't scared to call her out on her shit. "I suppose I could wait around for a while."

Jaskier's answering smile is as warm and bright as his ridiculous shirt. Yennefer gets the sudden and horrible inkling that this might be someone she'll like, someone who will linger in her mind for longer than this single night of blowing off steam.

She should probably walk away then. She doesn't.

***

Yennefer sits at the bar for the last hour of the night. Two men and one woman offer to buy her drinks. She turns all three of them down and curses one of the men with a rash in a very unfortunate place when he's pushy about it. Jaskier seems to be attempting to actually do his job, because he only stops by to offer her another whiskey and bring her a glass of apple juice when she orders that instead. He doesn't charge her for any of her drinks, she notices. 

When it's time for the club to close, she retreats to a discreet table in the corner, where she watches him and Essi clean up behind the bar. When she gets impatient, she magics away several particularly messy spills without either of them noticing.

Finally, Essi waves Jaskier away, telling him that he’s making more of a mess than cleaning up. 

“You’re distracted,” Yennefer hears her say. “At this rate, you’re going to mix cleaning agents and kill us all.”

“That was only one time!”

“Go away, Jask.”

“Give my love to Shani!” Jaskier waves at her like a celebrity greeting a crowd of admirers and makes his way towards Yennefer, a swing in his hips and a smile on his face that looks a little nervous.

“There’s a fantastic Nilfgaardian place around the corner that’s open until two,” he tells her as she rises to fall into step next to them. “Their shawarma is out of this world. Or if you’re not hungry, my place is about a twenty minute walk away. Unless you want to call a cab? Or is your place—”

Yennefer hooks her thumb into his belt loop and yanks him into the bathroom at the top of the stairs. It’s a tiny bathroom, with only two stalls and a sink, and looks as clean as any public bathroom can look at the end of the day. One of the fluorescent lights is flickering. It would drive Geralt crazy, but Yennefer hardly notices.

“How long do you think we have until someone notices we’re in here?” she asks.

Jaskier’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Twenty minutes or so.”

“Then we should make the most of those twenty minutes,” she says and kisses him. He tastes syrupy sweet, like he was indulging in some of the colorful drinks that flowed so freely tonight. His kisses are eager and a little clumsy, but endearingly so. She can feel the curve of his smile against her lips as his hands settle on her waist.

“You know,” Jaskier breathes when he pulls away. “When you came up to the bar, this isn’t where I thought we’d end up.”

“Where did you think we’d end up?” Yennefer asks.

“I thought that I’d hit on you badly and then you’d tell me to fuck off.”

“You did hit on me badly. I can still tell you to fuck off if you want.”

“My flirting couldn’t have been that bad, since it worked.” He gestures between them.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Yennefer’s black sleeveless dress zips up the front. With a single tug, she unzips it and tosses it aside, leaving herself in only a pair of black lace underwear and high heels. 

When she turns back to Jaskier, he’s staring at her breasts, looking utterly gobsmacked. It’s rather adorable, so Yennefer kisses him again. His hands slide up her ribcage and around to settle on her back. They’re soft, with callused fingertips. She lets her own hands wander over his hairy chest and stomach, scratching her fingers through the coarse hair. She runs her thumb over the flat of his nipple and he shivers in response.

“What do you want?” Jaskier murmurs against her lips.

Yennefer sees no point in beating around the bush. “I want you to fuck me.”

“It would be my honor.” Jaskier lifts her up with a surprising show of strength and perches her on the sink. His eyes flicker to her breasts. “Can I…”

“No,” Yennefer deadpans. “I took off my dress just for shits and giggles.”

He snorts. “How did I know you were going to give me a hard time?”

“With those kinds of observational skills, you think you’d be a better bartender.”

Jaskier bends so that she can feel his huff of laughter on the sensitive skin of her tits. He nuzzles at the swell of her breasts, breath hot and needy, before sucking one nipple into his mouth. Yennefer gasps and arches into the touch. Encouraged, he swirls his tongue around the nipple, his touch feather-light and teasing. One hand slides up her thigh, fingers teasing at edge of her lace underwear. Yennefer yanks her underwear down, tossing them aside without looking where they’re going, and widens her legs invitingly.

Jaskier wastes no time; he slips a hand between her legs. One finger teases her clit with the same feather-light touch that his tongue is torturing her nipple with. Yennefer jerks her hips, demanding more.

She can feel the curve of Jaskier’s smile against her tit. “Demanding,” he says through his mouthful.

“And you’re a tease,” she tells him.

His eyes flick upwards, dancing with mirth, and Yennefer feels a smile tugging at her own lips. He’s cuter than anyone in that atrocious shirt has any right to be. “Sorry,” he says and begins stroking her clit in earnest.

His fingers are long, strong, and deft as they stroke her. His hand that isn’t occupied settles on the small of her back, massaging little circles into her skin. She almost tells him that she’s not a horse that needs to be gentled, but she’s having a hard time concentrating on anything but the flick of his tongue across her nipple and the finger stroking her clit. She’s already embarrassingly wet; she can hear the slick noises his fingers make against her skin. When he slips two fingers inside her, she can’t stifle a little gasp.

Jaskier begins to stroke harder, driving his fingers into her as she rolls her hips encouragingly. She wraps her legs around his legs and leans back, trusting in the hand on her back to stop her from crashing into the mirror. The pleasure is already building inside her and she can feel her thighs shaking and her breath coming out in short, erratic gasps. It only takes a few more caresses before she’s coming with a cry, burying her hands in his soft hair as he strokes her through the waves of pleasure.

Jaskier raises his head from her chest, his mouth red and slick and eyes bright. “Fuck,” he says with feeling. The front of his pants is tented with his impressive erection.

Yennefer exhales a shaky little laugh and reaches for his belt.

“Hold on.” Jaskier pulls away to hurry to the condom dispenser by the door. Yennefer almost protests that they don’t need one—she can’t give or get any diseases from him, nor can he get her pregnant—then remembers that she’s not here tonight as Yennefer of Vengerberg, the Raven of Novigrad. She’s just a woman who met a cute bartender and is about to fuck his brains out.

She waits with barely concealed impatience as Jaskier fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket, pulling out a half crown to feed to the dispenser. When it doesn’t give him his prize, he swears softly and smacks the side. Yennefer flicks a discreet finger and six condoms in brightly colored foil come shooting out like confetti out of a cannon. Jaskier catches one and turns to her with a sheepish grin.

“It’s temperamental,” he tells her.

“Use it often?”

“Once in a while.” He rejoins her at the sink. “Never with anyone as pretty as you before.”

Yennefer snorts loudly. “Do you tell every girl that?”

“All the time,” he admits cheerfully and kisses her again.

Yennefer slides from her perch on the sink to undo his belt and unzip the front of his jeans, pushing his jeans and boxers down around his thighs to free his cock from their confines. When she glances down, she finds a pretty cock with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. It’s almost as long as Geralt’s, though not quite as girthy, nestled in a bed of neatly trimmed dark hair. She smears the bead of pre-cum with her thumb and is rewarded when Jaskier sucks in a harsh gasp of breath.

Yennefer pushes Jaskier back against the bathroom sink. He’s a good six inches taller and a good deal heavier than her, but he lets her manhandle him easily. The mirror offers her a nice view of his ass, which is as bony as she expected it to be, but has a certain charm. He has two freckles on his left cheek. She traces a finger between them and he shivers.

“What’s your name?” he asks quietly.

“A little late to ask that, don’t you think?” She watches in the mirror as her bright red nails rake over the pale globe of his ass. When she gets near the crack, he shivers again, his cock twitching against her. Now, that’s intriguing. Something to explore next time.

There won’t be a next time, she tells herself firmly.

“Maybe,” Jaskier says. “I’d still like to know.”

Yennefer opens her mouth, then hesitates. The name Yennefer of Vengerberg is too easily recognizable in Novigrad. Even Yennefer might raise an eyebrow. It’s not exactly a common name in this century. “Yenn,” she says after a moment. “My name is Yenn.”

If Jaskier realizes she’s lying, he says nothing. “Nice to meet you, Yenn.”

“Nice to meet you too.” She takes the condom from his hand and tears the wrapper open. “Are we going to do this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grins cheekily.

Yennefer takes her time sliding the condom on, partially because she hasn’t had many occasions to put condoms on people before and partially because the way Jaskier’s hips twitch and the impatient little noises he makes are fun. When it’s on, Yennefer uses his shoulders to leverage herself up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. Jaskier leans back against the sink so he can fully take her weight, sliding his hands over her hips to support her.

Yennefer kisses him again, because it seems like the thing to do, and sinks down onto his cock without preamble. The punched out noise he makes against her mouth is lovely and Yennefer rolls her hips against him experimentally, getting the feel of him, before she starts to ride him, snapping her hips to drive him deep into her with each thrust. Jaskier buries his face into the crook of her shoulder to muffle his moans and digs his fingers into the meat of her ass.

Yennefer fucks him hard and fast because this is exactly what she needs, the rasp of chest hair against her breast, hands clutching her ass, hot breath on the shell of her ear, a cock filling her up. Jaskier kisses her jaw and neck sloppily, his breathing ragged. On one particularly enthusiastic thrust, his sunglasses—which Yennefer can’t believe were still on his head—go clattering to the ground. He doesn’t even notice.

“Yenn,” he gasps as Yennefer nips at the swell of one of his pecs, leaving a red mark that will probably bruise. She finds that she likes the idea of him having the imprint of her mouth on him in the morning. She bites his other pec, just hard enough to leave a faint imprint of her teeth.

He laughs, sounding breathless. “You don’t need to leave me reminders of our time together. Trust me, I won’t forget you.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.” She scrapes her teeth over the jut of his collarbone.

“No.” His voice goes quiet. “I don’t.”

That isn’t what Yennefer wanted to hear, so she pulls him into another kiss to keep his mouth occupied. He seems to take the hint, kissing her hungrily. When she comes, it’s with his tongue in her mouth, his hands clutching her ass, and his cock buried deep inside her. He kisses her through her orgasm, then snaps his hips harder, chasing his own. Yennefer opens her eyes, glancing into the mirror so she can see the muscles in his ass and thighs working as he thrusts.

When he reaches his pleasure, he moans into the crook of her neck, long and low. They stand there together for a long moment, his cock softening inside her as he shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm. It’s nice to just be held and Yennefer lets herself enjoy it for a minute before she remembers herself.

“I think we might be nearing the end of that twenty minutes,” she says.

Jaskier groans. “I really don’t like this job. I might be okay with losing it. I could sell my body for rent money. I’d be better at that than bartending.”

Yennefer doesn’t dignify that with a response as she slides out of his arms, heels clacking as they hit the floor. Jaskier disposes of the condom, then wets a paper towel and hands it to her. They both clean themselves up, keeping their eyes averted from each other politely.

“Will I see you again?” Jaskier asks as Yennefer retrieves her dress.

Yennefer zips herself up, glancing around for her underwear. They’re lying on the floor and she refuses to wear underwear that have been crumpled on the bathroom floor, so she decides to give them up as lost. Realizing that he’s waiting for her answer, she glances over to meet his eyes. She should tell him no, because he's looking at her with the kind of bright, hopeful expression that will only ever lead to disappointment. But she's always been an inherently selfish creature, so she says, "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"Leaving me in suspense, huh?" But he doesn't look disappointed, just delighted, like he was hoping she wouldn't make things easy on him.

"Or maybe I haven't decided yet." She shrugs.

“Well, when you do decide, I’m here Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights,” Jaskier says, still smiling. Yennefer finds herself wanting to kiss that smile.

Instead, she says, “Goodbye, Jaskier,” and slips out of the bathroom.

***

Two weeks later, when Yennefer strides into The Chameleon, Jaskier is wearing a mesh crop top the same bright blue as his eyes. As soon as he sees her, he spills a strawberry daiquiri all over himself and Yennefer knows that his skin will taste like strawberries later when she takes him apart with the dildo she has tucked in her purse.

“You came back,” he says when she approaches the bar, doing nothing to disguise how pleased he is. She doesn’t think he could disguise it; everything he feels seems to be visible in those eyes.

Yennefer smiles back at him, feeling lighter than she has in years. “I came back.”

***

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Hours later Ciri was hidden on a balcony. The music from the band flew through the air along with the laughter of her new subjects.

“What for d’yearn!”

Ciri scoffed. “Of course.”

“I bet it was Lambet,” Geralt said coming up to her, “offered him a few coins.”

“Watch that butcher burn!” a chorus of voices sang.

“If they do try to burn you we’ll have to do something with them.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps I’ll ban that song.”

“Let the bard have his fun.”

“If you insist.” Ciri turned to look out at the city below. “I’m Queen,” she breathed.

“That you are.”

“I never thought this day would come: when you would deem it safe enough for me to rule.”

Geralt laughed softly. “It’s not, but it never will be.”

Ciri nodded. “I understand that, but let me have tonight.”

“You’re the one hiding.”

A smile slid across her face. “Yeah.”

“Burn, Butcher burn!”

“Oh shut up Jaskier!” Ciri yelled back over her shoulder.

BANG

“What—” Ciri turned towards the sound, body tense.

There were coloured particles in the sky.

“What is that?”

Geralt put his arm around Ciri. “Yennefer called them fireworks.”

“Oh hush,” Dandelion says, gently slapping his wrist. “You can go one evening without correcting people about monsters. Besides darling, it’s art. It isn’t meant to be accurate.” 

“So you always tell me.” 

They watch the display in silence. Dandelion leans his head back against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for this lovely night,” he says. 

“You’re the reason we’re here, you’re the artist. We wouldn’t have been invited otherwise.” 

“I was invited. You didn’t have to come.” 

Geralt’s arms tighten around him. 

“I know being invited to join The Mandragora means something to you, of course I would come.” 

Dandelion caress Geralt’s cheek, tracing the lines of age now lining the witcher’s face. 

“Yes, but I know how much you dislike these kinds of parties.” 

“The wine is good. And you didn’t make me dress up.” 

Geralt is indeed dressed the least fanciful of the attending crowd. A pheasant among peacocks in his plain – if well-made – black shirt and trousers, unlike the colorful outfits around him, like the scarlet Dandelion is wearing. In its own way his understated dress manages to stand out more because of its stark simplicity and the stark contrast to his white hair, that it has drawn more gazes than anyone else’s attire. 

“I like you in black,” Dandelion says, running his hands across Geralt’s chest. “It makes you look... enigmatic.” 

“If you say so.” 

“In any case, I’m glad you are here.” 

More fireworks shower them in blood red. 

Blood. 

Last time they were in Toussaint it nearly ended with both their death, had ended with so many companions’ deaths. 

“What are you thinking? You suddenly look so serious,” Geralt asks. 

“About the last time we were here. About... how it all ended.” 

Geralt grows somber as well. 

“I wish, I wish it could have been different,” he says. 

“So do I. For some of it.” 

Dandelion rests his head against Geralt’s shoulder as Geralt holds him close, closing his eyes. Through his eyelids he sees the lights change from red to purple then over blue and silver to green. 

“I wish I had been braver,” Dandelion says. 

“I’m glad you weren’t. You just would have died with the rest.” 

“Oh, not about that. I know I would have been beyond useless in that fight. I meant about us, about myself and what I really wanted.” 

He sighs softly. 

It had taken him far too many years to accept that Geralt loved him just as he is.  

For Dandelion other people's love for him had always come with terms and conditions, from his parents who couldn't love the son they had but always insisted he be the daughter they thought he was, over his countless partners who always wanted something of him he couldn't give them, demanded he be someone he wasn't. And in all cases he ended up leaving rather than sacrifice who he was. 

Geralt had never asked for such a sacrifice, had never wanted him to be any other than he was and loved him all the same. But that had taken Dandelion years, decades to figure out and then even more time to run away from what he concluded had to be an impossible dream. That he could never give Geralt what he wanted and besides there had been Yennefer at the time. By the time he had sorted himself out and begun to find the courage to say something it had been too late. Far, far too late and all he had thought he'd have was memories and dreams of what could have been. 

The second chance he, they, had been granted when Geralt had returned from the dead had not been without obstacles. Getting from there to here had been an even longer and more painful journey, but here they were. But for all that Dandelion takes joy in what they have he do wish that the getting here had been less arduous. 

“Not sure it would have changed anything,” Geralt answers softly. “I had things of my own to deal with. And even if it had I'm not sure it would have been better. We could just as well have ended up tearing each other apart.” 

“Perhaps you're right.” 

Gerald’s fingers twin into Dandelion’s hair as they rest their foreheads against each other, Dandelion's hands resting at Geralt's waist. Golden lights shimmers down around them. 

“We're here now,” Geralt concludes. “That is all that matters in the end.” 

Dandelion smiles. 

The lines come unbidden to Geralt’s mind and he grimaces. 

Ridiculous superstition.

All the same, he closes his eyes and thinks: Dandelion.

Though it isn’t like he doesn’t already have him, but Geralt desperately wants to keep him. The warmth and vibrance Dandelion has filled his life with is something he doesn’t want to lose.

Shaking his head and sighing to himself he tries to banish the whole silly thing from his mind.

He stays where he is and watches the sky until it is completely black.

“Oh, this is where you’re hiding away,” Dandelion interrupts his quiet musings. “I thought you might have squirreled away with a village beauty in some little love nest.”

“Not tonight.”

“No? Why not. The blonde one certainly seemed willing enough.”

So Dandelion had seen that.

“Not interested.”

He grabs hold of Dandelion’s hand and pulls him close, cupping his ass with his hands.

“Just one person I want,” Geralt says with a grin.  

Between the moonlight and the light coming from the village square, there’s more than enough illumination for both of them to see and Geralt sees quite clearly how Dandelion’s face shutters off as he squirms out of Geralt’s grip, leaving Geralt to feel a cold stab of fear in his chest.

“Let us go back to the festivities,” Dandelion says, a note of false cheer in his voice.

For an instant Geralt almost lets him. Almost. But Dandelion’s recent silence and distance make him move. He seizes hold of Dandelion’s shoulder and spins him back to face him again.

“Dandelion, what’s wrong?”

There is a moment, an eternity, of silence before Dandelion replies.

“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong. I just want to get back to the party.”

It is still there, that false cheerfulness.

Geralt shakes his head.

“There is something,” he insists. “There’s been something for a while. Something you’re not telling me. Talk to me.”

Dandelion shrinks, his shoulders hunching forward and his head lowering, and Geralt can feel how his stomach shrivels up at the sight.

“Are you getting tired?” he asks, the words heavy on his tongue. “Of us?”

‘Of me?’

Has he asked too much of Dandelion? Clung too hard to a man who so values his freedom and autonomy? Or has his own detached way become too much for the passionate poet?

Dandelion starts up straight, thunderstruck.

“What? No!”

Dandelion pulls him close, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair, and holds on tightly. 

Geralt wraps his arms around Dandelion and relishes the nearness and the firm feeling of the poet’s hands in his hair.

“Where did you get such a preposterous idea, darling?” Dandelion asks.

Geralt shrugs. The fear might be illogical, but Dandelion being silent about anything is so out of character for him.

“Then what is it that’s been eating you?” Geralt presses.

Dandelion sighs.

“Do we have to do this tonight?” he asks.

“Why not tonight?”

“Because... this isn’t easy.” Dandelion loosens his grip and looks away, out into the dark. “And you’re not the only one who's afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?” Geralt asks softly.

Dandelion traces a finger over the top of Geralt’s shoulder, not looking directly at him.

“If I... changed myself, my body, would you still love me?” Dandelion asks.

“Changed how?”

Dandelion disentangles himself from Geralt’s embrace.

“You know that magic can make permanent alterations to a body?”

Geralt nods and almost smiles. How could a witcher not know that? But the serious tone in Dandelion’s voice swallows any mirth he might feel.

“That some mages will perform such magic for pay? And that... that I’m not happy with how my body looks on its own?” Dandelion concludes, gesturing to his chest.

Geralt nods again. He knows this too, how much his breasts bother Dandelion, even now that the specially designed vest Geralt made for him presses them flat without pain or too much discomfort.

“I’ve found a mage who would perform such magic and I thought-”

Dandelion’s voice breaks, his words turning to silence as he hugs himself tightly.

“When had you thought to do this?” Geralt asks, putting a hand on the small of Dandelion’s back and rubbing it in soothing circles.

“In the fall, after we part. That will give me the winter to recover.”

There are risks to that kind of magic but as impulsive and impetuous Dandelion can be he has clearly given this a lot of thought and Geralt has no doubt he’s thought them through thoroughly.

“Would you like me to stay with you this winter? So you won’t have to go through it alone?” Geralt offers. “I doubt it’ll be very pleasant.”

Dandelion stares at him, a small gasp escaping his lips, tears forming in his eyes as he looks at Geralt.

Geralt gently cups his face.

“Dandelion, I only want you happy. Nothing that makes you happier could ever make me love you less.”

His breath shaking as tears flow freely from his eyes, Dandelion hugs Geralt tightly.

Geralt gently wraps his arms around Dandelion, caressing his back with one hand.

“Did you mean it? That you would stay with me over winter?” Dandelion asks, his voice muffled against Geralt’s shoulder once his tears subside.

“Yes.”

While he doesn’t want to intrude neither does he want Dandelion to go through this without the option of support and for all that the poet is a social butterfly he has few close friends apart from Geralt himself.

“Let me give it some consideration,” says after a brief silence.

“You want to head back?” Geralt asks.

“Not right now,” Dandelion answers, tugging his head back against Geralt’s neck. “Let’s stay here for a bit.”

Geralt tightens his hold on Dandelion, enjoying the pleased hum from the poet. The air is warm and filled with the sound of singing from the party.

“Why do you tell stories?”

He glanced down. Jaskier’s eyes flitted to Yennefer’s for just a second. “Well.” He bruised himself with putting is quill away, while he tried to come up with an answer. “I am an entertainer.”

Yennefer hummed.

“People love stories. It takes them away from their lives, and into a world of my creation. Who at a tavern is there to think about their problems?  They’d much rather think about something, anything else.” He tilted his head up to consider the stars. “Singing isn’t enough to distract, people need something to focus on. And as Geralt told me on our first meeting, real stories are better than fake ones.”

Yennefer snorted. “Is that why you followed Geralt the first time? You wanted a true story?”

“Don’t laugh at me.” He smiled. “I wrote Toss a Coin with that story.”

“And you’ll never reach those highs again.”

Jaskier picked up some loose dirt and threw it at her.

“Burn Butcher Burn was very well written.”

“Thank you.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments.