"Geralt?"

"Hm."

"What is this?"

"A cat."

The words are matter of fact, and Gerald doesn't even look up from the blade he's sharpening. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, then looks back down at the small, bedraggled bundle that's sitting on the end of the bed.

"I can see that it's a cat," he says slowly, reaching out a tentative hand for the tiny animal to sniff. "What I meant was, why is it here?"

"Should have asked that, then," Geralt replies, turning the whetstone in one hand and inspecting the edge of the blade. The metal catches the light of the fireplace flames, bright orange and yellow bleeding down into a sharp point.

Jaskier sighs. "Geralt?"

"Hm."

"Why do we have a cat?"

Geralt shrugs. "I found it." He sets the sharpened blade down carefully on the silk laid out next to him and picks up his other sword, inspecting its edge before starting to run the whetstone across it.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the cat. It's a kitten, really, barely bigger than his hand, with wide blue eyes and dirty fur that might be white if it was clean. It's damp and shivering, but it stumbles clumsily across the bed toward Jaskier and headbutts his fingers.

Jaskier makes a sound that's definitely not an adoring squeak.

"Where did you find it?" he asks as he runs a finger up its nose and along the top of its head. It starts to rumble with a purr that's much louder than he'd expect for something so small.

"Woods," Geralt replies. "Near the river. There were others, but they didn't survive. It was alone."

Jaskier makes a sad sound, scratching behind the kitten's ear. It clambers up into his lap, sharp claws piercing through the fabric of his breeches, and begins to knead his thigh.

"You take care of things," Geralt adds, voice quieter than before. He runs his fingers along the sharp edge of the blade. "I thought you could…"

"We will," Jaskier says, scooping the kitten up under his arm and pushing himself up off the bed. "We'll take care of it together."

Geralt looks up at him, and the uncertainty in his eyes makes something in Jaskier's chest spark with affection. He's still filthy from his fight – hair nearly brown with dirt, smear of blood across his forehead – but in the glow of the fire, he's gorgeous.

"C'mon," Jaskier says, reaching out his hand. Geralt frowns at it and Jaskier rolls his eyes, gesturing for him to put the sword down. "You both need a bath."

The kitten is the first to get washed. Predictably, it hates the water, and they both end up with more than a few scratches on their arms before it's clean and curled up in a towel, grooming itself indignantly.

"She's a girl," Jaskier says, wincing at the tiny cuts along his fingers.

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "How can you tell?"

"We had barn cats growing up," Jaskier says. There's that tug in his stomach, the wildly uncomfortable sensation of talk veering into personal territory, but he ignores it. Geralt is safe. "We should give her a name."

"Pig," Geralt says.

Jaskier stares at him. "Geralt," he admonishes. "That's a terrible name."

Geralt shrugs. "She likes it," he says. "Right, Pig?" The kitten meows at Geralt – a high-pitched squeak that Jaskier has to admit sounds fairly pleased. Geralt gives Jaskier something that almost resembles a grin. "See?"

"You're both ridiculous," Jaskier huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at Geralt. "And you still need a bath. You smell like something died on you."

"Something did die on me," Geralt says lightly.

By the time the tub is filled, Pig is finished grooming herself and is sitting at the edge of the bed, purring contentedly while Geralt scratches behind her ears. She is white, now that she's clean, with a gray nose and a ridiculously fluffy tail.

"Get in here," Jaskier grumbles, tossing a handful of scented salts into the water and nodding at Geralt. "Before the whole bed smells like monster entrails."

"He's bossy," Geralt says to Pig, and Jaskier's eyes widen when he bops her on the nose before standing and walking over to the tub.

"Who are you," Jaskier says slowly, "and what have you done with Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, the dreaded Witcher?"

Geralt snorts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into a pile next to the tub. Jaskier makes a heroic effort not to stare at the lines of Geralt's back, at his scars, at the way the muscles in his shoulders ripple when he stretches. When Geralt sinks into the water, Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief.

"Your hair is filthy," he says, reaching out to pour water over the dirty locks. Geralt tips his head to look at Jaskier and reaches up, gently touching the inside of his wrist. "Sorry," Jaskier says quickly, heat flushing up his chest into his cheeks. "I didn't—"

"Come here," Geralt says, voice soft as he wraps his fingers around Jaskier's wrist.

"I am—"

"Here," Geralt clarifies, gesturing to the tub. He swallows, looking down at their hands. "Please?"

Jaskier's fairly certain he's never heard Geralt say "please" before. It takes him a second to process the unfamiliarity of the word, and then his eyes widen as he realizes that Geralt is suggesting they bathe together.

"Oh," he says softly.

"You don't have t—"

"Yes." Jaskier shivers at the brush of Geralt's fingertips against the sensitive skin of his wrist, then takes a careful step back and plays with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, I just have to…"

Geralt nods, quickly looking back at the water as Jaskier unlaces his pants and kicks them off, nearly tripping and falling on his face in the process. He looks at Pig, who is curled up with her tail over her nose, then back at Geralt, who has ducked down into the water to wet his hair.

"Fucking hell," Jaskier breathes, wondering if he's dead. It would explain the kitten, and the soft words, and the—

"Get in before it gets cold."

"Yes, yeah, I'm…" Jaskier swallows, shuffling closer to the tub and then quickly stepping in before he can change his mind. It's large enough that he could, theoretically, sit with his back against the opposite end of the tub, but Geralt gently takes his arm and tugs him down so that his back is flush with Geralt's chest.

The heat combined with the sudden racing of his heartbeat makes Jaskier dizzy.

"Good?" Geralt asks, running his hands slowly up Jaskier's arms until his thumbs are resting at the base of Jaskier's skull, moving in slow, soft circles. Jaskier nods, not trusting himself to talk, and when Geralt's fingers move into his hair, he nearly stops breathing.

"You don't have to—"

"You always take care of me," Geralt says softly, cupping the water in both hands and wetting Jaskier's hair. Jaskier shivers, unconsciously tipping his head back into Geralt's gentle touch. Geralt's fingers move through his hair, combing out the knots and tucking it behind his ears as his fingertips move up to Jaskier's temples.

Jaskier can't help it and he breathes out a quiet moan as the tension bleeds out of him. He melts against Geralt's chest, tipping his head back onto Geralt's shoulder and shivering when strong hands move down his jaw, dipping into the hollow of his throat and across his collarbone.

"What… are you doing?" Jaskier asks quietly, keeping his eyes closed because if he opens them, he might find out that this whole thing has been a dream.

"Taking care of you," Geralt replies, and then his lips are brushing Jaskier's cheek, and Jaskier's tipping his head to the side, and their noses brush together. The moment hangs between them, quiet and hesitant, and then Geralt leans in and kisses him.

Jaskier gasps softly, turning around as Geralt wraps both arms around him and pulls him close. One hand tangles in Jaskier's hair and the other slides down to the small of his back, shifting him until he's straddling Geralt's thighs and they're chest to chest, hearts beating against each other.

"Geralt," Jaskier whispers against his lips, and Geralt hums, deep and rough as he tugs as Jaskier's hair and nips at his bottom lip. "You—ahhh." Geralt tips Jaskier's head to the side and moves his lips down, pressing a kiss below his ear, then on his neck, then to the hollow of his throat. "Yes, gods—ahh, plea—"

"You're never quiet, are you?" Geralt murmurs against Jaskier's throat.

"Hnnn," Jaskier replies, bringing both hands up into Geralt's hair and tipping his head up to kiss him again. "Not if you're gonna touch me like that."

Geralt laughs, kissing Jaskier again and again, holding him close until they feel like one person, one being of light and warmth and soft, contented sounds. They surge against each other, gasping and moaning and breathing each other in, and Jaskier can't stop whispering, "Geralt, gods, yes, fuck, please."

They're so caught up in each other that when a tiny, indignant meow breaks the quiet around them, Jaskier jumps in surprise. They both look back to the bed to see Pig giving them a pitiful look as she kneads the blanket.

Jaskier bursts out laughing, turning back to Geralt and kissing his nose. "She's probably hungry," he murmurs, sighing happily when Geralt's hand slides up his back and across his shoulders. "We should get her something to eat."

"Hm," Geralt replies, kissing Jaskier once more before sighing and leaning back. "If we must."

"We must," Jaskier says regretfully. "We did promise to take care of her, after all."

"I suppose," Geralt says. He gives Jaskier a rare, soft smile and tucks his hair behind his ear. "But after that, I'm going to take care of you, too."