A/N tw for implied/referenced non-con

⁂

Jaskier tried to keep his wince to a minimum as he tugged off his soaked doublet and hung it beside the smoldering fire. He was certain there were bruises lining his shoulder, product of a particularly aggressive patron at the latest bar. The other man didn't like taking "no" for an answer and unfortunately, that was the only one Jaskier had to give.

It was a rare occasion when the bard managed to leave a town without either propositions or scrapes of some sort.

However, since he'd fallen into the company of a certain brooding amber-eyed witcher, the bruises had become scarce. Even the rougher types weren't stupid enough to try their luck.

But this time Geralt had retired early and the man in question hadn't hesitated to slam the bard into a wall, hands roaming freely in a way that made Jaskier's stomach turn even now. It was fine though, not the end of the world by any means.

He'd made a show of shouting and soon a considerable number of eyes were on them. The man wasn't a fan of audiences evidently as he'd quickly left after that. It wasn't spoken of again and Geralt certainly didn't need to know.

It wasn't like Jaskier needed someone to protect him. Well, sometimes maybe but not from random handsy assholes at the very least.

"You're going to get sick like that," Geralt said, frowning pointedly at the damp shirt he was still wearing.

"It's hardly even wet anymore."

The lines around Geralt's mouth deepened, "If you get sick I'll drop you at the nearest healer and be done with it."

Jaskier huffed irritably and tugged the shirt over his head as best he could. Of course, the witcher would have to be sitting right there, in all his shirtless perfection, as if the bruises weren't enough to make him self-conscious

Geralt's eyes drifted lazily over the bard in a way that made something low in his stomach heat, but the action didn't last long. No, his gaze snapped to the smear of purple along his collarbone, tracked it back along the top of his shoulder and watched it vanish behind his back.

"Who did that." And it wasn't a question, it's a demand uttered through a tense jaw. Reflected in now too-bright eyes.

Dangerous, part of his head warned.

He shrugged it off with his uninjured arm, "Some particularly passionate fellow back in Redania."

"Passionate?"

"Didn't think I was making the right choice in uh, refusing to join him in his rooms. But as you can see from his apparent temper I'd like to think I was."

"Where in the hell- at the bar? Was I there?" Geralt's voice had gone from taut to downright furious in a way that made Jaskier's head spin.

"No, you'd gone back to our rooms already. It isn't a big deal Geralt. Don't worry yourself over it." Because the last thing he needed was to make the witcher feel any sort of misplaced guilt, even if it was accidental.

"Somebody hurt you."

"Yes?"

"That's not alright. I won't let it happen again, Jaskier."

He almost wanted to smile at the promise, no matter how foolhardy and easily broken it was.

"That's strangely sweet of you, are you certain you're feeling alright?"

The witcher hummed irritably in response, brows furrowed and jaw still tight. The bard busied himself with his bedroll, the sooner he could lie down and sleep the better. He didn't want to answer the question he could practically see brewing in Geralt's eyes.

"Does it happen often? People touching you like that?"

Lie lie lie.

"Not really, especially not since we started traveling together," Jaskier laughed, the noise just a bit too high to not be considered nervous, "You do look rather terrifying to the untrained eye."

Geralt quirked a brow but otherwise let the comment pass, "But before we traveled together? What about then?"

He wondered, somewhat unfairly perhaps, if this whole thing was a scam to get him to admit it, to say out loud that he was used to being manhandled and forced to do things he sometimes didn't want to.

Gods, he hoped it wasn't.

"Sometimes."

Geralt's hands flexed into fists and Jaskier's chest twinged in response.

"You know that's not okay, don't you? Having someone do… anything without your consent?"

"Of course!"

"Than why in the hell are you acting so damn blase about it?!"

"I'm not! I swear it's just, well it isn't exactly some scary thing anymore. Sometimes bad shit just happens and you have to learn how to live with it." He doesn't bother finishing his sentence, doesn't need to add maybe this is the only way I can. Jaskier could tell Geralt's already grasped that particular sentiment nice and clear.

It's quiet for long enough that the bard knew the witcher wasn't going to respond. He settled himself on his bed and screwed his eyes shut. It would all be forgotten by morning. It would have to be.

⁂

Jaskier didn't actually fall asleep for hours, only calmed his breaths and pretended not to hear the witcher quietly tend to Roach. Which was something he came to regret when the sun is all too soon shining devilishly in his eyes. Still exhausted and most definitely embarrassed over last night's revelations, the bard woke in a sluggish manner, groans and grumbles aplenty.

Geralt is already awake, of course, unfairly alert for the hour. He offered a terse nod that was as much of a greeting as Jaskier was going to get. But that's alright because it's all he needed.

Honestly, as long as they could pretend that mess didn't happen, or at the very least that it wasn't as bad as it was, he would be fine with a nod.

Could possibly stop beating himself up over his loudmouthed carelessness that had landed them in this shitstorm to begin with.

Not just yet, though. He'd work on that another day. Right now Jaskier just needed to make sure Geralt left well enough alone. Even if a tiny part of him wanted the witcher to prod and question.

Even if part of him wanted to see if that concern was real. And if it was, how deep it ran or if it was a momentary, fleeting sort of thought.

It was fine, though. He didn't need reassurances and that stupid little part became easier to ignore as the day went on, as Geralt kept his mouth shut and the events of last night faded into obscurity.

Jaskier told himself that it was for the best, that he really didn't want the witcher to push. He told himself forgetting things was in everyone's best interest. That it was how he had survived thus far and there was no reason to change that now. If it's not broken, don't fix it and all those other annoyingly accurate phrases.

Throughout the quiet day of travel, his shoulder had ceased to ache and his head was filled with random snippets of song, any remaining anxiety soothed by the rhythmic sound of Roach's hooves on the pressed dirt road.

Which made it all the more gutting when, as they set up camp once more, Geralt asked, "I'd like you to tell me. The next time someone does something like that." His gaze burns a hole in Jaskier's shoulder as if he could undo the blemishes through will power alone.

Maybe he could if anyone could it would be him.

"I told you I'm fine! And barely anyone even bothers with me anymore. So just, I don't know, pretend it didn't happen?" He could hear the lie in his own voice and the witcher shot him an unimpressed look.

"If you insist on following me around to who-in-the-fuck knows where then the very least you can do is let me make sure nothing like that happens again."

"Why?" Okay, maybe it was cruel of him to ask but the word was out so quickly he didn't have time to think about it. Didn't have time to consider how it would make a flicker of hurt dance across Geralt's face. How it would make him fall silent and focus on the fire before him and little else.

But now the curiosity bubbled with embarrassment and the bard didn't know it, but apparently that was the perfect recipe for misplaced anger because the next words shot out just as quick, "No, you don't get to ignore my perfectly valid fucking question. You don't get to pretend to be concerned just because it hurt your ego that someone wouldn't go running to you for help. That's not how it fucking works."

Geralt's eyes snapped to his and they didn't look away, his stupidly perfect mouth slackening in surprise, "You honestly think that- For fuck's sake Jaskier for someone as clever as you, you certainly have a hard time taking a hint."

But the bard was sick and tired of feeling so damn uncertain and apparently he'd spoken too soon because now his back positively throbbed and he was not going to look away first. He was getting an answer if it killed him.

"Maybe you aren't very good at giving people hints. In fact, I think you're fucking awful at it."

Geralt's scowl was a living thing, eyes flashing with anger. A wicked part of Jaskier delighted in the fact that he was the reason for that look, that at the very least he could get a rise out of the witcher. And it served as fuel for his next and final attempt, "Just. Tell. Me. Why."

"Because I fucking care about you!" Geralt threw his hands in the air, exasperation and admission hanging heavily between them.

Oh. Oh.

Jaskier was fairly certain he'd stopped breathing as he let out a wheezing laugh, "Well, my dear witcher, that's all you had to say."

Geralt glared once more as Jaskier took a hesitant step forward, "No, I'm not laughing at you I swear I just- I can't even believe you just said that. Not really."

Amber eyes softened and Geralt stood, head tipped down toward the smaller man, "Believe it."

"Maybe if you, I don't know, gave me some evidence, a token of your a-affection," Words didn't make much sense as Geralt's face drew closer to his. His heart sped up ridiculously and he was quite certain he had never wanted anyone to kiss him as much as he did in that moment.

A smirk twisted his lips dangerously, "Then ask me. Consent, remember?"

Heat flooded Jaskier's cheeks. The witcher was playing a cruel and unfair game. But he wasn't counting on the desire that had been building for over a damn year now, wasn't counting on Jaskier's utter depravity.

"Will you, Geralt of Rivia, please kiss me? I'm giving you my full and utter fucking consent to kiss me."

"That's all you had to say," Geralt mimicked, grinning in full now as the bard stood on the tips of his toes. And then his calloused hands cupped Jaskier's face gently, so gently it hurt, his mouth ghosting over the other man's softly, teasingly, before leaning down and kissing him soundly.

Jaskier resolved to get very, very used to the feel of a witcher's lips.