Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            It started as a bet. Jaskier, and subsequently Geralt, had been chased out of yet another town due to Jaskier’s most recent love affair. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault. He couldn’t help it that women, men, and all those in-between fell victim to his charms. And who was he to turn them away? It’s not as though the most constant object of his affections was willing to indulge him. And Jaskier was only human. He had needs after all. Geralt scooped him up and placed him on Roach as they galloped from the town. Jaskier had chosen his pleasure poorly, as it was the Alderman’s son whom he’d spent the night with. He hadn’t been quite quick enough to escape without being seen the next morning by the Alderman, his daughter-in-law, and two of her six brothers. He’d run out of the room, half-dressed and accidentally leaving one of his favorite doublets behind only to run directly into Geralt. The Witcher had taken one look at Jaskier’s state of undress and immediately understood. Several hours and several dozen miles later, Geralt was brooding while he and Jaskier were setting up their camp.

           Jaskier sighed. “Out with it then,” he insisted. Geralt glared up at him. “Come now, Witcher. I can take it.”

           “It’s nothing I haven’t said before,” Geralt growled.

           “Yes, yes. I am sorry about that, but honestly, what do you expect me to do when a willing beauty presents themselves to me?” Jaskier plopped down on the bedroll he’d just laid out. “It’s not my fault.”

           “Yes, it is,” he replied. “You behave as though it’s imperative to fuck the worst possible person in every town we go through.” Geralt turned to him, baring his teeth slightly.

           “Not every town,” Jaskier protested. “A man has needs, Geralt.”

           “A human does not need sex to survive.” Yellow eyes flared with frustration and Jaskier frowned. “You can’t even go a week without fucking someone.”

           Jaskier considered this, tilting his head back and forth. “I am not some fiend that cannot control myself, Geralt. I can and have gone months without before.” Jaskier left out that he’d been in his youth in those days. He hadn’t since he’d come into his looks at Oxenfurt. “I can choose not to have sex, I just don’t. I could choose to go through the next six towns and not touch a single person in a sexual manner or I could fuck every willing man or maid in the next eight. I simply chose the option closer to the latter more often than not.”

           Geralt arched an eyebrow. “Then choose the former,” he grunted.

           “Where’s the fun in that?” Jaskier grinned.

           “A wager.”

           “Oh?” The bard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do go on. What wager do you think you could beat me at?”

           “You refrain from fucking until we part ways in the winter.”

           “And what do I gain from this, besides an empty bed?” Jaskier pressed.

           “A favor of your choice, with no complaining from me. If you fail, you have to write a song flattering Valdo Marx.” Geralt smirked.

           “Deal. I shall refrain from carnal entertainment until we next part ways and if I do, you have to accompany me to the annual bardic competition in the Spring. If I fail, I shall write a song for that cad, Valdo Marx. However, I shall not fail.” Jaskier grinned. Geralt rolled his eyes but seemed placated. Jaskier counted the whole conversation as a win. It was only three months until they usually parted for winter, then he’d be returning to Oxenfurt where many of usual partners would gladly sate his appetite.

           Three weeks in, and Jaskier was starting to doubt his resolve. He’d been restless for days. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know what he was craving, but he couldn’t find relief. No amount of his own stimulation would satisfy him and he felt almost hungry each time he turned a willing bedmate away with sweet words and promises of future trips through the region. And, the worst of it all, was that Geralt had noticed. Each time someone approached Jaskier and propositioned him for a night of pleasure, Geralt would smirk as though he was already counting his winning and listening to the ballad of Valdo Marx. His need was distracting him from his performances and while they were traveling on the road, he’d often find himself going through his repertoire of rowdy songs just for a taste of satisfaction in Geralt’s own frustration.

           Two months in, and Jaskier was sick. He was struggling to keep up with Roach and Geralt on the road. He found it unfair that even while sick, his basest desires were still at the forefront of his mind. As though they were the cause of the sickness. Geralt dismounted and slowed Roach to match Jaskier’s pace. Jaskier had given up trying to talk around his weakness a day ago and he knew that the witcher was concerned. However, Jaskier simply couldn’t summon up the energy to put on the effort of a mask for his friend’s sake. He knew that if he continued to get worse Geralt would force him to stay in the next town they came to. Then he wouldn’t have lost the bet, but he’d also be without his witcher far earlier than he’d like. Jaskier stumbled over a tree root and Geralt grabbed his arms to steady him.

           “We’re stopping,” Geralt decided. He let go of Jaskier and led Roach off the road.

           “I’m fine, Geralt. You said we would reach the next town tomorrow. That will only happen if we keep moving today,” Jaskier insisted. Geralt looked over at him. “I’m fine.”

           “We’re stopping,” he repeated.

           “Geralt,” Jaskier whined. The older man glared at him and began setting up camp. “Fine. At the very least let me help.” He reached for one of their bags but Geralt slapped his hand away. “Oh for Melitele’s sake!” Jaskier threw his hands up and stormed off, finding a soft-looking patch of grass and sitting down. He pouted a bit as he watched Geralt set up their camp. He swung his lute around and plucked a few notes, but he was far too tired and horny to really focus on it. He set his lute aside and laid back, taking advantage of Geralt’s fussing to take stock of himself. His feet ached, but that was normal after so many months on the road. After all, he was no young man. Not anymore. The ache was more of a stiffness this time though. He also had a headache that throbbed and had been the first sign that he was getting sick. His only blessing was how localized the pain was, staying mostly on the sides of his head. There was even more pain radiating through his lower back and a never-ending hunger that seemed to reach his very bones. Apart from pain and hunger, there was very little to suggest he was sick. It merely seemed as though he hadn’t eaten for a long time, as he’d sometimes get with their longer stints between towns when supplies would run low. That couldn’t be the cause though, as Geralt had ensured that he was eating for the last several days as if he’d sensed Jaskier’s sickness before Jaskier had. Sometime later Geralt took a seat beside him and Jaskier forced himself to sit up.

           “You’ve been quiet,” Geralt said.

           “You normally consider that a blessing, dear Witcher,” Jaskier sighed.

           “You’re sick.”

           “Hardly. It’s not that bad, Geralt. We could’ve kept on for a while yet. There’s plenty of daylight left.” Jaskier rubbed at his neck and ran his hands over his head, where the aching was the worst. Geralt frowned at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he passed over some fruit from one of their packs. Jaskier munched on it, but it did nothing to fill his stomach. A while later, Geralt went tense. “A problem, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. Jaskier’s question was answered a moment later when a set of beautiful black curls came into view. Yennefer of Vengerberg’s purple eyes scanned over them in amusement.

           “Hello, Geralt. Bard,” Yennefer said. “I was wondering what drew my portal astray. With you two in the area, of course I missed.”

           “Yennefer,” Geralt said in greeting.

           “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you normally make a point of resting as little as possible,” she pressed. Geralt nodded. “Then why have you stopped so long before sunset? Surely even your aging companion can still last a day of travel.” She smirked, however, the smirk faded when both men remained quiet. She scanned Jaskier again, but Jaskier didn’t have the energy to offer a retort. He merely rolled his eyes.

           “Jaskier’s sick.”

           Yennefer frowned. “He looks fine to me.” She leaned close and Jaskier snarled silently at her. “However, I could take a look if you’d like. Since I’m here anyway.” She straightened and looked at Geralt, waiting for permission.

           “I’ll be fine, thank you, witch,” Jaskier snapped.

           Yennefer glared at him. “Free of charge if it means he’ll be less irritating.”

           “Yen,” Geralt warned.

           “I’ll be gentle,” she sighed. “Do you want to know what’s wrong with the bard or not?” Geralt hesitated but eventually gave a slight nod.

           “Do I get a say in this?” Jaskier huffed. Yellow and Purple eyes glared at him. Jaskier held up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Take a look. I’m telling you that I’ll be fine.”

           “Hold still, bard,” Yennefer ordered. She stepped closer to him and knelt to place her hand on his forehead. Jaskier shuddered as her magic pushed into him. He’d felt it a number of times and every occasion had been unpleasant. This particular occasion was no exception. In fact, it was one of the worst that Jaskier could recall. It was as though slime from one of Geralt’s monsters was seeping through his veins and it seemed to make the aches and hunger worse. She eventually pulled back with a frown and Jaskier jerked away from her, feeling weaker than he had before. Geralt grabbed for him as he swayed and Jaskier was happy they’d been sitting down for this.

           “You said you’d be gentle,” Geralt growled.

           Yennefer was frowning at them. “I was,” she huffed. Then she looked Jaskier in the eyes.  “Have you been starving yourself?”

           “I’ve just eaten. What are you on about?” Jaskier snapped back.

           She flicked his forehead as she straightened up. “Don’t be dense, Bard. It’s unbecoming. You haven’t eaten for weeks.”

           Jaskier frowned at her. “Yes, I have.” He felt the uncomfortable tickle of her magic against his mind and suppressed a shudder.

           Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Have you really been starving yourself to win a bet?” she snorted. “You’re dumber than I thought you were.”

           “What are you talking about?” Jaskier snapped. “The only wager I’ve made recently had nothing to do with food. I haven’t bet anything since I made a bet with Geralt, as I’m sure you’re aware, and that was about sex, not food.” Yennefer looked at him as though he had just said something incredibly dumb.

           Geralt looked between the two of them and Jaskier saw when an idea lit up his golden eyes. His face darkened and he fixed his eyes on Yennefer. “Go on, Yen. I’ll take care of it,” Geralt said, voice quiet

           “You had better,” Yennefer replied. “I dislike when people I don’t hate act like idiots.” She walked off again, summoning up a portal to wherever she had originally been heading.

           “Geralt, what is happening?” Jaskier tried to pull himself out of Geralt’s touch, but the witcher held him in place. “Geralt!”

           “You shouldn’t have agreed to the bet, if you knew it would hurt you,” Geralt mumbled.

           “What are you talking about, Witcher?” Jaskier huffed.

           “I won’t hurt you, you know. You should have just told me the truth.

           “Geralt, I honestly have no idea what is making me sick. I have never lied to you. And I know you would never hurt me. What are you talking about?”

           Geralt gave him a look that was more confused than anything. Then his hands came up and gently cupped Jaskier’s head, each palm right over the main source of pain. “These, Jaskier. I’m talking about these. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

           “Notice what? My ears?” Jaskier snorted. He regretted the dismissive tone when he saw that Geralt looked as though Jaskier had hurt him.

           “Your horns,” Geralt said.

           Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. “My what?” He reached up to where Geralt’s hands were, shoving them off in the process. Sure enough, there were nubs on either side of his head, the beginnings of horns growing in just behind his ears, where the headaches had been the worst.

           “You had to know your glamour would fade the longer you went without feeding,” Geralt muttered. He sounded defeated. Hurt. As if Jaskier had purposefully kept something from him and was continuing to do so.

           “I don’t wear a glamour. I’ve never had the need or the money to spare.”

           “Jaskier, stop,” he growled. Now he sounded angry. That was alright because Jaskier was angry too. “Stop lying. I know the truth.”

            “Well, I don’t!” Jaskier jerked to his feet. There was a wave of dizziness, but Jaskier ignored it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! I haven’t been keeping secrets. I haven’t been hiding things. I have no idea why there are horns growing out the sides of my head and I have even less understanding of why you think that means anything to me or what any of this has to do with our wager! Melitele’s tits, I have never lied to you Geralt. From the start, I have told you exactly what was on my mind and that hasn’t changed for the last twenty years! Now explain exactly what you believe is happening or so help me I will start throwing things, beginning with your bloody potions.” Jaskier felt his anger give him a surge of strength, but it faded quickly enough that he was reaching for the nearest tree to keep himself upright. Geralt was staring at him in shock, but he barely had time to comprehend that before a wave of pain wracked his body and he fell to his knees with a shout. 

            The next thing he knew he was blinking awake in the starlight. He was aware of several unfamiliar feelings, but most of the pain was gone. The stiffness in his feet was still there and he could not feel his toes. He could also feel something protruding from his lower back, wrapped around him protectively. He shifted his head and could feel the weight on both sides, just behind his ears where the horns had grown in. He felt strange, but the strangest part was how comfortable he was. He was also incredibly hungry. “Awake?” Geralt asked from somewhere to his left. Jaskier didn’t bother to respond as he pushed himself upright. He looked himself over and instantly saw why his feet felt stiff. In place of his feet were two cloven hooves. There was a bit of coarse hair or fur that traveled up his calves, fading back to skin when it reached his knees. The protrusion from his back was clearly a tail that twitched with his nerves. He reached up tentatively and ran his fingers across the curves of his horns. He carefully checked himself for any other changes and was relieved to find none. Geralt let him, watching in silence. When Jaskier was satisfied that physical changes aside, he was fine, only hungry, he turned to Geralt. The witcher was sitting on the other side of a fire, silver sword lying across his lap. The look on his friend's face was blank, and, had he been anyone else, Jaskier may have been intimidated. 

            “What, erm, what happened?” Jaskier asked. He pulled his legs up underneath himself as best he could with the hooves. Geralt didn’t answer, golden eyes fixed on the flames in between them. “Oh, not this again. Geralt, I need you to talk to me. I do not understand what happened to me or why you thought I was keeping things from you. Will you please, just, explain?” Jaskier sighed heavily. 

            “You’re an incubus,” Geralt said finally. He still wasn’t looking at Jaskier.

            “That’s a male succubus, yes? A demon that feeds off lust?” Jaskier looked for Geralt’s slight nod. “How?” The witcher looked over at him, frowning. “As far as I know, I was born the very human son of Alfred and Juliana Pankratz. How am I an incubus? Was it a curse?”

            Geralt tilted his head slightly. “No curse could do that,” he said simply. “You have been an incubus since we met. Even Yennefer knew.” Geralt paused and Jaskier signaled for him to go on. He ground his teeth. “I used the xenovox. She told me that she’d known since the first time she met you. I thought…” he hesitated, grip tightening on his sword, which did not do much to instill Jaskier with confidence. “I thought you had kept it from me because you believed I would hurt you.” 

            Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You would never hurt me, Geralt. Admittedly, the way you're gripping your sword right now is concerning, but I never once thought you would use it against me unless I was no longer myself.” Jaskier eyed the sword anxiously. “That isn’t the case, is it?” Geralt frowned at him. Then looked down at his own hands. The witcher quickly set aside the sword, and Jaskier swore he looked almost sheepish as he shook his head no. “Then, er, what do we do now?” 

            “An incubus needs human lust to survive,” Geralt said bluntly.

            “Yes, I did pay attention when you spoke about them, Geralt. Incubi and Succubi make for good songs. We’ve just never come across any in our time together.” Jaskier frowned. “I am curious how I am what I am, but I suppose that’s not a question for you. I’ll have to write to my mother in the next town.” He hesitated. “That is, if you believe it to be safe for me to go to town. Since it turns out that Yennefer was right. If I am an incubus, which I’m inclined to admit I am, then I truly haven’t eaten in weeks.”

            “You can’t go to a town right now,” Geralt replied.

            “And why not, dear witcher?”

            “Incubi, when they have not eaten for a long period, lose their powers. Unlike Succubi who can create a frenzy of prey when they’ve not eaten, Incubi have to rely on those who see the truth and want anyway. Their prey has to be willing,” he recited. “You’ve gone long enough without feeding that a form you’ve likely been using since childhood has shattered. You can’t take any form but your own right now. Any town would be just as likely to chase you out as they would me. Some more likely.”

            “Ah, then, I suppose you’ve thought of an alternative?” Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, fixing his eyes on the fire. Geralt let out a hum of agreement. “Well, spit it out then.” 

            “You could use me,” Geralt muttered. 

            Jaskier frowned at him. “Geralt, I appreciate the offer, but you’ve just said that my, er, partner must be a willing participant. I hardly think someone acting out of obligation really fulfills that requirement.”

            Geralt looked away, reaching for his sword again before he stopped himself and buried his hands in his lap. “I may not be as attractive as your usual bedmates, but I’m just as willing. You are not an obligation, Jaskier.” Jaskier knew from several prying conversations over the years that witchers could not blush, but he was sure, if they could, Geralt’s face would be bright red.

            “Oh, Geralt. You never said.” Jaskier stumbled to his hooves, not as graceful as he could have been both from the unfamiliarity of the sensation and the gnawing hunger making him dizzy, and made his way over to Geralt. “If you had offered at any point in the last two decades, I would have always said yes. I may enjoy sex with a good many people, but you are the one I’ve truly wanted for the last two decades.” He gently slid his hand along Geralt’s cheek, raising his face to look into golden eyes. “If you are willing, darling, I have always been.” Now, touching Geralt, looking in his eyes, the hunger was nearly unbearable, but Jaskier shoved it away. He would not rush this. Not when his witcher looked so vulnerable. Not when he had been waiting decades just to be able to touch Geralt like this. Geralt reached up and wrapped their hands together, pulling Jaskier’s hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss on the knuckles, and his pupils dilated.

            “I am willing,” Geralt repeated. He tugged on Jaskier’s arm, and Jaskier let himself be manhandled into the witcher’s lap, straddling his hips. Jaskier slid his arms around Geralt’s neck, breathing in deep and feeling the hunger pulling at him. Geralt’s hands slid under his thin undershirt and pressed into his hips. His fingertips brushed the base of Jaskier’s new tail and Jaskier shuddered. Jaskier let out a needy whine as sword-callused hands traveled up his back. He rocked forward, prick aching against his smalls. Geralt smirked at him and Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from leaning closer and kissing the smirk off his face. He’d meant to keep the kiss slow and gentle, but the moment he could feel the warmth of the witcher’s lips under his, he found himself diving into the kiss, pushing his tongue in and tasting every part of Geralt’s mouth. He was burning with need.

            “Geralt,” he breathed against the other’s lips. He dug his hands into Geralt’s shoulders, rolling his hips when he felt Geralt hardening in response. “Geralt, I need…” He ran his hands down Geralt’s chest until he could get purchase on the hem of his black shirt. He continued kissing frantically at the witcher’s skin as he tugged on the shirt, breaking apart for only enough time to pull it off. Geralt made an approving sound, but Jaskier could barely hear it over the throbbing of his own need. This was not how he liked to make love. He preferred to take his time, to find what pleased his partner until they were both satiated and glowing with pleasure. And with Geralt, he had imagined it so many times, but never like this. Never so desperate. He had no clue if this would be their first and last time together and he wanted to make it memorable, but the need was becoming painful. He began trailing kisses down Geralt’s chest, chasing the scars as he pressed them flat on the ground. As he did, he kept his hands busy, ripping at Geralt’s trousers until he managed to get them undone. He made a noise at the back of his throat when he’d finally freed Geralt’s dick, eying it greedily. It was already hard and dripping with precum. 

            “Take what you need,” Geralt managed, sounding just a little wrecked. Jaskier was present enough to grin up at him, licking a stripe up his cock before swallowing him whole. Geralt gasped. Jaskier planted his hands on Geralt’s thighs, keeping them spread and allowing himself room to work. It didn’t take much to have Geralt cuming in his mouth. He gulped the cum down, enjoying the taste and feeling the hunger starting to ease. He licked his lips as he pulled back, loving the pop he made when his lips left Geralt’s cock. Geralt’s hips bucked up, chasing Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier smirked.

            “So wonderful darling,” Jaskier said gently. He could still feel the hunger pushing at him, needing more. His own cock was achingly hard and he leaned back, freeing it from his smalls. Geralt had propped himself up on his elbows and was biting his lip as he eyed Jaskier’s cock. “Like what you see, dear witcher?” Jaskier arched an eyebrow playfully. Jaskier kicked free of his smalls and let himself fall back on top of Geralt, landing with his hands on either side of Geralt’s head. “May I fuck you?” he asked, grinning as Geralt’s pupils got impossibly wider. Jaskier felt his tail flick around behind him in amusement.

            “Whatever you need,” Geralt choked out. His voice was like gravel. Jaskier rocked his hips, just above where he’d be touching Geralt and the witcher arched up, seeking it out.

            “That’s not a yes,” Jaskier smirked. He leaned down a bit and kissed Geralt, just as hungrily as the first, but he was more able to take his time. He ran his tongue across Geralt’s teeth, which cut like fangs, and nipped at his lips. When they broke apart, even Geralt was heaving for air.

            “Yes,” he gasped.

            “Yes what?” Jaskier leveraged himself upright, putting his weight on Geralt’s sturdy thighs.

            “Fuck me,” Geralt moaned.

            “As you wish.” Normally, Jaskier would prefer to have his male partners fuck him, but right now he needed the release. He quickly located one of his bags within reach, not far from Geralt’s swords, and produced his bottle of oil. He dumped a generous amount on his fingers and began opening Geralt up, gently scissoring in. Geralt bucked and grabbed at the grass, hands seeking purchase as a pleased rumbling sound started up. Jaskier stilled, reveling in the sound and how it seemed to come from somewhere deep, almost like a purr. He could feel the vibration in his fingers and he loved it. He resumed his ministrations and the sound only grew. He was so caught up in the wonderful wave of pleasure and lust rolling of Geralt.

            “Jaskier,” Geralt begged. “Please.” Jaskier slowly slid his fingers out and lined up his cock with Geralt’s hole.

            “What do you want, Geralt?” he whispered, leaning forward. All he received in return was a needy sound and a quieting of the purr. “Tell me, love. Tell me what you want.”

            “You. Please.”

            “Of course, darling.” Jaskier eased his cock into Geralt’s hole loving the way Geralt clenched around him. The way the purr rumbled out louder and Geralt smothered a moan behind his clenched teeth. It only got better when he began to move. Rutting into Geralt. Feeling the witcher arch and twist in pleasure. Nearly being able to smell the desire between them. “Geralt,” Jaskier mummered. “Geralt, I’m-I’m going to…”

            “Please.” One of Geralt’s hands reached up and gripped Jaskier’s hair. The other was pressing like a brand into Jaskier’s hip. “Please.”

            “As you wish,” Jaskier moaned. He thrust another time and felt the release wash over him. The pleasure. The lust. And for the first time in months, he wasn’t hungry. He let himself go limp over Geralt, cock still buried to the hilt. Geralt easily wrapped his arms around the bard, holding him in place. Jaskier fell asleep to the wonderful feeling of warmth and the rumbling pleased purr. 

Chapter Text

           The morning was somewhat sticky, for want of a better word. At some point during the night, Geralt had attempted to clean the cum off their skin with his shirt, but it hadn’t done much. Thankfully, though he hadn’t noticed it the day before, they were near a stream and were able to clean up, for the most part. And, since Jaskier was feeling better, once they got on the road, they would almost certainly make it to the next town before nightfall where they could find a bath to finish the job. There was one hitch in that plan, though. And it was Jaskier himself. Though his hunger was sated, his glamour had not returned on its own. For the moment, he was managing just fine on cloven hooves, and he actually thought the horns were quite becoming once he’d gotten a look at them in his mirror. However, he had a feeling that any people they may meet along the road and in the town would have a different opinion. One that would leave many asking Geralt to use his silver sword. So, once they finished packing up, Jaskier forced Geralt to sit down and walk him through putting up a glamour.

           “I’m not the best person for this, Julek,” Geralt warned. 

           “You do magic all the time, Geralt. How is this any different?” Jaskier asked, unable to stop his blush at the nickname.

           “Witcher signs are not true chaos,” Geralt sighed. “They come from the trials, not an innate conduit like a mage or demon.”

           “Do we have to say I’m a demon?” Jaskier huffed uncomfortably.

           “Incubi are demons. You are an incubus.” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier knew that he was emphasizing that whining would not change the bestiary, as he’d already said more than once, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.

           “Fine. However, I still think you’ll do fine. After all, there aren’t many other options and I certainly do not want to call Yennefer again. You know all there is to know about magic users and magical beasties. Surely one of them has told you how they make a glamour.”

           “Not all are so quick to give up the secrets of their trade, bard.”

           “Geralt,” Jaskier pouted. “Just try.”

           “I don’t know where to begin.”

           “Well, start with how I was using a glamour without knowing it. Or what it takes to tap into chaos. Really, start anywhere you feel comfortable, love.” Jaskier took Geralt’s hand and gave it a squeeze. 

            The witcher let out a sigh. “For demons, the magic is innate. It is as much a part of you as your hair color or height. As natural as walking. You likely saw that your family did not have the same hooves or horns and willed yourself to look like them.”

           “I suppose that makes sense. But then why were they not there? Glamours don’t actually change one's appearance. If you wear a glamour that gives you brown hair, but your hair is red, then your hair is still red. It simply appears brown. The same with glamours that change a person’s height. It doesn’t actually change.” At Geralt’s proud look, Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I do listen when you talk, Geralt. Don’t act so surprised I can remember things.”

           “You’re right. A glamour doesn’t change the physical world, just the perception of it. Incubi have the power to alter their form. It’s a staple of their chaos just like a lust frenzy is for a succubus. Both feed off the lust, but incubi create it through their form whereas succubi use their magic. When necessary.” Geralt smirked a bit. 

           “So it sounds like I just have to want it, but, if that were the case, I think I’d look human by now.”

           “You may need to search for the power within yourself. After so long not changing your form, it may be harder than when you were young.”

           “I suppose. How do you do that?” Jaskier pressed.

           Geralt grimaced. “It’s different for you.” 

           “I realize that, but perhaps knowing what you do will help me figure out what I need to do.” 

           Geralt sighed, still grimacing. “When I use my signs, I’m drawing on a well of power that was placed in me. I’m seeking out a mutation.”

           “And I don’t because I was born with this power in me. I understand that, Geralt, but surely there is something that helps you draw on the well.”

           “Just a feeling. I was taught the pathways I needed to use whichever sign was appropriate.”

           “Pathways? So you know the paths because you had someone show them to you. I made my own, only it’s been so long since I traveled it, it’s grown over and hard to find. Like when I haven’t played an instrument in a while. I still know it, but it takes time to get back up to snuff,” Jaskier thought aloud. Geralt frowned at him. “The path is still there, I just need to clear it.” Jaskier released his grip on Geralt’s hand and closed his eyes, focusing inward. He tried to focus on his ‘innate chaos’ as Geralt had called it, but he had no idea what that would feel like. So instead, he decided to think of it as a skill he’d simply forgotten. He started by focusing on the skills he had learned as a child. The sword fighting and courtly instruments his parents had required him to study. After all, they were some of his oldest skills. He let his hand move through the practiced movements, shaking the cobwebs off his oldest memories learning the harpsichord. As he picked through, he started to focus on his form, focused on how he looked without his horns and how it felt to dig barefoot toes into the dirt. There was a rippling feeling, which was far more pleasant than the appearance of his demonic features had been, and he found he could wiggle his toes. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the lack of cloven hooves and a tail. He reached up and found nothing but soft hair on his skull. 

            Geralt had a small smile on his face. “Nicely done,” he grunted. Jaskier beamed at him. “What about the eyes?”

           “What about my eyes? They didn’t seem any different when I looked this morning,” Jaskier said, reaching into his bag for his mirror. He pulled it out and looked, but still saw nothing wrong with them.

           “They’re glowing, Julek,” Geralt sighed. Jaskier frowned and squinted at the mirror, still not seeing what Geralt was referring to. Geralt leaned close and shaded Jaskier’s face with his hand. Then Jaskier could see that he was right. While the color and shape hadn’t changed, his eyes were in fact glowing. “Someone may mistake you for an elf.”

           “Elf is far better than demon, but I suppose you’re right.” Jaskier focused on his eyes, following the same path in his mind, and watched as the glow dimmed and went out in his mirror. “There. Just your normal human bard once more, my darling wolf.” Jaskier smiled broadly, turning to look at Geralt. Geralt pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and Jaskier felt his heart flutter.

           “Come on, bard. If we leave now, we may make it to town by nightfall.” Geralt rose to his full height and looked down at the bard with a smirk. “If we do, you can eat your fill. As long as I get to fuck you this time.” Geralt’s grin turned absolutely predatory.

           “As you wish,” Jaskier replied, springing to his feet and pressing a quick kiss to Geralt’s nose before the witcher could react. Oh yes. This was much better than seeking out random willing beauties. Despite the rather dramatic turn of events, Jaskier would never regret their bet. After all, he had won.

           When they were meant to part for winter, Geralt invited Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with him. Jaskier had readily agreed, with one requirement. They had to stop in Lettenhove to visit his family before they made the trek. Jaskier had questions that he did not want to ask by letter. He’d sent word ahead so his rooms were ready by the time they reached the gates and none of the staff would react poorly to Geralt. Jaskier knew that Lettenhove had never really been that bad regarding witchers, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially where family was concerned. With his warning, he wasn’t surprised to see his sister running out to greet them as they made their way through the gardens. “Julian!” she called. She leaped down the stairs and wrapped him in a hug.  Jaskier responded in kind, lifting her and twirling her around as she laughed in his arms. She was actually younger than him though her looks wouldn’t say it. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and there were crinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips marking her age. Marks that Jaskier had been without for his entire life. At least now he knew why.

           “My darling Rosia, how have you been? You haven’t written in ages!” Jaskier said as he set her down on her feet again.

           “I write nearly every week!” she rebutted. “It is not my fault I don’t know where to send the letters.” She grinned at him. Then she turned to his side, where Geralt was standing awkwardly with Roach. “You must be Julek’s witcher. When he bothers to write home, he writes about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She gave him a quick hug which seemed to send Geralt spiraling a little.

           “Rosia, he doesn’t like to be touched.”

           “I know, but I’m just so excited. You haven’t been home in so long, Julek. Mother was starting to worry it would take her death to bring you back for a visit.” Rosia linked her arm through his and tugged him towards the manor. “Our stables are around back, Sir Witcher. I know you prefer to tend your horse yourself.”

           “Hmm,” Geralt replied. Jaskier could hear the question underneath and the uncertainty that was pulling at his lover.

           “I’ll be fine, darling. Come find us when you’re done,” Jaskier smiled at him. He tapped the side of his nose and winked. Geralt rolled his eyes but seemed a little more relaxed than he had been. Rosia also rolled her eyes and jerked him along with her. She kept a steady chatter about her family as she guided them through the halls, past the staff, and into their mother’s study.

           “Julian!” Juliana exclaimed when she saw them. She got to her feet and held out her arms. Jaskier went easily, allowing his mother to embrace him. She cupped his face as she pulled back. “Oh dear, it is so good to see you. You must be doing well for yourself if you can keep your skin so smooth now that you’re in your fifties.” She ran a hand through Jaskier’s hair and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

           “I’ve missed you too, Mama,” Jaskier said. Juliana took his hand and dragged him over to a chair just beside hers.

           “It’s been so long since we’ve heard from you. Sit and tell us of your adventures, dear. I love hearing about them and that Witcher of yours.” She looked over to the doorway and hesitated. “I thought your letter said he’d be with you.”

           “Oh, he is. He’s just stabling Roach and he’ll be in.” Jaskier waved his hand absently. Rosia grinned at him as she dragged another chair over to them and took a seat.

           “He’s just as pretty as Julek says, Mama,” Rosia said.

           “Yes, and he’s taken,” Jaskier snapped lightly.

           “Oh, Julian, have you finally managed to get that witcher of yours to fall for your charms?” Juliana beamed. “I’m so happy for you, love. I know you’ve been pining for him for years now. How did you two get together?”

           “Yes, Mama. Actually, that’s part of why we stopped by.” Jaskier rubbed his neck and bit his lip.

           Juliana blinked at him. “What do you mean? Surely you aren’t looking for a blessing already. I know you’ve been traveling together for years, but it’s far too early to be thinking about a commitment like that. It’s been less than a year, which was the last time we heard from you, by the way. You really must write more when you’re traveling. We hear from you often enough in the winters, but, honestly, Julian, a mother should not be left wondering if her son is still alive.”

           “Mother,” Jaskier sighed. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just, our, er, coupling was the result of a rather interesting situation.”

           “Most couplings are,” Rosia chuckled. “My Wilbur and I have seen it happen many times. First with us then our two daughters. Certainly, it can’t be any stranger than Marie’s coupling. Chickens and wyvern are hard to beat.”

           “Chickens?” Jaskier frowned. “No, I don’t doubt it, though I think you left that out when you mentioned that Marie had begun courting someone. No, actually, I was wondering if Father was really my father.” Jaskier looked at his mother who had gone pale and pursed her lips. Rosia slapped the back of his head. Jaskier glared at her.

           “Julian!” she snapped. “Of course, he was. How could you even suggest something like that?”

           Jaskier rubbed his head with a grimace. “Erm, well, I know that father was human and I have no doubt that you are my mother and are human too. But, I’m not, er, human,” Jaskier explained.

           “He was your father, Julian,” Juliana said weakly. “But the circumstances of your birth were not as mundane as we’ve led you to believe.”

           “What do you mean you’re not human?” Rosia gasped, clutching at her necklace. It was at that moment that Geralt appeared in the room. Jaskier’s sister looked between the two of them and her face lit with rage. “What did you do to him?!” She flew to her feet, storming towards Geralt. Geralt frowned at her and looked over to Jaskier. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

           “Geralt did nothing except help. Calm yourself, Rosia,” Jaskier sighed as he swiftly darted to grab her before she could attempt anything with Geralt. “Roach all taken care of, love?” Jaskier asked, still holding back his fuming sister.

           Geralt arched an eyebrow. “So it’s going well?” the witcher said. The corner of his mouth twitched up. Jaskier glared at him but didn’t grace him with an answer.

           “Come on Rosia,” he said, dragging her back to her seat. “Take a seat and I’ll explain.” He let his gaze stray to his mother, who had started regaining her color but still looked a little nauseous. “Then, I suspect mother has a few things to explain too.” After he’d managed to get Rosia back in her seat, he returned to his own seat. Geralt had made his way over and stood behind his chair protectively.

           “Explain, Julian,” Rosia ordered. She crossed her arms and glared over his head at Geralt.

           “A few months ago, I made a bet with Geralt that I could refrain from having sex until we parted for the winter. I made it two months before I got sick and we realized that I wasn’t human. It turns out I’m an incubus and was essentially starving myself. Obviously, we managed to get that all sorted on our own, and, admittedly, it did end up working in our favor. However, what we can’t figure out is how I was born an incubus. I know without a doubt that you are my mother and you say that Father was indeed my father, but the both of you are human.”

           “Yes, we are,” Juliana agreed. “However, when we were first met, he was not.”

           “What?” Rosia asked, startled.

           “Alfred was not human when I met him, though he looked it. He was born an incubus like you are.” Juliana inclined her head towards Jaskier. “When we met, we hardly paid each other any attention. It wasn’t until I found him one afternoon after he’d gone a while without feeding. He had horns and hooves and a tail and I was fascinated. We talked for a while, but he admitted he was waiting on someone else. He didn’t feed from me. In fact, he never fed from me. He once told me that I had been the first person whom he had a relationship with that wasn’t based on sex.” She sighed wistfully. “We became friends, then lovers. But he still wouldn’t feed from me. He’d sneak out and find willing whores. I knew he was doing it, but when I asked him, he refused to explain. It came out eventually, as all things do. Your father was always a romantic, and at his heart, he never wanted to hurt anyone. He knew that there was a danger of taking too much. Especially from those you love and he didn’t want to put me at risk, so he didn’t feed from me. But, over time, as we began courting and the wedding got closer, he felt guiltier about his feedings. I found out a week before our wedding when his shift shattered. It was one of the most horrifying things I’d ever witnessed. I’d never seen him in such pain before.” Jaskier felt Geralt drop a hand to his shoulder and he leaned into the touch. “Even then, he refused to feed from me. He insisted that he would rather starve than risk my life. I didn’t want to lose him.

           “I knew of a sorceress that lived not far from town and, while he was tucked away in the manor, I slipped out to visit her. She didn’t have many options for me. She said I could let him die and just enjoy the time we had before them. Or convince him that the risk of feeding was worth it if he’d get to stay with me longer. But it was the third option that, eventually, we decided on.” Juliana sighed. “She knew of a spell that could temporarily suppress his nature, make him human for a few weeks. If we were able to conceive in that time, she could then pass his powers, his inhuman parts onto our child, making it so that he’d never have to feed again. There was a chance you would have been an incubus anyway, but this was a guarantee. And you, having been born to two humans, would not have the same fears as your father. You can sustain yourself for longer with less and the risk of draining your partner is so small compared to him.” Juliana reached for his hands and Jaskier let her take them. “We would not have chosen this if we thought you would be hurt by it. I promise Julian, your father and I were as careful as we could be to ensure that your heritage would not be a curse to you as it was to him.”

           “You should have told me, Mama,” Jaskier said.

           “I wanted to, once you were a teenager. But when your sister was born, completely human, your father insisted we wait a while longer. So that you could both understand. Then he died and I didn’t know how to tell you the truth with him gone.” Juliana’s eyes glistened with tears. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “There is one more thing. Something that made us more hesitant to tell you,” she managed.

            “Mama,” Jaskier started, but his mother stopped him.

            “She didn’t tell us until after we’d agreed. After she’d already done the spell,” Juliana sobbed. Then she covered her mouth. 

            “Mama, what did she do?” Rosia asked. She took one of their mother’s hands.

            “She laid a curse into it,” Juliana managed. Jaskier felt Geralt’s grip on his shoulder tighten. 

            “A curse?” Jaskier pressed. Juliana just shook her head.

            “Tell me about the curse,” Geralt said, voice all business.

            “I can’t. She wouldn’t tell me. She only told Alfred and he refused to talk about it.” Juliana’s voice was shaking. “He only ever said that we had to be careful about letting Julek use his powers.” 

            “What was her name?” Geralt demanded.

            “It doesn’t matter.”

            “Mother, Geralt can help,” Jaskier said gently. “Just tell him.”

            “She’s dead, Julian.”

            “It will still help,” Geralt insisted. Jaskier could hear the tension in his voice. Juliana looked up at him in defeat.

            “The only name she ever told me was Ella.” 

            “Do you know where she was from?”

            “She mentioned Cidaris, but I don’t know for sure.”

            “That’s alright, Mama,” Jaskier said. “We’ll figure it out.” He pulled her into a hug. 

            Later that night, after everything had settled down and he and Geralt were resting in his rooms, Jaskier found himself fixated on it. Geralt let out a sigh. “I can hear you thinking from here,” Geralt said. He was in a chair by one of the windows, caring for his weapons. Jaskier was propped up on the bed, staring at the blank page in front of him where he’d been intending on working on a song. He grimaced and set the book aside before looking up at Geralt.

            “I’m cursed,” Jaskier muttered. “I’m cursed and I don’t even know what the curse is.”

            “Hmm.”

            “And you have an idea, don’t you?” Jaskier frowned at him.

            “I don’t know for sure,” Geralt admitted.

            “But you think you do.” Jaskier moved over to the side of the bed eagerly as Geralt let out another hum. “Well, come on then, love. What are you thinking? Did you recognize the sorceress? Do you know anything about her?” Geralt glared at him. “Geralt, please. Just tell me what you’re thinking. I promise I won’t go jumping to dramatic conclusions. And, if we find out more, I’ll be open to other solutions, but if you don’t tell me anything, I will just continue to sit here fretting about death or some other such horrors.”

            Geralt sighed. “I have heard of a mage called Ella who was once assigned to the Cidaris court. There were rumors that she used to experiment on the creatures that passed through and that is why the court asked for her to be replaced.”

            “Experiments? Like your trials only for the creatures you hunt?”

            He shook his head. “She was focused on sentient creatures. The ones I try not to fight. Creatures like you.” His golden eyes bore into Jaskier and his grip on the dagger he’d been tending turned white-knuckled. “Aretuza lost track of her when she refused to be reassigned. Until her death a decade ago.” 

            “Well, what kind of experiments was she accused of? I’ve never known you to dance around the point,” Jaskier scoffed.

            “It wasn’t good, Julek.” There was a darkness in his expression. “Eskel is the one who killed her.”

            “Your brother?” Jaskier frowned. “But you lot only go after mages who are causing trouble. Ones who have hurt humans enough that there are contracts for them.”

            “A succubus was the one who posted the contract. She told Eskel that there had been more of her sisters in neighboring towns who had never killed a human disappearing when this mage passed through. Eskel found their bodies at the mage’s tower.” Geralt looked away, checking over the dagger in his hand once more before returning it to its sheath. Jaskier felt as though there was ice crawling through his veins.

            “Ah,” he said shakily. “Well, then.” Geralt set aside his weapons and clean materials and joined Jaskier on the side of the bed. He pulled Jaskier back with him as he settled into a comfortable position. With a flick of his wrists, the candles in the room went out, leaving only the warm light from the fireplace.

            “Sleep, Julek. We’ll see what Eskel knows when we get to the keep,” Geralt whispered. He wrapped his arms protectively around Jaskier, keeping the incubus tucked warmly against his chest. It still took Jaskier a long time to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

            Jaskier and Geralt stayed with his family for the rest of the week before they started on their way to Kaer Morhen. It wasn’t that long of a journey and they easily made it before the first snows fell on the mountain keep. However, it was not the most peaceful of trips. Jaskier was distracted by what his mother had told him. About the possibilities of the curse. He was particularly worried that Geralt was right and the one who had laid the curse was the same mage that Eskel had killed. He had tried to distract himself with his excitement for the winter, but that had only brought about anxieties regarding meeting Geralt’s family. He knew from Geralt’s stories that all his fellow witchers were protective and he wasn’t sure how they’d react once they knew that Jaskier was an incubus. Geralt hadn’t hurt him, and Eskel sounded like he would at least refrain from killing him. But Jaskier had known Geralt for decades before he’d even realized he wasn’t human. And not killing was a far cry from being friendly. 

            Geralt had clearly picked up on his hesitations but he was quiet on the matter. They took their time climbing the mountain to Kaer Morhen. As a result, they were the last of the wolf witchers to arrive. An older witcher met them at the gates. Jaskier knew from Geralt’s stories that the man in front of them was called Vesemir and had become a father figure to Geralt over the years. Vesemir eyed Jaskier suspiciously, taking in his appearance with a slow scan. “You must be the bard,” Vesemir said finally. 

            “Ah, yes, that would be me. Julian Alfred Pankratz, also known as Jaskier, bard to the White Wolf. At your service,” Jaskier replied with a showman’s smile. He bowed a little to Vesemir. Vesemir arched an eyebrow and sniffed. Then he looked curiously at Geralt. Geralt straightened defensively and Jaskier frowned.

            “It’s been a while since we’ve had a human in the keep,” Vesemir said carefully, keeping his eyes on Geralt.

            Geralt sighed. “He’s not human.” Vesemir frowned.

            “I’m an incubus, actually,” Jaskier volunteered. “It’s a recent discovery, but it comes from my father’s side of the family.” 

            “Incubus,” Vesemir grunted, finally relaxing a little. “You should lose the shift before you meet the others. They won’t like someone hiding.” Jaskier felt a prickling sensation under his skin, but he ignored it. He was used to the odd feeling, having gotten it every time someone had made a suggestion that he change how he looked. Like when Priscilla had suggested he grow his hair out or when Valdo, a pox upon him, suggested he was too muscly and skinny to be attractive.

            “We don’t think it’s wise for him to shift,” Geralt said. “There’s a curse. Besides, he is the one who gets to choose what he looks like.” There was a protective edge to his voice that Jaskier appreciated. It made the prickling ease.

            “I assure you, if it weren't for the curse, I’d be more than happy to follow your suggestion,” Jaskier said quickly. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to intrude or anything.” Vesemir’s eyebrow went up again.

            Geralt rolled his eyes and took Jaskier’s hand, tugging him along as they walked past Vesemir. “You’re not intruding, Julek,” he said.

            “He’ll be helping where he can!” Vesemir called after them. Geralt grunted back but didn’t stop moving until they were in the stables. He took his time stabling and caring for Roach, while Jaskier gathered their things from her saddlebags. There was only one other horse, but a small goat watched them while they worked. She seemed particularly fascinated by Jaskier, and Jaskier wanted to pet her, but he knew from Geralt that Witchers were protective of their animals. Geralt ignored the goat and only gave the other horse a small pat on the rump before ignoring him too. Once they were done, Geralt took the bags of their things from Jaskier and led him into the keep. The entrance room was a huge open space built from stone that connected to a large dining room and several hallways. A large stone fireplace had a fire roaring welcomingly, but there were no other people that Jaskier could see. 

            Geralt continued down one of the hallways and up a set of stairs to his room. His room was sparse but still homey. Nothing compared to the manor they had just come from but better than any inn. The bed was big and covered in warm-looking furs. There was a dresser and a bookcase alongside a desk. All appeared to have been carefully carved with beautiful images of the forest and the animals that lived there. While Geralt set their bags on the bed and began unpacking, Jaskier let himself be distracted by the artistry on the wood. “Eskel carved those,” Geralt said, startling Jaskier from his thoughts.

            “They’re gorgeous. Your brother is incredibly talented. These must have taken ages,” Jaskier marveled. 

            “There is plenty of downtime in the winter, once the snows come.” Geralt handed him his bag of clothes. “You can use my drawers.”

            “Thank you, love.” Jaskier placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and someone whistled from the hall. Jaskier was startled, but Geralt was quick to steady him and glared at the cackling man who leaned against the door frame. Jaskier took in the short hair and the trim beard alongside the three long scars on one side of his face. “You must be Lambert,” Jaskier decided.

            He grinned. “So the old bastard has talked about us, has he?” Lambert’s yellow eyes glinted wickedly. “He’s talked about you too, Bard.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Finally get your acts together?”

            “What?” Jaskier frowned.

            “Lambert,” Geralt growled.

            “Who asked who? Oh! Did you get desperate for a fuck? Or did Geralt finally get his head out of his ass?” Lambert bared his teeth wolfishly.

            “Fuck off,” Geralt snapped stepping towards the door. Jaskier grimaced. But then Lambert suddenly was jerked out of the doorway by an attractive man with bright green eyes and short curly hair.

            “Ignore my wolf,” the man said. “He has no manners.” The man smiled even as he effortlessly maneuvered Lambert into a chokehold. It took a moment for Jaskier to realize that this man had to be a witcher too. Neither was in amour because the keep was meant to be a safe place, but both still had their medallions. And dangling from the newcomer’s neck was a cat medallion. Upon closer inspection, Jaskier could tell that his eyes were just a bit too green and his pupils were shaped like a cat’s, just like Geralt’s were.

            “Aiden,” Geralt grunted. “Heard you were dead.”

            Aiden just grinned broader. “It was a close call.” Aiden then looked to Jaskier. “And you are the great bard, Jaskier. Friend of witchers. Geralt has always spoken highly of you. I see you’ve got yourself a wolf to manage too.” Jaskier barked out a laugh.

            “Aiden,” Lambert managed, struggling to get out of the chokehold by tugging on the other’s arms without much success.

            “Congratulations. It’s always hard for them to manage their emotions. Their trials are meant to suppress them, but they really just don’t teach them what the emotion is.”

            “And your trials don’t?” Jaskier asked, grinning back.

            “Mine heightened the emotions. Much better for a Cat.” His eyes glinted. “We have better hearing too. But these wolves have better noses. Makes for a good counterbalance. If only it didn’t take decades to get them to understand that.” Lambert managed to get his footing and flipped Aiden forward, only to end up pinned to the ground, the Cat still grinning above him. “I’d say his manners would improve as he gets to know you, but I’d be lying. Much like you are right now, my demonic friend.” At that, Lambert stopped struggling and looked over to Jaskier as best he could from his place on the floor in the hallway. 

            “I can’t be lying if I haven’t said anything,” Jaskier snapped back, only a little shocked that Aiden had known.

            “Hiding then.” Aiden shrugged.

            “Not hiding,” Geralt growled. “Still would be better than spying.” He raised his eyebrows and glared at Aiden.

            The Cat just shrugged again. “I’m good at sneaking around. I can’t help what I hear.”

            “You certainly can,” Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms defensively. 

            “What kind of demon?” Lambert asked, tilting his head curiously from the floor.

            “Incubus.”

            “Huh.” Lambert shoved at Aiden again and the cat finally gave up his placement atop the wolf. “Why the shift? No one here’s gonna care as long as you’re not killing or raping people.” Lambert sat up and looked at Geralt. “I’m assuming you’re not.”

            “He’s not,” Geralt snarled, baring his teeth. “There’s a curse.”

            “What kind of curse?”

            “We don’t know, just that it relates to my, er, shifting abilities,” Jaskier said.

            “Well,” Aiden declared, helping Lambert to his feet, “I believe we’ve intruded on you enough. I’m sure we’ll see you both at dinner. In the meantime, I think I’ll try to teach my wolf some, ah, proper manners.” Aiden practically purred the last words in Lambert’s ear and Lambert responded by letting out a low growl and dragging Aiden from the room. Jaskier let out a quiet laugh and returned his attention to unpacking, humming as he did.

            “I’m sorry,” Geralt said a few moments later.

            “Whatever for, dearheart?” Jaskier asked.

            “Lambert. He’s an ass.”

            “Yes, but I expected as much. Many of you witchers are. For good reason.” Jaskier took a seat on the bed and tugged at Geralt’s arm until he followed. Jaskier maneuvered them until he was leaning against the headboard and Geralt was in between his legs. He ran his hands gently through Geralt’s long hair. “You were just children when you were plucked from your mothers or sent away from home. None of you volunteered for the trials nor did you choose this path that you walk. And it is a path that, though necessary and despite my best efforts, is often thankless and full of hatred. You responded by shutting out the world. Lambert seems to have responded by deciding if the world was going to be a curse upon him, then he would be a curse upon it in return. I don’t fault him, just as I never faulted you.” Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist and tucked his chin over the witcher’s shoulder. “You do not have to apologize for your family, Geralt. And you never will. Not to me.” Geralt let out a pleased hum and tilted his head to rest against Jaskier’s. “I love you too.” 

            They stayed in Geralt’s room until dinner, just resting. Jaskier braided Geralt’s hair while Geralt tended to his armor, making sure it was clean so he could put it up until he’d need it. It was a thrill for Jaskier to see Geralt so relaxed. He’d never seen it before. Even while they had stayed at his manor, Geralt had refused to go anywhere on the grounds without some kind of weapon. But here, at Kaer Morhen, none of the witchers carried blades or wore their armor. The only tools of their trade they kept on were their medallions. And it wasn’t just their appearances that had relaxed. Their behaviors had too. Geralt would rarely allow himself to fall into his less acceptable traits and instincts when they were on the Path, though Jaskier had seen a few of them a time or two when Geralt returned high on potions and fighting through toxicity. He had known that sometimes Geralt preferred to communicate nonverbally, and, when things would get too overwhelming, he would shut down or lash out. That nasty incident on the mountain, for example. Jaskier had learned over the years how to read his witcher’s body language and understand the growls, grunts, and gestures he’d resort to.

            However, on the Path, Geralt always at least made an effort to reign himself in and push his own comfort levels. He was always hyper-aware of how he could be perceived by others, even when there were no other people around. Now he was allowing himself to crowd as close to Jaskier as Jaskier would allow, ensuring he had a hand on or near a pulse point as often as possible. Periodically, he’d point something out and spell the word across the skin of Jaskier’s arm as they made their way to the dining room. He’d spelled the word ‘bath’ and pointed to a stairwell that went down into the keep. At another door, he’d spelled ‘Eskel’. At another, ‘Lambert’. It was clear that, though Geralt was tired, he was relaxing and this was the method of communication that worked for him at this moment. It was wonderful to Jaskier to be allowed to see Geralt this way. The brief glimpses would never compare after this experience, he was sure. When they came back to the main hall, Geralt guided him into the dining room and into a seat across from where Aiden and Lambert were already seated, bickering with each other. 

            “Geralt!” Someone called out, entering the room from the other side, carrying a large tray full of some kind of meat. The witcher was the same height as Geralt and looked incredibly similar. Or he would have if it were for the large array of scars that covered one side of his face. One cut through his upper lip, disfiguring it and making his face rather distorted and more inhuman than the other witchers. It was easy to identify this witcher as Eskel, Geralt’s other brother. His hair was brownish and fell just around his ears, and he was grinning as he placed the food on the table. Jaskier noticed that Eskel let Geralt reach for him first as they clasped their arms and hugged. When they broke apart, Eskel turned to Jaskier. “And you’ve brought a friend this year. You’re Geralt’s bard, aren’t you?”

            Jaskier got to his feet with a grin. “Right you are! Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service.” He bowed to Eskel with a flourish. “And you must be Eskel, seeing as I’ve already met Lambert.” Jaskier shot a look at the other wolf witcher who stuck his tongue out. Aiden rolled his eyes. 

            “Small talk can happen while we’re eating,” Vesemir said, appearing at Jaskier’s side and clamping a hand on his shoulder. Jaskier had to smother a yelp, though he knew it hadn’t worked if the matching smirks on Eskel and Geralt’s faces were anything to go by. “You’ll be expected to help with food preparation at some point, bard. And getting food, if we run out.”

            “Of course,” Jaskier managed. He retook his seat beside Geralt, and the meal commenced. Vesemir spent the first few minutes dueling out chores to everyone, Jaskier included. Notably, Jaskier’s tasks were less physically demanding than the ones given to the witchers. When Vesemir was done with that, he also took a few moments to scold Aiden and Lambert for a wrestling match that had destroyed what was left of one of the training rooms. At least, that’s what Jaskier understood him to be saying. It was hard to parse it out with Aiden trying to talk over him at every word. He did, however, manage to catch that it had not been a wrestling match, despite appearances. And the glint in Aiden’s eyes along with the embarrassment in Lambert’s scowl was enough information on that.

            “One last thing,” Vesemir sighed, once he’d resigned himself to Aiden and Lambert’s antics. “Coen and Albin sent letters that they’ll be coming if they can beat the snows. You will not fight with them.” He glared at Geralt when he said that, and Jaskier frowned. But Geralt’s finger carefully spelled out ‘tomorrow’ on his arms so he put it aside. 

            “You’re letting Albin come after what he did last time?” Aiden asked, suddenly looking furious. Lambert gripped his arm tightly, though he seemed to agree with the sentiment.

            “All witchers are welcomed here. He’s been warned and punished for his deeds. It’s been decades. There’s no need to continue holding it against him with so few of us left.” Vesemir’s glare traveled around the table before landing on Jaskier. “However, I would prefer it if he’s not left alone with Geralt or Jaskier.” Jaskier frowned, but before he could ask his question, Eskel was already speaking.

            “But he doesn’t care about humans. He shouldn’t have a problem,” Eskel said.

            “Jaskier isn’t human,” Aiden said darkly. “And I for one, do not want that Viper anywhere near the bard that has eased our path. Even if it’s never alone. I do not trust Albin.” 

            “I did not say you have to trust him,” Vesemir clarified. “Just don’t fight him, and don’t leave him alone with either of them.” He gestured to Geralt and Jaskier. Geralt had wrapped his hand tightly around Jaskier’s wrist, just short of painful, and there was a tension thrumming through him that hadn’t been there before.

            “If I may, what did he do that makes you think he won’t like the fact that I’m not human?” Jaskier asked. Eskel grimaced.

            “He’s an ass,” Lambert said sharply. Aiden snorted in agreement. 

            “He’s got something against creatures. Even the sentient ones,” Eskel explained. “Last time I saw him, he’d been helping a mage round-up Succubi for experiments.” Jaskier’s heart dropped. Instantly, Geralt was tugging him closer, but Eskel didn’t seem to notice. “The mage was trying to force them to enthrall only the people she chose and when her experiments would fail, she’d kill the succubus and he’d bring her a new one. Wasn’t the thing that got him kicked out of here though. That was earlier and I wasn’t here for that.” 

            “He hadn’t made it up before the snows came and spent that year on the path, the lucky ass,” Lambert added. “Albin and Geralt were going over the bestiary since the different schools sometimes have different information and Geralt’s a nerd for that kind of thing. But they got to some kind of sentient creature, we don’t know which one since Geralt sorta shut down after he blew up.” Aiden elbowed him and Lambert stopped talking to glare.

            “Shut up,” Aiden hissed. Then he looked at Jaskier. “Did you know that mage Eskel was talking about?”

            Jaskier tensed. “Ah, well, that curse we mentioned earlier was done by a mage. It’s a bit of a long story, but the gist of it is that my parents hired a mage to transfer my father’s demonic heritage to me to allow him to live without feeding. Afterward, she informed them that she had laid a curse into it. Something to do with my using my powers.”

            “And what kind of demon are you?” Eskel asked.

            “Incubus.”

            Eskel let out a whistle. “And you think it’s the same mage that Albin was helping.”

            “Yes, well, the only information my mother had was that she called herself Ella and may have been from Cidaris.” Jaskier picked at the food in front of him. 

            “Could have been the same,” Eskel admitted. “Won’t help you much. I don’t know anything about what she was working on beyond the succubi.” 

            “I didn’t expect you to.” Jaskier smiled kindly. “Now, if I may, these topics are quite unsatisfactory for supper. How about something lighter?” Jaskier quickly started pressing for stories of the other witcher’s adventures and the mood lightened. However, the thought of Albin’s arrival weighed on Jaskeir’s mind. It was made worse when Geralt refused to explain what the argument had been about, even after a week of pestering.

Chapter Text

            Jaskier spent the next three weeks feeling unsettled. Even Coen’s arrival the second week and the snow that followed did nothing to ease him. Geralt had noticed, but couldn’t seem to figure out how to comfort him. Aiden, Eskel, and Lambert just left Jaskier alone unless Jaskier cornered them or they were sharing a meal. Vesemir ignored it and put Jaskier to work. Three weeks after their arrival, and two days after the snow had started, the gates opened again. Jaskier was helping Eskel and Geralt bring some more firewood into the hall, so they all saw the new arrival as he shuffled into the courtyard. He was big and pale and his eyes were such a pale yellow they were nearly white. He had black hair cropped short against his skull and when he saw Jaskier he grimaced. 

            “Albin,” Eskel said sourly.

            “Eskel. Wolf,” Albin replied, looking at the two witchers in turn. Geralt bared his teeth and stepped closer to Jaskier. “Who are you?” Albin glared at him.

            Jaskier put on his best showman’s smile. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, master of the seven arts. Also known as Jaskier, the Bard of the White Wolf. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, witcher.” Jaskier inclined his head politely around the stack of wood in his arms, but Albin’s glare had gotten worse.

            “Pankratz. The demon’s son,” Albin declared. He reached for a weapon near his hip but was stopped when Vesemir appeared beside him and gripped his wrist.

            “Jaskier is a guest here, same as you,” Vesemir said flatly. “And I will have no fighting between my guests.” His voice left no room for disagreement. Albin briefly glared at him before jerking out of his grip and storming into the keep. Vesemir frowned. “I did not expect him to know of you. Not in that way.”

            “Nor did I,” Jaskier admitted.

            “It means he knew about your father,” Eskel said. “And likely the mage who cursed you.” 

            “I don’t think he’ll be willing to help with that,” Jaskier gulped. Vesemir took his load of wood.

            “Go find Aiden and Lambert in the stables. I’ll send Geralt along once we have the wood inside,” Vesemir ordered. Jaskier went to protest, but a good look at the pinched concern on Geralt’s face had him obeying. Jaskier wandered to the stables and found Lambert and Aiden arguing while the goat who’d been there when they’d arrived stood in between them letting out a loud sound almost like a scream after every sentence.

            “I’m not brushing Roach,” Aiden snapped. “She bit me last time!” The goat screamed.

            Lambert stopped his feet. “Last time she kicked me and I dislocated my hip! It’s your turn,” Lambert snarled. The goat screamed again. Jaskier decided not to disrupt the argument as the two continued to go back and forth over who would brush the White Wolf’s horse and retrieved the brush himself. Roach eyed him suspiciously as he entered her stall but quickly decided that he was of no interest to her and let him get on with it. A few minutes later, Geralt and Eskel came in.

            “What are you two doing?!” Eskel yelled as the goat let out another scream. The goat bounded out from between the two witchers and over to Eskel who scooped her up in his hands, calming her in an instant. “You’re scaring Lil’ Bleater.” Jaskier chuckled and Lambert glared at him. The glare faded when he realized what Jaskier had been doing.

            “Are you brushing her?” Lambert asked. Aiden looked over in disbelief and Roach let out a huff of annoyance since Jaskier had stopped to laugh at the spectacle.

            “Oh, uh, yes. I was. Since neither of you seemed to want to and keeping my hands busy is much harder without access to my lute,” Jaskier answered.

            “Did you really not notice him?” Geralt huffed. He slipped in and took the brush from Jaskier’s hand. Roach leaned up and nosed at him affectionately. 

            “I hate your horse, Geralt,” Aiden declared dully.

            “She hates you too,” Geralt replied.

            “What are the three of you doing in here anyway?” Lambert pouted, crossing his arms. “Thought you were stacking wood before the storm got any worse.”

            “Albin’s here,” Eskel said. Lambert and Aiden both cursed. 

            “Thought the bastard hadn’t beat the storm,” Aiden hissed.

            “Us too. It gets worse though. Seems he’s familiar with the bard’s family. He tried to pull a dagger on the bard, but Vesemir stopped him. He’s getting Coen up to speed. We need to make a plan to keep Jaskier safe. We can’t count on the old man the whole time.” Eskel frowned, petting the goat, Lil’ bleater. Geralt took over caring for Roach and Jaskier moved to take a step back. But Geralt made a soft sound and looked up at him curiously. Jaskier sighed and stepped closer instead, leaning his weight against the witcher’s back. 

            “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Aiden declared, slipping from the stables. Lambert rolled his eyes fondly.

            “Asshole,” he muttered, grinning. “I say the rest of us stick by Jaskier. Albin’s an old beast, but he can’t take three witchers.”

            “Four,” a voice called from the door. Jaskier looked over to see Coen standing there. “We do not harm those who do not harm others.” He looked over Jaskier with a smirk. “Though, I think that something of this nature should not have been kept from me.”

            “It wasn’t a secret. It just never came up with you,” Jaskier said. “All the other’s had me figured out the day I arrived.” He smiled. 

            Coen nodded. “I’ve never known an incubus who doesn’t like to shift.”

            “As I’m sure Vesemir mentioned, there’s a curse.”

            “My point remains.” Coen walked closer, but Geralt let out a growl and he stopped moving. 

            “I’ve only ever shifted twice. I like how I look and I have no reason to change.” He couldn’t keep himself from glancing back at Geralt who let out a hum that vibrated through the two of them. Coen looked between the two of them and nodded.

            “So we make sure that at least two of us are within earshot of Jaskier at all times,” Eskel said, bringing the attention back to the topic at hand. “Avoiding Albin won’t be hard. The hard part will be meals. We eat together and the only way to ensure that Albin isn't close to Jaskier is to have them across from each other.”

            “Jaskier and Geralt could eat separately,” Lambert suggested.

            “They should not be punished for someone else's bigotry,” Coen said. 

            “No. I’m fine with making sure that I’m not alone or placing me as far from him as you can, but you will not restructure your entire winter just because my presence upsets one of you. He agreed to Vesemir’s order not to fight. I will trust his word. I will not hide myself away nor will I eat separately or change myself to please him. We are all meant to be safe here. To be relaxed. I will not allow you all to ruin your rest over one man’s opinion. I have dealt with bad opinions all my life. I’m not about to start letting them rule it now,” Jaskier declared. “I’m going to compose. I’ll be in our room and I will see the rest of you at dinner.” Jaskier gave Roach a parting pat and waited for Geralt to follow him as he marched into the keep and to their room. Albin was sitting by the main fire and his eyes followed them as they passed. 

            When they got to their room, Geralt pulled Jaskier in from a hug and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You shouldn’t have to be worried like this, Julek,” Geralt muttered.

            “I’m not the one worrying, love,” Jaskier chuckled. “Now let me go. I wasn’t lying about wanting to compose.” They spent the rest of the afternoon in their room: Jaskier with his notes strewn about the floor as he worked on a new composition and Geralt resting on the bed, reading through a book on dragons that Eskel had given him. Jaskier loved every second of it.

            All too soon it was time for dinner, Coen and Aiden’s cooking, and they went down to eat. Aiden and Lambert took one side of Albin while Vesemir took the other. Eskel and Geralt bracketed Jaskier in his seat across from Albin and fixed their fiercest glares on him. Albin glared right back. Jaskier rolled his eyes and started eating his stew, which was under seasoned like all of Aiden’s food had been so far. The one time Jaskier had cooked, all of the witchers declared that his food had far too much spice for their sensitive tastes and that he would not be cooking again. Which was why he was surprised when Vesemir spoke.

            “Jaskier, would you make dinner tomorrow in Lambert’s place? I need help with organizing my herbs and I don’t want to risk your immune system when I know that Lambert can handle it,” Vesemir ordered.

            “I thought you didn't like my cooking?” He glanced around the table, but most of them avoided his gaze. Coen, who had missed the last time, just shrugged.“As long as it’s not deadly, it’s not a problem,” Vesemir replied. “You’ll cook with Geralt tomorrow in Lambert’s place.”

            “Of course.” Jaskier nodded.

            “Tell me, bard, how did you come to travel with a witcher?” Albin asked suddenly. Jaskier felt Eskel and Geralt tense. Aiden’s grip on his spoon tightened until his knuckles were white.

            “I saw him at a tavern thirty-some years ago and thought he'd make a brilliant muse. I was right of course, and I gained not only a muse but a lover as well. It’s a choice I have never regretted, despite the odd near-death experience,” Jaskier chuckled.

            “And this is how he has you look? Like a pansy?” Albin sneered. Jaskier went stiff. He was not unused to a slur or two being thrown at him, but the implication that Geralt was the one who had chosen his appearance was unsettling.

            “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said carefully.

            “If I’d chosen to take a demon captive, I'd have them look better than you.”

            “Jaskier can look how he pleases,” Geralt growled. “He’s not my captive, he’s my lover. As he loves me, I love him. If you value your life, you will speak to him with care, Albin.”

            Albin raised an eyebrow. Then he smirked wickedly and fixed his gaze on Jaskier. “I know what Ella did to you before your monsterfucking friend got to her.” There was a brief glance at Eskel who let out a growl of his own, something that was unsettling from the normally pleasant mannered man.

            “And what are you referring to?” Jaskier said darkly.

            “Albin,” Vesemir warned. Albin ignored him.

            “Incubi are demons,” Albin spat. “The least you can do is listen when you're told to do something. And look the part.” Jaskier felt a prickling sensation travel up his spine. “Show your friends what you really look like,” Albin ordered, pressing his hands into the table and leaning forward. The prickling sensation became a sharp tug and Jaskier felt himself shift. He tried to stop it, but that made the prickling become a burn and he couldn’t fight it. He let out a gasp as he felt his feet shift to hooves in his shoes which he scrambled to remove as he got up, pushing his chair back with a crash. Geralt was reaching for him, trying to steady him even before the shift was done. His horns pushed in behind his ears and his eyes burned for a second as they started to glow. His tail painfully formed on his back and he pulled it out between his trousers and shirt before it could hurt too much. He stood shaking on his hooves as he glared at Albin. Albin sat back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. The other witchers stared at Jaskier, seemingly frozen in shock. He wanted to tell them off. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen an incubus and it wouldn’t be the last. But he was far more concerned with Geralt. 

            “Julek,” Geralt breathed.

            “I’m all right, darling. Just shaken,” Jaskier managed. Geralt’s grip on his arm tightened. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. It was pointless because he could feel his tail twitching nervously behind him. Geralt eyed it pointedly, but before he could say or do anything, Aiden seemed to recover his wits. He snarled as he pulled a dagger from his waist and tackled Albin. In seconds, he had the Viper pressed to the wall, dagger pressing hard against his throat.

            “You bastard,” Aiden hissed. Albin struggled against him, but both witchers were thrown to the ground when Vesemir cast Aard. Eskel moved quickly in unison with Coen as they pulled Albin away from Aiden. Lambert grabbed Aiden and dragged him over to where Geralt and Jaskier were still standing. 

            “Enough. Jaskier,” Vesemir started, but he was cut off by Aiden.

            “He was forced to shift!” Aiden yelled. “Albin forced him to shift.”

            “Aiden,” Lambert snapped, tugging at him, but Aiden ripped free and placed himself between Jaskier and where Eskel and Coen were still holding Albin brandishing his dagger.

            Vesemir frowned. Then he looked at Jaskier. “Did you choose to shift?” 

            Jaskier shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Not until we know about the curse. I -I have no idea what happened.”

            Vesemir looked to Aiden. “Explain.”

            “I’ve seen it before,” Aiden said sharply. “A mage and an incubus. It was a spell that she laid on him so that she could order him to shift whenever she liked. Anyone could give him an order to shift and he would be forced to. He couldn’t fight it. Now, that was different because he’d agreed to that. It was a consensual spell that the mage could remove if he ever revoked that consent. But only the mage who cast it can remove it. It’s very different for a mage to cast that spell on a child. And worse for someone to exploit it.” Aiden looked as though he was about to pounce at Albin again and, if the low growl coming from the youngest witcher was anything to go by, Lambert would likely pounce right alongside Aiden. 

            Vesemir looked over at Albin. “Is this true?”

            “Ella spelled the demon before he was born to make him harmless. Controllable. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Albin said. He jerked against the grip on him, but Eskel and Coen didn’t budge. “She should’ve just killed him, his demon father, and his monsterfucker of a mother. Saved us the hassle now.” 

            “You’d be wise to shut up,” Coen snarled. His eyes burned in anger. Vesemir set his jaw.

            “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Geralt growled.

            “You are nearly as bad as the monsters we hunt,” Albin sneered. “You empathize with them.” He said the word as though it were poison. “You allow one to travel with you and you fuck it instead of kill it. Then you claim love as if it has the ability to feel. It’s a demon! A monster! It deserves to die!” 

            “Do you not see the hypocrisy in your words?” Jaskier said. “Are you not just echoing what villagers have yelled at you for centuries? That witchers can’t feel. Aren’t human. Are as much a monster as the beasts they fight. If someone is capable of thought, they are capable of feeling. They are capable of learning. And they are capable of change. Both my parents are human. So is my sister and all of her children. Would you really rather have all their lives be lost simply because of the happenstance of my birth?” Jaskier stepped forward. “I was raised as a human. I had no idea I was an incubus until this past summer. Had I run into you before then, would you have killed me? I have done nothing wrong. The only thing I had ever used my powers for was to shift when I was so young I cannot even remember it. Would you have killed me then? If you had found me as an infant, with horns and hooves and the only crime I’d ever committed was being born? The very same crime that everyone in this room committed to be treated as you are when you enter a town and mothers hide their children and men find their weapons. Can you not see that?”

            “Julek,” Geralt said gently, tugging on his arm. Jaskier let himself be pulled in close to Geralt. Let the warmth of his witcher wash over him.

            “Jaskier is right,” Vesemir declared. “None of us asked to be witchers anymore than he asked to be an incubus. If you cannot see that, then you are no longer welcome in this keep. This winter or any winter after. I want you gone by morning.” He paused and glanced over at Aiden and Lambert. “If you're not, the Cat can have you.” Aiden bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “Coen, if you’ll make sure Albin doesn’t stray on his way to collect his things. The rest of you, I think some White Gull is in order. Lambert, if you will retrieve it.” Aiden tossed his dagger to Coen and only then did Eskel release Albin. 

            Coen shoved Albin forward towards the rooms. “Move. And remember, you are outnumbered and we like the bard better than you.”

Chapter Text

Jaskier was still shaken as he was guided to the main hall and a pile of furs by the fire. Geralt shoved him down and wrapped around him like a damned octopus, but Jaskier just let him. He leaned into his witcher’s warmth and ignored the strange yet comfortable sensations of his new form, unwilling to try shifting again so soon after that disaster. Slowly, the other witchers joined them, spread out around the room. Aiden was one of the last and he planted himself right beside Jaskier and Geralt, not quite touching them, still clearly steaming from the interaction. When Lambert returned with a barrel of White Gull, he sat the barrel down and stood behind Aiden, leaning against the wall and watching him with worried eyes. Eskel had moved a couple of chairs into the room for himself and Vesemir and they got comfortable. No one spoke. Apart from the gentle humming purr that Geralt was making, there was no sound in the room. A while later, Coen returned with a firm grip on Albin as he dragged him to the door. Albin cast a glare at Jaskier, but it was ignored as Jaskier just pressed closer to Geralt. 

“Move,” Coen growled when Albin’s steps hesitated. Albin’s glare shifted but he kept moving out of the keep. Coen returned a few minutes later, a light dusting of snow melting off him as he walked to the barrel of White Gull. He hefted it onto a nearby table. Vesemir went and retrieved some mugs and they started pouring.

“The bastard,” Aiden muttered, after all but Jaskier had begun drinking. Jaskier knew better than to try drinking White Gull again. He’d once snuck some of Geralt’s stock and had woken up three days later with no recollection of where he was and a very frustrated witcher dragging him along the streets of a town he did not recognize. 

“Absolute ghoul of a man,” Eskel agreed. 

“I shouldn’t have let him stay,” Vesemir said. “Witcher or not.”

“None of you did anything wrong,” Jaskier managed. 

“Should have cut his throat out for what he did,” Aiden growled. Lambert, who had taken a seat beside him, wrapped an arm around the Cat. “For what he let that witch do.” 

“It was decades ago,” Jaskier insisted.

“In our lives, decades don’t mean as much as you’d think,” Vesemir said darkly. “I have been on this earth for centuries, and I have known the horrors of the world better than anyone. When we see someone willing to look the other way or assist in atrocities against any people, it always leads to something worse later on. A good person does not allow anyone to suffer if they can help it. After the schools were sacked, I could not bear to kill another witcher, but I should have protected the others from his vitriol.” 

“He’s gone now,” Eskel said, taking a gulp of his drink. “And I say good riddance.”

“And we know what the curse is now,” Lambert volunteered. 

“Knowing that the bard will be forced to shift if someone tells him to is not a reason to celebrate,” Aiden grumbled. He downed the rest of his cup and reached over for a refill which Coen easily provided. “I know this curse well.”

“Because you fucked the mage who used it,” Lambert huffed. Aiden glared at him.

“It won’t kill me though,” Jaskier said. “That, at least, is good news.” Geralt let out an uncertain hum. “It is, despite the pile of shit that came with it.” 

“What I want to know is why it wasn’t clear sooner,” Coen mused, rubbing at his chin.

“How many people do you know that go around telling people what to look like?” Eskel snorted, refilling his mug. “They make suggestions, but out-right order?”

“It only works when the shifting is easy to access,” Aiden said. “If Jaskeir hadn’t shifted in decades then the curse wouldn’t have worked because he would have to focus to use his magic.” Geralt let out a dry chuckle. 

“I like this look for you bard if you care for my opinion,” Coen said, eying Jaskier with a pleasant grin. “The eyes especially.”

“I never turn down a compliment,” Jaskier grinned. He knew that his teeth were a little sharper than normal and enjoyed the way that Coen’s eyes got a little wider. He also enjoyed the possessive hum that came from Geralt. 

“Well, more good news,” Eskel mused. “You can shift whenever you like now. Assuming you want to.” 

Jaskier glanced back over his shoulder at Geralt, amber eyes looked back at him, warm and loving. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll figure out how to have some fun with it. Now that we know there won’t be any more harm done by it.” Jaskier smirked. Geralt raised his eyebrows and slid one of his hands down Jaskier’s back until it was just barely brushing the base of his tail, spreading a pleasant sensation up his spine.

“Some of us are trying to drink in peace. Keep it in your pants,” Lambert snapped. Aiden grinned and in an instant had Lambert pinned to the ground, spilling both their mugs.

“Are you saying you don’t want exactly what they want?” Aiden purred, leaning close to Lambert’s ear. Jaskier could nearly taste the lust rolling off both of them. 

“Get a room!” Eskel yelled, laughing. Coen joined him in taunting the two. Yelling and laughing loudly while Lambert stammered and Aiden continued to rile him up. Jaskier angled his head so that his lips were near Geralt’s ear, and his horns weren’t in the way. 

“You know darling, all this excitement has made me rather... hungry, ” he breathed the last word against Geralt’s skin and settled back down. He could tell his words had the desired effect when he shifted a bit towards Geralt’s lap. “So long as you want it, of course, love.” Jaskier purposely glanced over at Geralt’s still half-full cup of White Gull. Nowhere near enough to cross the line of buzzed even, despite the other witchers now being two or three cups in. Something told him, Geralt had known where this may lead.

Geralt tucked his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, taking a deep breath. “I always want whatever you will give me,” he muttered. “Especially when you smell like this.” He pressed a kiss at the base of Jaskier’s neck. “So warm.” Another kiss, slightly higher. “So pleased.” More kisses until he reached Jaskier’s jawline. “So ready.” Jaskier made a strangled sound in the back of his throat as Geralt ran his nose from his jaw to behind his ear just under his horn and pulled back with a hum. Someone let out a whistle, but Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to figure out who as Geralt scooped him up by his thighs, turning him so they were face to face as he stood. He could hear the rest of the room yelling, but all he could see were the pools of gold staring at him with such love and the pupils so dilated they were nearly hiding the gold. Geralt kissed him and Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist, awkward though it was with his hooves. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, deepening the kiss, running his tongue over the witcher’s teeth. Jaskier lost himself in the feeling of Geralt. In the taste of his mouth and the way they could blend together like this. 

Jaskier felt his back slam against a wall and pulled back panting a little. He glanced around and found himself pinned at the base of the stairs. He grinned and tugged Geralt back in for another. Geralt pressed against him, nearly rutting him into the wall as he dove in. “Room,” Jaskier managed, only pulling back for a second between kisses. “Our room,” he repeated as he arched his back so that Geralt could feel how hard he was. Geralt had dropped his face back to Jaskier’s neck and was busy sucking hickeys down it. “Geralt,” Jaskier moaned. Geralt let out a hum as hit bit down gently on Jaskier’s shoulder, something he loved to do when he was feeling possessive. Admittedly Jaskier liked it too. He made a very unintelligent sound as he dug his nails into Geralt’s back. Geralt licked over the bite and Jaskier let his head lull back against the wall. “Much as I enjoy this, I’m-I’m not an exhibitionist.” Jaskier could barely get the words out and Geralt was quick to put a stop to them by returning to kissing his mouth. But Geralt resituated his grip and started up the stairs as they kissed. 

They made it to the door of their room where it took both of them fumbling for the handle to get it open. Geralt slammed it closed as Jaskier fell back onto the bed panting. The Witcher’s eyes seemed to burn gold in the dim light of the fire. Full of heat and desire. Jaskier smiled broadly, tail flicking as he rested back on his elbows. “Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, bracketing him on the bed.

“Geralt,” Jaskier replied easily. “I’ve just had a thought. A way to make this lovely night a little more interesting.” Geralt let out a curious hum. “How about a wager?”