Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

A Bed for the Night

"This will do." Grumbled Geralt, slowing roach and sliding off his back so that he landed next to Jaskier who had been asking non-stop for the past hour when they might stop for the night. Geralt had told that while he insisted on tagging along with him, he would follow the Witcher's schedule. He was being difficult mind you, and was just as ready for food and sleep.
"Really? It's a bit..." The bard stared up at the inn with a grimace. Upon seeing the scowl on his companions face he stopped. "It's fine."
"Get rooms, I will take care of Roach." He commanded, tossing a bag of coins to the Bard and walking his horse around the side of the pub.
"Yes sir" Jaskier sassed under his breath, prying the rotting wooden door open and slipping into the darkness and stench of the inn. It was smoky inside, the hearth burned merrily away, the only source of light on the floor, and the only colour in the brown pit. 
"Two rooms." He requested, emptying his coins onto the table in front of the burly innkeep.
"This will only get you one room, but I can throw in a whore for the deal?"
"Uh... I don't think that will be required. A bath perhaps? And extra sheets?" Jaskier anticipated having to sleep on the floor tonight, hence the sheets. The man nodded with a frown and handed a key over. It looked rusty enough to give him a disease. The Witcher's huge frame filled the doorway at the moment, his boots stomping on the hard wood and announcing his entrance. The bard gestured from him to follow me and he did so with a hearty groan and a glare thrown in for good measure. 
"You could cheer up a little, after all we are going to have to share a room-" Jaskier said cheerily as they reached the top of the rickety stairs.
"What?!" He snapped, stopping just short of the door. 
"Oh don't think it's my idea of a good time either, but it's all you could afford." He let out a deep and hearty sigh and shoved through the door. Except Jaskier would be lying if he said there wasn't some part of him that wasn't pleased about the arrangement. 

Once Geralt had gone down for ale and some sort of hearty meat - Jaskier imagined - the maid came to the room and began to fill a bath. The bard waited until she was gone and stripped down in seconds, glad to feel the hot water soaking into his aching muscles and washing away what felt like layer upon layer of dust and dirt from the day. 
The room was dim and the water sloshing around my body made a calming sound and soon Jaskier was closing his eyes and leaning back into the warmth of it.
"Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty!" Came a familiar, husky voice as Geralt bashed through the door, seemingly merry. He had had a few too many ales, and though his singing voice was not exactly sweet, there was something about the song he'd chosen that made Jaskier smile. That was until he was rudely interrupted. 
Geralt same sauntering past the screen the Bard had put up, and sat down with a grunt by the side of the tub. "I don't know your name." He said, his voice crisp and clear.
Jaskier was taken aback and tried to subtly cover himself up as he said. "Jaskier. I'm surprised you asked."
"Well you're obviously not going to leave me along, so I might as well know the name to inscribe on your headstone." He grumbled, but there was a smile playing at his lips. It was strange what his Witcher found funny. His eyes moved from the Bard's eyes to his chest and Jaskier tucked his legs up so as to stop Geralt from seeing anything else. 
"How drunk are you?"
"How do you know i'm drunk?" He asked. It was true that maybe someone else might have not thought it, he was steady on his feet, his words weren't slurred or confused and his gaze was steady. But the Bard knew.
"Because you're not being an ass." Jaskier smiled. "Well, not as much of one anyway."
"I like your songs." The Witcher said abruptly, his face surprisingly serious. "They are stupid and full of lies, but they come from your heart and you sing them well."
"I- uh... Thankyou." Jaskier said, finding himself at a genuine loss for words. Geralt didn't move. "Umm... I want to get out, so if you could..." He still didn't move. 
"Geralt, could you go to bed, or at the very least turn your back?" 
"Why? A man should not be ashamed of his body." The Witcher said gravely.
"Easy to say when you look like that." Jaskier laughed, meaning it lightly, but Geralt frowned. "Just go. Please."
Geralt raised his hands in mock surrender and stood to leave. "Sleep on the bed, there is room enough for two, and if you sleep on the floor I will only have to put up with your whining all tomorrow." And with that he left. 

And so that was what the Bard did. Once he was dry and dressed in an undershirt and old trousers, he slid into bed beside Geralt's huge body. It was strange, they weren't close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the body heat from one another and feel the sheets move when one tossed or turned. It was oddly intimate and Jaskier found himself edging towards the outskirts of the bed to avoid the temptation of touching Geralt's miles of pale muscle. 
His preferences had always been something he knew, but not something he faced head on - very often at least, there had been a few occasions where he had indulged for the evening only to be gone by morn - and certainly not something his new travelling companion had to know.