Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

Griffin

The air was thick, suffocatingly so, with the stench of death. It was bitterly cold by the time Jaskier and Geralt reached the border of Temeria and found the remains of a grusome battle. There were a dozen bodies rotting in a pile, heads scattered to the edges of a campsite and weapons strewn along the ground.
"Oh that is disgusting." Jaskier gagged, turning away and dry retching against a tree. "What the fuck happened here?"
Geralt, seeming unaffected by the smell and sight, approached and knelt down to inspect the mud and the wounds on the bodies. "Griffin" He grumbled, gloved fingers tracing the paw prints in the frozen dirt. A thin layer of frosted covered everything, but not the bodies, meaning they must have been here since before the snow. At least a month, Jaskier thought with yet another gag and retch. 
"Shut up Jaskier." Geralt snapped, his eyes darting about the camp. 
"Don't take that tone with me Geralt, you might be used to that stink but i'm a man of-" The Witcher's hand came down over Jaskier's mouth and he hissed in his ear. "I said shut up." The Bard tried his best not to be seriously aroused. He realised it wasn't Geralt's usual grumpy nature, he was on guard, tense and ready to pounce. He must have heard something. Jaskier immediately went still and silent, his hands scrabbling at the strap of his lute. Geralt's hand left his mouth and reached back for one of his swords- just as a hulking shape burst free of the treeline and charged, a blur of claws and wings and a terrible roaring sound.
"Get back." Geralt shouted, practically pushing Jaskier into the mud in an attempt to clear him of the monster's huge swiping paw. It hit Geralt sharply across the chest and sent him flying, then it turned on the Bard, who was scrambling back desperately, boots slipping in the mud. 
"Geralt!" He cried, and the creature reached back its Lion's maw like a cobra about to strike, it's wings spreading out beside it, locking out the light. Jaskier thought for a moment; this is the end. He can't save me this time, i'm going to die. But he found himself not all that disappointed that he might get a chance for that heroic death in the arms of his love. It would make for a great song, if he lived he would write it. 
He closed his eyes and threw up an arm to cover his face, just as a figure darted across his vision, blade shining in the waning sunlight, and slashed it down across the creature's chest. It stumbled back but then seemed more angry than in pain, and its jaws clamped down on Geralt's shoulder, blood running down his armour in sheets. He groaned in pain, but stood firm, stabbing at the creature's face. Jaskier grabbed the blade remaining on Geralt's back and ran. He saw his opening and leapt of a jagged collection of rocks and onto the Griffin's back, thrusting down as he fell. The sword sank in and the creature screamed. Geralt decapitated it and stared as Jaskier rode the creature to the ground, covered in blood and looking a little green in the face.
"Geralt, are you ok?" He gasped, sliding off the Griffin's back and dropping the sword so that he could fuss over the Witcher's bleeding shoulder.
"I'm fine." He grunted in response, shrugging away from Jaskier's touch. "You're a Bard, not a fighter. Don't try that again." His tone was a mix of astonishment, anger and worry all mixed up and poured out in a grumble. It was a good job Jaskier could read him like a book.
"You were worried." He grinned, it spread huge and gleaming across his face. "You were worried about me! The mighty Witcher, scared for his travelling companion!" He pointed wildly at Geralt, a laugh bubbling out of his lips. Geralt scowled and in one swift had the Bard pinned in his arms, one around his throat and one pinned his arms back. Jaskier gasped.
"Don't do it again." He growled, biting the Bard's ear none too lightly. Jaskier's whole body shuddered and he nodded hastily. "And i thought we had established you are more than a travelling companion."
There it was, what Jaskier had been waiting for. That confirmation that his feeling's weren't one sided, that they weren't just companions who occasionally fucked after the rush of a battle or when the adrenaline was coursing through their veins.