Jaskier The Bard's Foolproof Guide To Seducing Your Witcher

Touch

Okay, okay. Geralt is oblivious to flirting which means Jaskier will need to be more blunt if he wants the witcher to understand that he's interested.

See, Jaskier being a bard, is a man of words. He forgot to account for the fact that Geralt is not. Geralt is a man of actions.

So he just needs to show his desire through action. Easy enough.

And he has just the idea for how to do it.

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"Are you sure it's sprained? It looks fine to me." Geralt crouches at Jaskier's side, frowning as he holds the bard's foot in his hands. He gently bends it back and forth and Jaskier hisses.

"Yep, definitely sprained. Hurts when you move it."

"Hmmm." Geralt rolls Jaskier's pant leg up further and inspects his ankle, drawing a pale finger over the joint. His brows furrow as he studies it with the same hyperfocus that he would a creature on a hunt. "There's no swelling that I can see, but that could come later. Must be just a light sprain."

Jaskier feigns another pained noise. "Well that's good I suppose, but I fear I won't be able to walk very well."

"We're almost back to camp," Geralt says. "When we get there I'll bandage it. You just need to make it a little longer. Here, let me help you up."

Geralt takes Jaskier's hand in a firm grip and wraps his other arm around the bard's waist before slowly helping him to his feet. Jaskier makes sure to favour one foot, and leans into the witcher's side. "Alright," he breathes. "I think I can make it back if you help me."

"Hmmm." Golden eyes fix on him for a minute. Then a strong arm is snaking its way around Jaskier's stomach.

Jaskier makes a move to begin limping forwards, but then another arm is tucking itself under his knees and he's being lifted off the ground and pulled into a warm chest. His heart nearly stops as he finds himself in Geralt's arms, being carried bridal-style.

Oh.

"Wh- What are you doing?"

"Carrying you," the witcher grunts as he begins walking.

Jaskier had expected Geralt to sling an arm over his shoulders and help him limp back to camp. That was the plan, anyway: feign an injury and have Geralt help him walk. Something innocent enough to warm the witcher up to the idea of physical contact, but providing Jaskier the perfect opportunity to get close and personal with him.

But this is... this is... mmmm.

Warmth spreads through Jaskier's body. He squirms awkwardly in the witcher's arms.

"You don't have to, ah, do that, Geralt. Really. I can try to walk."

Geralt's grip only tightens. "Don't want you to hurt yourself any further," he says. "It's fine. You're not heavy."

"Oh, uh, okay."

"Unless..." Geralt pauses and looks at Jaskier. "I can put you down if you're uncomfortable with it."

"No!" Jaskier says far too quickly. "I mean, it's fine. I don't mind at all. This is good. Yes. Yes, this is good."

Very good. So very good.

"Hmmm."

The walk back to camp is not long, but to Jaskier the experience feels like an eternity while simultaneously being faster than the blink of an eye. Geralt's body is warm against him-- warmer than a regular man's would be-- and his sculpted chest is a solid foundation for Jaskier to lean into. Geralt's arms cradle him like he's something precious, too strong and solid to make Jaskier fear slipping or being dropped. No, he feels secure and safe and...kind of lightheaded if he's being honest. He tentatively places a hand on Geralt's shoulder. He's sure that his face is flushed, but if Geralt asks maybe he can pass it off as a result of the pain he supposedly feels.