Chapter Text
“They’re REALLY alive!”
Chireadan pulled Jaskier away from the window, but was unable to stop him running into the ruined house.
“Melitele’s tits!” he swore, leaping over a fallen beam to enter the room where Geralt and Yennefer were trying for a fifth or maybe sixth round, “am I happy to see you! Honestly thought you were mincemeat for a while there. Not that I’d mention that in the ballad, obviously, nobody wants to hear that.” He swept chunks of plaster off a plush chair which had weathered the collapse surprisingly well and plopped himself down like an aunt from Poviss.
Yennefer stared at him coldly for several seconds. Finally, she gritted “Can your friend be trusted?”
Geralt frowned. “With my life. Why?”
Yen slowly got up, sighing a little as Geralt’s cock slid out of her.
She strode toward the bard, who was only just beginning to look like he realised what he’d got himself into.
Folding her thumbs into her palms, she held both hands up. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Eigh-mmmmgghhfff!” The vowelled number allowed her to suddenly and alarmingly stick her fingers right in Jaskier’s mouth. She had a terrible bedside manner. He bit her and she zapped him using the perfectly natural electricity in the air. “I need to look at your throat, idiot. Now hit a high note for me.”
He scowled at her, but vanity impelled him to demonstrate the limits of his octave and she was able to inspect the colour and condition of his throat easily. She placed a cool hand on his neck and squeezed, lightly but firmly. “How does that feel?”
“Er, fine? Good, actually??” Jaskier snapped, because the djinncident had absolutely no effect on his good sense or survival skills. Yen turned and snapped “Geralt! I’m not done with you - ” while the witcher, who was doing up his pants and looking around for his swords, pulled a face. “You’re supposed to piss after sex. I’m coming back.” He stepped easily over the fallen beam and disappeared into the rubble.
Yennefer turned back to the bard, who was attempting to look defiant and challenging. “I need you to inhale for a ten count.” Much to his surprise, the sorceress tugged down his bloodied chemise and pressed her ear to his chest.
“You know, you should probably check on the damage you did to my—“
“I’ll do more than that if you don’t shut up. Inhale.”
And because breath control was a core skill that Jaskier was inordinately proud of, he inhaled for a ten count and kept going, just because he could. Yennefer heard nothing that she couldn’t dismiss as stress-related wheezing, but kept pressing her face to the bard’s chest. She enjoyed fine furs.
Jaskier kept going to a count of perhaps fifty or more, and Yen reluctantly pulled her face away, then made a moue of displeasure at the site of all that caked blood. She made a faintly obscene jerking gesture with her hand, upward. “Off.” Jaskier started to object, then really, properly looked at himself. “Gods, that’s disgusting. I really liked this one.” He pulled it over his head just as Geralt re-entered the room.
“Why have you not killed this one, Geralt? He’s clearly a werewolf,” said Yen, running a finger from neck to waistline through Jaskier’s pelt. “Rings,” mumbled Geralt, plopping himself down on a pile of soft furnishings with only a small amount of broken glass in them. Yen took Jaskier by the hand (“I am a person and I will not be manhandled, ahhhhh ”) and turned it upwards, circling her fingers over the palm like the old plague rhyme. Sure enough, chunky silver rings made the bard’s hands appear dainty and feminine in comparison. Not a werewolf, then.
“Stop treating me like a flitch of bac—”
“Hold still.”
She grabbed his discarded chemise, wrapped her finger in the cleaner parts of the fabric and spat on it, then grabbed his head and rubbed the blood off his chin. She was not gentle.
“I am not twelve—”
“You’re disgusting—”
Geralt had found a demijohn that had bravely survived the collapse. Pulling out its cork, he was pleasantly surprised to find it full of decent red wine. Or at least, as decent as he could make out. He swigged deeply from it.
“All right. Whip it out.”
“What?!”
“You wanted to see if I damaged your precious. Out with it.”
Jaskier flicked his eyes from Yennefer, to Geralt, back to the sorceress. Geralt waved the bottle at him. “You heard the lady.”
“What is it, bard?” sneered the sorceress, “afraid there’s not enough to worry about?”
That earned a rare laugh from Geralt. “He doesn’t want to frighten you.”
Yen snapped her head around to look at Geralt. Seeing only a wry smile, she turned back to the bard, who was smirking infuriatingly.
“Frighten me,” she ordered.
Blushing prettily - not because he was remotely embarrassed, but because years of prospective amours finding it incredibly attractive had made it second nature - Jaskier stood and reached behind himself to pull at the bow at his back, which had the benefit of making him push his chest out and suck his stomach in. Yennefer’s eyes dilated sharply.
He dropped his trews to his finely muscled thighs, and - “Well, that’s all very nice, but hardly intimidating ,” said Yen, reaching out to take a closer look. Jaskier shrugged and fluttered his eyelashes with the sincerity of a guard hinting at a bribe. “It’s shy. You broke it.”
Wrinkling her brow doubtfully, she lifted his cock and gently but firmly gripped his balls, and “Cough”.
He did. She chuckled.
“I don’t actually know what that does. Everything seems to be... ” she dragged her open palm up his shaft, enjoying the feeling of it filling and hardening, “in order.” She stopped and paid attention. “Well, well, well.”
“Intimidated yet?” From behind her, a sardonic hah was ignored by the both of them.
“Hardly. But… respectful.” She lay her arm alongside his fully erect prick. My, my.
Jaskier met her violet eyes. “You don’t know for sure that it’s in order. I could be maimed for life, unable to complete my… functions.”
Yen slowly brought her hand up and over his shaft, carefully dragging her fingernails over the head. “You’re right. You should give it some exercise.” She reached for one of his soft, girlish hands.
“Hey now, I don’t have any special expertise.” He curled his fingers around her hand and held it, in a tiny battle of very stupid wills. “Surely your healing powers would give you greater insight.”
She smiled down at their hands. “Speaking of healing… you owe me.”
“For what?”
“For saving your fucking life,” mumbled Geralt.
“Oh. That.” Jaskier glanced over at his friend. “Surely our mutual friend has repaid you… several times over, from what I could see.”
Yen gave that stiff smile she had especially for dense people. “But you haven’t. And it was your life I saved.”