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It started when Geralt had to pull Jaskier out of harm’s way. Again.
He wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s waist, gripping him tightly and pulling him back as a pack of drowners burst from the river. When Geralt’s fingers brushed up against (and maybe dug into a bit, he wasn’t paying total attention to Jaskier with monsters right there) his side, Jaskier yelped, a high-pitched thing, and jerked in his grip.
Sparing a thought for if the bard was hurt, Geralt quickly let go and shoved Jaskier behind him. He made quick work of the drowners, the most difficult part being the fact that they attacked in groups.
“After all your time spent with a Witcher, haven’t you the sense to not go near water without checking for drowners?” Geralt said after he’d slain them all, starting the trek back towards their camp.
Jaskier sputtered, flicking his dripping hair out his face. “Excuse you! I was trying to get us some drinking water! Plus, I thought drowners were like every other monster and only hunted at night!”
“Not every monster.”
“What?”
“Not every monster only hunts at night.”
Jaskier scoffed and grumbled to himself as they walked back to their camp. Geralt, with his enhanced hearing, could hear every word Jaskier said, but he chose to tune it out.
The moment they arrived back at camp, Jaskier immediately plopped down where he’d already stretched his bedroll out, throwing off his damp doublet and laying down with a put-out groan. Geralt made a beeline for Roach, rubbing her neck fondly as he fished around in the saddlebags for bandages and salves.
“Where are you injured?” Geralt asked, sitting on the forest floor next to where Jaskier was sprawled, kicking the waterlogged boots Jaskier had also removed out of his way.
Jaskier gave him an odd look. “Injured? Geralt, I’m not hurt.”
Geralt scowled and reached over to untuck Jaskier’s chemise to inspect the skin himself. “You yelled. When I grabbed you. In pain.”
Jaskier made an undignified sound as his chemise was pulled up. “It was not pain !” He yelped.
“Hmm.”
Geralt couldn’t see any injuries. He prodded gently at Jaskier’s squishy sides and ribs to see if anything was ruptured or broken. Jaskier let out the same high-pitched yelp as before and jerked away from the touch.
“What injury are you hiding?” Geralt asked gruffly, pulling Jaskier back onto the bedroll. “Do we need to find a healer?”
Jaskier blushed, pink dusting high on his cheekbones. “It’s not an injury , Geralt! I’m just… sensitive.”
Geralt finally stopped trying to prod at him, staring as Jaskier pulled his chemise back down to cover his torso. Jaskier’s blush spread to his ears, and he wouldn’t meet Geralt’s eyes.
“Sensitive?”
“Oh—You know what I mean, you big oaf! I’m ticklish!”
Geralt stared at him.
Jaskier started back, confusion flashing across his own face.
“Geralt—Geralt, you do know what tickling is, don’t you?”
“In theory.”
“In theory, he says. How has a man never once in his life seen or experienced tickling. What, have you been living under a rock , who do you talk to?”
Geralt stared at him. Raised an eyebrow.
“Right, witcher. Are witchers ticklish?”
Geralt scowled. “How am I to know?”
“Well you are a witcher, are you not?”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and relaxed back into his bedroll, chemise rucking up to show a silver of pale skin on his stomach. Geralt awkwardly stared at the bandages and salves he no longer needed.
“It’s just, an odd touch that makes you make noise?”
Jaskier looked back toward him. “It… feels weird. And it makes you laugh.”
“That was not laughter.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes again. “It makes you make a multitude of sounds, most commonly laughter.”
“Why?”
Jaskier threw up his hands. “I haven’t a clue, Geralt! I don’t know the science behind these things!”
Geralt reached out and started prodding at his side again. Jaskier squeaked and let out a few quick giggles before he managed to shift his body out of Geralt’s reach. There was a pleased flush to his cheeks and his eyes were bright. Geralt cocked his head to the side.
“You like it.”
The pleased flush turned into a full-face, bright red blush. “No! No, I do not!”
Geralt stared at him. “Jaskier, I can hear your heartbeat. I know when you lie.”
Jaskier sputtered for a moment, before crossing his arms and putting himself back on his bedroll, back within Geralt’s reach.
“Well, perhaps your ears need to be checked!”
“Why do you feel the need to lie?”
Jaskier didn’t answer, just covered his face with his hands and made a strangled noise in his throat.
“Jaskier.”
He still did not answer. Geralt tried a different question, seeing as Jaskier was being unusually unforthcoming on the other.
“What does it feel like?”
Jaskier uncovered his face and looked at Geralt, almost as if appraising him.
“Like this,” he said, and wiggled his fingers against Geralt’s sides.
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “That feels normal.”
Jaskier scowled. “Of course witchers aren’t ticklish. Why on earth would witchers be ticklish? I don’t believe it! Everyone’s ticklish at least somewhere!”
Geralt cocked his head once more. “How is it done? Wiggling and prodding?”
The blush returned to Jaskier’s face. His half-hearted scowl deepened, and he spoke sarcastically. “This is the most you’ve spoken in weeks. The only subject to get you out of monosyllabic grunts just so happens to be tickling? Should that be all we talk about, now, hm? Maybe my next ballad should be all about the great Witcher’s ticklish curiosities.”
Geralt reached out and prodded Jaskier’s stomach, trying to get him to shut up. Or, at the very least, make a different noise than his ceaseless chatter. Jaskier yelped and started squirming in place, slapping one hand over his mouth to muffle his giggles.
“If ‘everyone’s ticklish at least somewhere,’ what spots are ticklish?” Geralt rumbled.
Jaskier removed the hand from his mouth to curse at Geralt through his giggles. “You just want me to tell you so you know where I’m ticklish!”
Jaskier shoved at Geralt’s hands, half-heartedly and without any force. Geralt, despite being able to fight him off more than easily, did stop momentarily, placing his own hands back in his lap.
“Call it a ‘scientific curiosity,’” Geralt said unconvincingly, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.
Jaskier stared at him suspiciously.
“Does your response mean you are ticklish in all the available places?”
“Geralt, I will walk back down to the river and let the drowners take me.”
“No you won’t.”
Jaskier sighed and tilted his head back. “... No, I won’t.”
“Where are people ticklish? Are there places more ticklish than others? I assume it differs from person to person.”
Jaskier looked at him. “Is the great witcher, Geralt of Rivia, secretly a huge nerd? Is that why you’re asking all these questions? You going to go learn the science about it later, too?”
“Just answer the questions.”
Jaskier sighed. “Yes, ticklish spots, and how ticklish said spots are, vary from person to person. People can be ticklish pretty much anywhere, but there are places that are more common than others.”
“Hmm?”
“Must you really know?”
Geralt just stared at him.
Jaskier groaned. “There are quite a few common places. Sides and stomach, ribs, armpits, neck and ears, feet. There are more places that are usually ticklish, but not as commonly.”
“Where?”
“Gods, Geralt, like… Hips, thighs and knees. Hands, sometimes.”
Geralt tilted his head and reached for Jaskier’s hand. Holding him just below the wrist, Geralt gently traced his fingers from Jaskier’s wrist and across his palm. Jaskier squirmed a little where he sat, smiled wide and bit his lip, but did not laugh.
“Hmm?”
“Some places are only affected by lighter tickles. And don’t always make you laugh. But they still tickle.”
“Hmm.”
“Lots of questions for a man who claims to know what tickling is ‘in theory.’”
“It’s not like the boys at Kaer Morhen gathered together and had slumber parties and tickle fights,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier’s face softened. He threw his hands dramatically in the air and gave an overly theatrical sigh.
“Alright, Geralt, if you must relive this childhood stolen from you, you may tickle me. Only for a little while, though!”
Geralt’s smirk returned. Jaskier reeked of anticipation and excitement, and his heartbeat was all over the place.
“You’re just trying to save face while getting me to tickle you.”
Jaskier sputtered and his face went red, but Geralt didn’t give him a chance to respond. His calloused fingers slid back under Jaskier’s chemise and started prodding and wiggling and vibrating into his stomach. Jaskier threw his head back and cackled, half curling up, his legs left kicking in the air.
Geralt almost chuckled himself at the reaction.
He skittered his fingers off to Jaskier’s side, plucking up his prominent ribcage and into his armpits. Jaskier’s arms clamped down tightly to his sides, trapping Geralt’s hands there.
“That’s not a very effective method of defense,” he noted.
“Don’t tease !” Jaskier squealed through his guffaws.
Geralt raised an eyebrow with a lazy smirk. “That was not my intention. Why? Does it make it worse?”
“ Yes !!”
“Then why would I stop? Since you like it.”
“ Geralt !”
“Let my hands go and I’ll move.”
“Oh, you absolute—“ The rest of Jaskier’s response was lost to his own laughter.
Geralt allowed himself a quiet chuckle, but lightened his touch to make it easier for Jaskier. After several (rather amusing) tries, Jaskier managed to lift his arms enough for Geralt to grant him mercy and slip his fingers out from under them. He moved his fingers to briefly skitter his blunt nails around Jaskier’s neck and ears.
“Oh, you devil ,” Jaskier tittered, panting past light laughter and still squirming madly.
“Where else was it? Feet?”
Jaskier seemed to suddenly decide he’d made a mistake shucking off his boots and shrieked even as Geralt was just reaching for him. He giggled and laughed as he kicked and squirmed to avoid Geralt’s grabbing hands.
“Hold still!”
“Absolutely not, I know what’s coming! Oh, I take back every good thing I ever said about you, I— ahh, Geralt !!”
Geralt allowed himself a full grin at the hysterical shriek that left Jaskier’s lips as he began digging his fingers into Jaskier’s soles. He found he got a particularly good reaction if he dug into Jaskier’s instep or beneath his toes. Both at once was even better.
Keeping in mind the list of less common ticklish spots Jaskier gave him, Geralt moved up Jaskier’s legs.
“Oh, no no no nono nonono !” Jaskier cried out.
Geralt almost stopped altogether, but Jaskier’s scent still held no hints of fear or anger, so he kept going.
He squeezed Jaskier’s knees, skittered across his kneecaps, fluttered his fingers behind them (as best he could with Jaskier’s trousers blocking the thin skin from his touch). Jaskier’s laughter was lighter there, breathier. His squirming and frantic rambling seemed to be more in anticipation of something rather than the spot Geralt was targeting itself.
So he moved.
Geralt squeezed up and down Jaskier’s thighs. Geralt had no other way to describe the sound that left Jaskier other than a scream.
Jackpot.
“You’re lucky we’re alone out here,” Geralt said, having to raise his voice to be heard over Jaskier’s voice. “Any predator or bandit for miles would come running the moment they heard you.”
Jaskier showed no signs of hearing him, but his thrashing was becoming less energetic, his laughter becoming hoarse (and Jaskier would (try to) kill him if he made him lose his voice). So Geralt finished it with a few squeezes to Jaskier’s hips, which made him snort.
Jaskier went completely limp against his bedroll as Geralt drew away. He sucked in air greedily, face red and sweaty from exertion.
“You like it.” Geralt said simply, getting up to start setting up a fire in preparation for the setting sun.
Jaskier scoffed, but, for once, didn’t reply verbally.
Geralt smirked. Little victories.