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A Wolf's Bard
More often than not does Geralt find himself in situations where he has to repress his wolfish instincts. Having Jaskier in his life is a wonderful blessing, but traveling with a human bard comes with a few downsides. Not all of them, but certainly a heavy handful, concern Geralt's more feral aspects. Almost every day of his life he's walking on a thin line between being a witcher and being a wolf witcher. These days he keeps stumbling over the line more and more often.
To stop himself from going stir crazy he does indulge in a few of his more feral habits. Geralt has never been much of a talker and the growling and rumbling can easily be overlooked as part of his personality, his restlessness after a hunt can be explained as a side effect from his potions or the adrenaline high. Dark amber eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth and a nose that's way better at picking up scents than a dog's, could all just be witcher traits. They are not – for Geralt has never met a griffin with canines or a crane who's eyes were anything but red – but Jaskier doesn't need to know that.
Then there's the things he can't hide in the open. His hackle may be the most obvious one. The thick scruff of white, fur-like hair that starts where a human's hairline stops in the neck and grows down to the middle of his shoulder blades. Like a wolf's, his hackle raises whenever he's overcome with emotions, whether he's hunting and staring into the eyes of a monster or something else leaves him feeling threatened. Sometimes it's the piled up frustration that makes the hairs in his neck stand up. Literally.
Usually hidden underneath his armor, Geralt lets his hair grow even longer to keep Jaskier from discovering that part of him. It seems to work, because it's been years and Jaskier hasn't said anything.
Then there's the matter of territory. It's ridiculous enough that cats hiss and yowl at him as soon as he dares to cross their path, but the guard dogs that defend their territory are somehow worse. Geralt tries to ignore them as best as he can – they are only doing their job after all – but every now and then he is forced to bark and growl back, to make them stop. He has never bitten back though – not yet.
Kaer Morhen and its close surroundings smell so much like their pack that there isn't really a need to mark their territory, but whenever they set up camp Geralt is overcome with the urge to piss against the next tree. It's crude, he's very much aware of that, but the instinct to set an invisible barrier between what's his and the outside world has gotten only stronger the better he got to know Jaskier. Again, Geralt is terribly grateful for the fact that he can hide this part of himself. In Jaskier's eyes there's nothing special about the witcher taking a leak after setting up camp. He doesn't know that the wolf claims him as part of his. Geralt tries not to think too much about the guilt that keeps eating at him. It's better this way, he tells himself.
The point is, he has found many ways to more or less graciously navigate around the none human aspects of himself. It's difficult, but it has worked for years.
Then they meet a cat and everything goes sideways.
For once in his life, it seems like the encounter is actually a coincidence. They meet at a fork in the road and the cat promptly decides to ride with them. Jaskier who has never met a cat witcher until then – at least he has never told Geralt about anything like that happening and he constantly tells the wolf everything – immediately takes a linking to the upbeat cat. But as if that wasn't bad enough, neither is it Aiden or one of his closer friends, nor does the cat hold back his more feral instincts. He doesn't even attempt to. As a matter of fact he is pretty damn sure that the yowling and mewling, the chirping and purring, the hunting happens on purpose.
The other witcher is immediately flirting with him and Jaskier flirts right back because he likes the attention, the welcome change in their daily routine. He openly flirts because usually Geralt doesn't care about it, sometimes he's even amused by the bard's more ridiculous attempts and enjoys watching. It's a cat though and he loathes every second of it, his mood growing darker and darker with each passing day.
He catches Jaskier a bird and explains it's a gift. He purrs loudly when they sit next to each other and rubs his cheek against Jaskier's shoulder. He climbs trees, chases after flickering lights and hisses at Geralt frequently. On top of it all, the cat happily explains everything as soon as Jaskier asks. Any possible excuse for the witcher's behavior is plucked right from Geralt's lips with each sentence the cat speaks – and the man talks and talks and just doesn't stop. Somehow he seems to talk even more than Jaskier.
Then, one morning he is gone and Geralt can feel Jaskier staring a hole into the back of his head. It makes his skin itch and his hackle rise under his armor. He starts counting the minutes it will take for Jaskier to make up his mind and leave him behind.
After the first hour of eerie silence has passed he starts to fidget in the saddle until Roach is so annoyed with him that she stops walking. She only continues moving once he dismounts and starts leading her by the reigns. Still Jaskier doesn't speak up. As time goes on the wolf gets more and more irritated, but it takes the bard until midday to find his words again.
When he eventually speaks up his voice is calm and somewhat careful, but he doesn't try to hide his curiosity. “You know,” Jaskier stops in the middle of the road, eyes firmly fixed on the back of Geralt's head, “I wouldn't mind if you – how did he call it – followed your 'inner wolf'?”
The witcher lets out a loud sigh at the cat's choice of words. 'Inner wolf' makes it sound like there's something living inside his mind that he can't control, a separate being that he constantly fights with. There's not. It's all just him.
“It's just that I don't want you to feel like you can't be yourself around me,” Jaskier adds after a pregnant pause and he sounds so sincere that the witcher almost believes him. “You wouldn't like it if I did,” Geralt says as firmly as he can, hoping that the bard will give up and that that will be it. Of course Jaskier won't let him off so easily, though. He quickly skips past the witcher and turns so they are standing face to face and there's no way to hide anymore. Roach gives them one long look before trotting off to a patch of grass. “Try me,” the bard grins at him eagerly, “If you could do one wolfy-wolf thing right now, what would it be?”
Guilt washes over Geralt like ice water as he realizes that knows exactly what he would like to do. He doesn't need to think about it, because he has imagined it so, so many times before.
If he could, he would smother Jaskier with his own body. Set up camp somewhere far away from the road and lie on top of the bard with his full weight, trap him under his bulk and lick him clean. Lick across the soft skin of his throat, underneath his chin and over his cheekbones until Jaskier doesn't smell like that damned cat anymore. Scent him until he smells like he wholly belongs to Geralt and no one will dare to question it. Then, just for the sake of it, he would kiss Jaskier into a whiny, squirming mess until the bard is comfortably blissed out with puffy lips and a flushed face.
He'd want to go hunting afterwards, knowing that Jaskier is safe and happy in a makeshift den, he'd present his bard with the biggest boar in the area – way bigger than that stupid little bird the cat caught for him. Eating his share raw, fangs tearing into the warm flesh while coming down from the adrenaline high he gets after hunting bare handed. The extra iron would do him good, giving him an energy boost so he could protect and provide for Jaskier better. Afterwards he would lie on top of him again, maybe kiss him some more, keep him safe while taking a nap in the sun. Then some more kissing.
Geralt doesn't voice any of this out loud.
Jaskier is his friend, he knows that to human standards they are incredibly close. To him, the bard is part of his pack already, maybe even something more. Jaskier is his friend and while a rational part in the back of his mind tells him that there is a very high chance that he would just accept Geralt for who he is – because Jaskier is great like that – a stronger, self-conscious part of his brain tells him he's too much, too feral, too monstrous for his friend.
Sometimes it scares him how well Jaskier can read him. The man takes him by the hands and looks at him in way that says “You're safe with me.” Maybe that's why Geralt dares to speak up, or maybe it's because the paper-thin line he walks on every day gets harder and harder to balance on. Maybe it's the small flicker of hope that whispers to him, saying that if Jaskier accepts him as who he is, it might actually be possible for him to become part of Geralt's pack.
Whatever it is, it's enough for Geralt to gently squeeze Jaskier's hands. “I'd like to scent you,” he says honestly, trying his hardest not to sound as insecure as he feels while waiting for the bard's reaction. “Scent me? I thought that was a cat thing?”
“It is, but most animals react to scents and smells. Cats, dogs, mice, horses. Wolves.”
Jaskier sends him a baffled look, “Oh my, you're right.” He goes quiet for a moment and Geralt can almost see him going through a mental list of animals that have a keen sense of smell. “You know you can do that, right?” He eventually asks after a couple of minutes, almost startling Geralt out of his own thoughts. “Scenting me? I don't think I would mind that very much.” The wolf stares at him as if he's sprouted a second head.
Carefully slow he closes the gap between them and pulls the younger man into his arms, one hand on his small hip, the other one reaching up to gently cup his cheek. Now it is Jaskier's turn to look at him wide eyed, but the bard doesn't turn away, doesn't laugh him off or shove at him in disgust. Instead his arms wind around Geralt's waist in a secure hold and he leans into the witcher's broad palm.
He can't help the tension in his shoulders as he lowers his head towards Jaskier's throat, but still the bard doesn't budge, doesn't smell of fear or revulsion. So he rubs his nose along his neck, tongue darting out to lick over his pulse point. He grins as the bard shudders under him, a giddy feeling building up in his chest as he lets his sharp fangs graze against the exposed skin. Jaskier lets him do it, almost seems to melt into Geralt's embrace. Soft sighs escape his lips when the wolf kisses his warm skin. Goosebumps spread across Jaskier's arms and the growl the witcher lets out in return is anything but human. Jaskier doesn't move, content with what is happening and the wolf doesn't stop until he's finally satisfied.
When he eventually leaves off, he does so slowly, savoring the moment. Jaskier's must have closed his eyes at some point, because he can see them fluttering open, a stupid little smile spreading on the bard's red face. There's a bite mark on his collarbone and a dark red hickey standing out on his pale throat. It makes Geralt growl with happiness and nudge at his bard softly.
Jaskier smiles at him as if he hung the stars, the moon and the sun on the sky with bare hands and Geralt realizes that he would just to see that smile again.