Work Text:
“Ow! Geralt! Be gentle!”
Geralt looked him in the eyes, eyebrows furrowed and golden eyes shining with annoyance.
“Please.” Jaskier whimpered.
Geralt let out a sigh, gingerly picking up the bard's foot. There was light bruising around the ankle as well as significant swelling around the area and the top of the foot. He gently made the joint move, hearing a soft click coming from the back, near his heel. He grunted, reaching for his supplies.
“By the gods what the fuck is that!? It smells horrible!!” Jaskier complained.
“Do you want your ankle to stop hurting?”
“....Yes….”
“Then shut up and let me work.”
Methodically the witcher rubbed the salve on the injured area before wrapping it snuggly in a soft bandage. The fabric was worn, yellowed with age, and stained with mystery fluids. But it served its intended purpose.
“There.” He grumbled, gently setting the bard's foot on his pack.
“Thank you Ger.” He mumbled, the lack of pain finally letting him rest.
“You're welcome, Jask. And no more dancing on tables.” Geralt said, picking his things up.
“No….promises….” Jaskier yawned, the sound almost instantly becoming a soft snore.
Geralt smiled affectionately, shaking his head.
Stupid bard.