day twenty-eight - high toxicity
jaskier does not know if he could ever truly be afraid of geralt. he doubts it’s even possible, not when he’s seen how kind the witcher is when no one else is looking. he’s seen geralt slaughter beasts in what feels like less than seconds, has heard his voice rise to a roar with rage... and still, his heart is filled with nothing but adoration for the white wolf of rivia.
nothing but adoration... and, well.
geralt had warned him to stay away for this fight, had warned him that the potions he’d have to take would... change him, but, of course, he didn’t elaborate. he never does.
jaskier had nodded and smiled along, but as soon as he was reasonably certain geralt was far enough ahead that he wouldn’t notice a follower, he had... followed.
now, as jaskier watches geralt rend a bruxa to pieces from the relative safety of... well, a few feet away, crouching behind the rubble of the crumbled churchyard, he can see what geralt had meant. the witcher’s skin has gone even more pallid than normal, and if jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say geralt was dead. if he didn’t know better, and if each of geralt’s veins wasn’t standing out in sharp relief against his skin, jet black and almost swollen.
jaskier draws in a sharp breath when geralt pivots on his heel, when he gets a glimpse of eyes that have gone as dark as the void... when he sees sharp fangs gritted and bared, and surely he’s not just imagining that they’re longer, sharper... fuck.
even as the bruxa’s blood sprays and its head drops to the ground with a fleshy thump, jaskier feels his own desire spike high. geralt is... is gorgeous in this state, and -
“oh,” he says aloud, giving a shaky laugh when he realizes that geralt has turned in his direction. even the void-black of his eyes leaves no question: geralt is staring directly at him, but rather than the exasperation jaskier expects, he sees something... animal.
“jaskier,” geralt breathes, and his voice is deep and rough and raw. jaskier’s first instinct is to start apologizing, to start defending himself - but before he gets the chance, geralt is stalking toward him.
“oh, fuck,” jaskier fumbles out, and he scrambles to his feet, about to launch into a whole spiel about how he really just wanted material for a song, about to try his damn best to calm a pissed witcher down, but -
but geralt is gripping him around the throat and shoving him back against an old stone wall, is crowding in close, is - is scenting him, what the fuck, shoving his face into jaskier’s neck to breathe in deep between the splay of his blood-splashed fingers. jaskier freezes, sucks in a breath of his own so he won’t moan aloud, goes still. geralt is still holding his fucking sword, for the gods’ sake.
“you aren’t afraid,” geralt growls out. jaskier blinks, his hands fluttering uncertainly in the air before they settle on the witcher’s forearm, more to have something to do than anything.
“i’m never afraid of you, you brute, now why don’t you let me go so i can start writing a song - “ he begins clumsily, forcing his voice bright, hoping against the odds that geralt can’t smell -
jaskier clears his throat, closes his eyes so he won’t have to hold that dark and deadly gaze. “yes, excellent observation, thank you, now why don’t we just - “
oh, for the love of fuck. “the... the this, the big, growly man, the eyes, the - are those your veins? you have claws, geralt - “ for he realizes this now, feels the tips of too-sharp nails dig into his skin when geralt readjusts his grip, “ - and your hand and the fangs, really, must we analyze this? perfectly natural response - “
the air is punched from jaskier’s lungs on a keening moan as he goes slack, squirming under the firm grasp. he knows, in that instant, that he’s lost. when geralt presses closer, works a thigh between his own, jaskier can only whine, opening his eyes enough to hold that jet-black gaze.
“you’re not afraid,” geralt rumbles thoughtfully. before jaskier can demand he do something other than wax poetic, geralt drops his sword, leans in, and kisses him at long fucking last.
and jaskier’s mind goes blank.
