This is an AU where Geralt is a vampire and he and Jaskier get snowed in in an abandoned hut. Jaskier offeres Geralt to drink from him and Geralt refuses at first. But with enough persuasion and precautions Geralt can be tempted. Everything is consensual and safe. (Geralt is not a witcher canon vampire but more of a mainstream one)
2692 words
read on ao3
CW: consensual blood drinking
Thank you to the wonderful @stinastar and @jaskierswolf for your help <3
-
“Geralt, this is stupid, just bite me!” Jaskier was tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. They had been in this small hut for two days now, trapped under a thick layer of snow. Thankfully they’d had food for Jaskier with them, but Geralt had not fed in days.
“No,” Geralt growled.
Jaskier shook his head and went on, “why not, do I smell foul or something?” If only he did, Geralt thought, because Jaskier, in fact, smelled delicious, too delicious. So he kept his distance, as much as possible.
“You’ve never had a vampire feed on you before,” Geralt replied, “it wouldn’t be safe.”
Jaskier huffed and threw his hands in the air. They had had the exact same conversation at least five times by now and he was getting frustrated. Jaskier just wanted to help his thick-headed friend. “But you’re experienced,” he said after a minute, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
Geralt growled. “Not intentionally,” he whispered through his teeth, not sure if Jaskier would hear. Geralt was indeed experienced and had not hurt a human in years, at least not intentionally. But Jaskier smelled so good, and Geralt was so hungry that he was afraid he would not be able to control himself. He would never forgive himself if that happened.
Jaskier was pacing through the hut and Geralt followed him with his gaze. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.
“By the way the snow is still falling, I guess we will be here for at least another two or three days,” Jaskier said, “and even if you venture out, I doubt you’d be able to find a single living creature out there.” He pointed to the window, the sill piled halfway up with snow.
The bard did not know what he was offering and how thin Geralt’s patience had worn over the last two days. He had already been hungry when the snow had started falling heavily. They had hoped to reach the next town where Geralt could have found an experienced donor. But then the snowstorm had hit them and they had found shelter in this abandoned hut.
“Then teach me what to do,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt back to the present. But when he still looked sternly at Jaskier, the bard said, “at least tell me how it’s normally done. Maybe we can figure something out.”
Geralt sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It would probably not hurt to tell him that.
“Ideally when a human first...gives blood,” he began but was interrupted by Jaskier.
“Gets bitten, you mean?”
Geralt nodded and went on, “there is a third person present to...monitor the process and intervene if necessary.”
“Intervene?” Jaskier asked. His breath had hitched at the word, but Geralt could not smell a whiff of fear.
“Every human is different, the amount of blood, how much can safely be...removed.” He ran his fingers through his hair once more. “It’s not always easy to monitor this during the feeding, for the vampire or the human.”Jaskier nodded and he watched Geralt attentively, still no sign of fear or hesitation.
“And where do you bite them?” Jaskier’s voice sounded a bit hoarse and it sent a shiver down Geralt’s back. He blinked and tried to concentrate on a point above Jaskier’s shoulder.
“The wrist.”
“Oh,” Jaskier said, “I always thought vampires bite the neck.” Geralt’s gaze snapped to Jaskier’s neck, elegantly curved, and the fucker had the audacity to run his fingers over it. Geralt forcefully looked away.
“Not for the first time and usually not with people you don’t know,” he shrugged. “It can feel very...intimate for the donor.” Jaskier blushed a beautiful shade of pink. As much as he tried, his eyes always wandered back to the bard.
“Just the donor?” Jaskier asked in a low voice.
Geralt blinked and licked his lips, noticing Jaskier’s eyes following the movement.
Fuck. He should not talk about this. It was not helping his hunger at all.
But Jaskier’s curiosity was still not sated. He asked, “Does it...hurt?”
Geralt cocked his head and said, “a sting from the first bite, but there is a...venom on vampires teeth. It numbs the pain, soothes anxiety, and it helps to heal the wounds faster after the...feeding.”
Jaskier hummed and looked at him expectantly. Geralt shook his head and turned away. This conversation had gone too far - he needed a distraction.
“Just so you know,” Jaskier called to him, but Geralt did not turn around, “I wouldn’t mind you biting my neck.” Geralt could hardly suppress a growl. He grabbed a book and pretended to read, ignoring the bard as best he could. His patience was so fucking thin.
-
“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt growled and pushed him away. The bard had wandered over and leaned across Geralt to reach for another book, baring his pale neck seemingly accidentally in front of Geralt’s face.
“What?” Jaskier asked innocently, but that did not convince the vampire.
“I know what you’re doing and it will not work.” He was not quite sure if he said this to discourage the bard or to convince himself, because the urge to sink his fangs into the white skin had been overwhelming for a second.
Jaskier looked him deep in the eyes and said softly, “Please Geralt, let me help you.”
Geralt shook his head and groaned.
He closed his eyes and said so quietly he was not sure Jaskier would hear, “Not like this.”
But the bard did hear him. He cupped Geralt’s face with his hand in a featherlight touch and said, “Then how?” Just for a moment Geralt enjoyed the touch before he reached for Jaskier’s hand, dropped it and took a step back - not a dismissal, but he needed the distance to think for a moment.
Maybe Jaskier was right. If he was not able to feed soon, he was forced to leave in a probably fruitless search for blood.
“If…”Geralt said, “we were to do this…” stopping Jaskier with a stern look,” if we were to do this, then we would need to take precautions.”
The bard exhaled with relief and nodded. “Anything, my dear.”
“We would stand, so you could notice sooner if you’re getting lightheaded - an indicator that we would need to stop.” Geralt was looking at the bard intensely, making sure he was listening to him.
“And you would need to hold a silver dagger to my stomach.” Jaskier opened his mouth to protest but Geralt quickly went on, “just to stop me if I would get...too distracted.”
Jaskier narrowed his eyes and whispered, “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
Geralt shook his head. How could Jaskier be thinking about that when he was the one who would end up with fangs in his neck, if they were to do this? Stupidly softhearted bard. “You won’t seriously harm me as long as you don’t stab it into my heart,” Geralt said, tapping his chest, “and if everything goes as planned, you won’t need to use it.” Fuck, was he really considering doing this - biting the bard that smelled so overwhelmingly delicious?
“How much will you...would you drink?” Jaskier asked.
“Not much, it would be over soon, not longer than a minute.” They stared at each other.
Jaskier nodded after a while. “Okay.”
“Okay what?” Geralt asked.
“Let’s do it then.”
Geralt balled his hands into fists. “Jaskier, if I hurt you, I could...never forgive myself.”
The bard breathed in deeply. “You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “that’s what the precautions are for.”
Geralt swallowed and finally nodded once. He could hear Jaskier exhale and looked at him.
“Should I wash my wrist first?” the bard asked softly, “or my neck?”
Geralt’s gaze fixed on his neck and he shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
Jaskier took a step towards him. “Will you bite my neck?” he asked. Geralt’s pupils had blown wide and he was sure he could see the blood pumping through his veins under the pale skin.
“Would that be…?”
“Yes,” Jaskier answered.
“Are you really sure?” Geralt asked.
“Yes.” No hesitation, no fear.
-
Geralt placed the hilt of the silver dagger in Jaskier’s hand and closed his fingers around it. When the bard let it sink, Geralt reached for it again and guided the tip against his belly.
Geralt let go when he was confident that Jaskier wouldn’t move the dagger away and looked him deep in the eyes. “Grab my shoulder with your other hand,” he instructed. “If you feel lightheaded, if it hurts or you need me to stop for any reason, just tap my shoulder.” Jaskier reached for his shoulder and tabbed it twice to show he understood. “Are you really sure that you want to do this?” Geralt asked softly.
Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed and he inhaled audibly before he breathed, “Yes, I’m sure.”
Carefully Geralt placed his hand on Jaskier’s cheek and said, “You don’t have to do this.”
He could see Jaskier Addam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“I know,” Jaskier’s voice was barely audible, “but I want to.”
Geralt could feel him leaning into the touch, lightly pressing his cheek into Geralt’s palm, stretching and exposing his neck at the same time.
“Okay,” Geralt whispered and stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Slowly the vampire leaned forward and inhaled Jaskier’s scent. His nostrils flared and his mouth watered. He was still surprised that there was not a whiff of fear, just Jaskier’s warm, soft and familiar scent. The urge to sink his fangs into his neck was overwhelming, so he drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.
Then he asked, “ready?”
He could feel Jaskier nod and heard him whisper “Yes”.
Slowly he leaned forward the rest of the way and softly pressed his lips to Jaskier’s neck. He could feel him shudder and the grip of Jaskier’s hand on his shoulder tightening. The tip of the dagger at his belly reminded Geralt to stay in control. He could feel the bard’s pulse beating against his lips. Geralt closed his eyes and set his teeth carefully against Jaskier’s soft neck and finally let them sink into his flesh.
-
Jaskier gasped as the sharp fangs pierced his skin. He felt a short stinging pain, but then a calming warmth spread through his body. Faintly he heard a clang of something falling to the floor and in the next moment he wrapped his arms around Geralt, instinctively pulling him closer. It was overwhelming. Geralt’s lips on his neck, his breath ghosting over the exposed skin, the strange but weirdly pleasurable sensation of Geralt sucking at his neck. He needed to feel him everywhere. Jaskier pressed his body against Geralt’s, hips bucking forward and a soft moan escaped his lips as he felt a hardness between Geralt’s legs pressing at his own hips. One of Geralt’s hands had wandered up to the back of his head, holding him steady. Jaskier’s mind was clouded, surrounded by Geralt’s scent and arms and lips. He was not sure where he ended and Geralt began, and it was an indescribable feeling, like melting together to be one. He wanted to live in this moment forever.
-
With a sudden jerk Geralt drew his head back as he felt Jaskier sag in his arms.
“Shit, Jaskier,” he said and tried to steady him. He saw that his eyes were half shut, a relaxed expression on his face. Geralt swore as his foot bumped against the dagger that lay on the floor. Shit, shit, shit, he hadn’t noticed Jaskier dropping it. How long had he been drinking? All his control had vanished the moment Jaskier’s blood had hit his tongue. It had not just been his hunger that let his instincts take over, but also the taste of the blood, familiar like the bard’s scent but also so much more. It was the condensed essence of what the bard was, his golden laughter, his unending imagination, the sparkle in his blue eyes, the timbre of his voice, the spring in his step.
The bard was humming softly, head rolling to the side. Geralt saw that the bite wound was already closing, only a single red drop was slowly running down his neck. Geralt had the urge to lick it away, but with a swift movement he lifted Jaskier up and carried him over to the bed. Relief washed over him as he felt Jaskier’s pulse to be steady and strong. The bard looked pale, paler than usual but he seemed to...smile softly and his hand made a grabbing motion, so Geralt took it into his.
“Jaskier,” he said in a raspy voice, stroking the bard’s cheek with his knuckles. Jaskier leaned into the touch and smiled, eyes still shut. “Jaskier, look at me,” Geralt said.
Slowly the bard’s blue eyes fluttered open. “Geralt,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, but Jaskier shook his head and squeezed his hand.
“No,” he replied. Geralt frowned. “No feeling sorry.” His words were a bit slurred. He tugged at Geralt’s hand and said slowly, “Come lay down with me. It’s impolite not to snuggle your bard after you feasted on him.”
Geralt raised his eyebrows, cleared his throat and asked, “How do you feel?”
“No,” Jaskier replied more forcefully, “first cuddle, then questions.” Geralt tried to stand up but Jaskier clung to his hand. “No,” he whined.
“I’m just going to get you something to eat and drink,” the vampire replied, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“And then cuddling?” Jaskier asked.
Geralt sighed loudly but said, “Okay.” With a content smile the bard let go of his hand.
After Geralt had made him eat a bowl of stew and drink a glass of water, the vampire climbed into bed and pulled him to his chest. Jaskier snuggled against him, burying his face in Geralt’s neck.
“How do you feel?” Geralt asked again.
“Good,” Jaskier replied and Geralt could feel him grin against his neck, “really good. We should do this more often. I could be your blood slut.” He giggled and Geralt rolled his eyes. He tucked a strand of brown curls behind Jaskier’s ear and looked at the two round puncture marks. “Will it leave a scar?” Jaskier asked when he felt Geralt’s fingertips trace the still red marks.
“It will be barely visible,” Geralt replied.
“Then you have to bite me again.” Geralt only hummed, trying to ignore the urge to do just that.
They spent the next few hours snuggled up in bed, Geralt frequently checking the bite marks but they were healing nicely. Jaskier drifted in and out of sleep, eating and drinking what Geralt held in front of him and happily babbling about what came to his mind. Geralt knew that these were side effects of giving blood and the vampire venom, especially when someone was not used to it. But Geralt was not complaining. The edge of his hunger had been taken off. It was not totally gone, but he could enjoy holding the bard in his arms without the overwhelming urge to bite him.
“Now tell me, my dear,” the bard asked, “how did I taste?” Geralt huffed and pulled him closer, ignoring how his mouth watered at the question.
“I’m sure I taste delicious,” he said and Geralt just hummed, silently agreeing. Jaskier had tasted like he had been...made for him. Every human and animal tasted different, some more and some less to his liking, but he had never drank from someone who had tasted so overwhelmingly good. Maybe it had not been so bad to get snowed in with him after all.
“Did you...drink enough?” Jaskier asked after a while, looking up into Geralt’s eyes. The vampire licked his lips as he eyed him closely.
“Yes,” he said, and when Jaskier frowned unconvinced he added, “for now.” Jaskier grinned, snuggled up to him once more and said, “I’m right here if you wanna drink more.”
-
Link to my masterlist for more of my writing
Tag list: @jaskierswolf @dani-dandelino @hailhailsatan @panerato @marvagon @x-anxious @moonysrz @kaktusbambus @wildonewrites @dapandapod @honeysuckletook @thecomfortofoldstorries @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @broken-verses @vampire--dad @whenrainbowsend @geralt-of-riviass @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @hriive @stinastar @innocentbi-stander @darkangel91939 @in-love-with-writing002 @fandommagpie @fontegagrilledcheese @kozkaboi @nonegenderleftpain @veritasrose @havenoffandoms @feral-jaskier @llamasdumpsterfire @dhwty-writes @trickstermoose67 @rockysstupidity @the-bones-friend @peanitbear @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts @berlin-buttercup @pomegranatebitch @ninfatommo @mayastormborn @strippiluolamies @kmuir1 @holymotherwolf (please let me know - if you are 18+ - if you want to be added on or removed from my tag list)
geralt has never seen a prettier being in all his centuries upon this godforsaken earth, nor has he heard a prettier sound than the boy’s voice when he laughs, when he sings. it’s been years since geralt last felt anything he could class as joy, yet he can scarcely feel anything else in the presence of this little mortal.
joy is not the only sensation to overwhelm him when he is near jaskier, however. whereas joy feels as though it bubbles from somewhere in his chest, warms him as it spreads, lust burns low in his groin, a dull yet overwhelming heat that threatens to overpower all sense of reason when he drinks in the sight of jaskier’s bare skin.
and then…
and then there’s the bloodlust.
geralt has sufficed well enough for centuries now on animal blood. human blood is tempting, of course it is - his like are meant for it - but he has managed so far to refrain. managed to refrain, that is, until jaskier waltzed into his life, inviting him without a care to drink to his heart’s desire.
at first, he’d resisted.
now, though…
now, he knows there is no taste more divine than that of jaskier’s blood upon his tongue, and this is not only because his is of the sweetest type - no, it is because it takes but a single bite for arousal to shoot hot and heady through the mortal’s veins, to thicken his blood into a flavor that makes geralt moan with every swallow.
jaskier never looks prettier than when he is limp and pliant beneath him, geralt’s hand splayed upon his chest or fitted about his jaw, geralt’s cock buried deep within him - geralt’s fangs coaxing ichor from his pulse.
So I contacted the amazing @tishawish and asked for permission to write a story about This Vampire Comic! It was granted! Please enjoy!
tw: blood, major character un-death, biting but not in a sexy way
---
Geralt was nervous. Jaskier should have been there waiting for him in the little clearing near their camp but he was nowhere to be found. His lute was sitting abandoned near his pack and the doublet he’d been wearing earlier in the evening to stave off the autumn chill was discarded in the dirt; Jaskier would never leave something so expensive or precious just laying there like that.
Geralt’s hunt had been quick, his supernatural powers as both Witcher and vampire giving him the immediate upper hand over a singular wraith. Now, though, with his gold-hued eyes back to their normal sensitivity and his body recovering from one small slash to his leg, he was beginning to tire.
He couldn’t rest until he found Jaskier, though. He was far too worried for sleep or meditation.
“Jaskier?” he called, making his way through the dark of the forest. He shook his head in frustration, “I told him to stay put.”
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Geralt smelled it.
Blood.
Jaskier’s blood, sweet and floral and distinct. The scent hung heavy and thick in the air. Not a good sign. He dashed in the direction of the trail, his feet barely touching the ground as he willed his body to hurry even faster than usual. When he finally came across the body of his bard, splayed in a pool of his own ruby-red life force, Geralt gasped. “Fuck! No, Jaskier!”
He collapsed to his knees in the dirt and shuffled forward. “Hey!”
No response.
Geralt leaned over Jaskier’s limp form and pressed two fingers to the artery beneath his chin, on the side of his neck. He waited without breathing and tuned every other sound out of his ears.
Nothing.
Jaskier’s usually racing human heart was still and silent.
Blood leaked steadily from a wound in his head and another gouge on his chest. From the pool gathered beneath him, Jaskier had been bleeding like this for awhile. All alone. The bard was on the brink of death if he wasn’t dead already.
I can’t hear any of his usual sounds, Geralt panicked. And I won’t let him die like this when I could have done something about it.
“Please,” he prayed to whatever deity might still care for creatures like him, “Let this work.”
He gently cupped the back of Jaskier’s skull, tilting his head back to reveal the smooth expanse of his pale neck. A neck that Geralt had admired and caressed many times before under far less terrifying circumstances. With a deep sigh and a muttered apology, he sank his venomous fangs into the bard’s skin and held them there for a moment.
Even with all his willpower intact, Geralt couldn’t help but take a small sip of his best friend’s blood while he was still human. Fuck, he tastes good; even better than he smells. The exhausted vampire retracted his fangs and pulled away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and shaking his head in shame. Now is not the time for such thoughts, Witcher.
A moment passed, then another. Geralt stayed hovering over his companion, his chest practically pressing against Jaskier’s as he listened for a sign. Any sign. Any hint that the last-ditch effort he’d put in to save his best friend’s existence was working.
Please let this work. Please. Please. Please, gods.
He chanted it like a mantra as he waited. After a minute or so, Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. His lashes, which had been pretty before, now seemed thicker and even darker. His irises, once a gorgeous blue, bluer than the sky or the sea or the flowers in a sunny field, were bright red and shining. “G-Geralt?”
His voice had been beautiful as a human but now? Now it was indescribably beautiful. Like bells or windchimes or... or... Geralt suddenly realized that he was still hunched over the bard’s chest, his hand still cupping the back of Jaskier’s far-less-breakable neck.
“Oh, thank the gods, Jaskier.” The last word from the Witcher’s mouth was barely even a whisper, his gold eyes closing in relief as he leaned his forehead against the bard’s. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”
“I’m far too persistent to let something as silly as death stop me from following you across the Continent and back,” Jaskier smiled, his own baby fangs glinting in the light of the full moon. “Besides, I love you too much to leave you.”
Geralt grinned and helped the newborn vampire into a sitting position. He pulled the leaves and twigs from his messy brown hair and brushed a quick kiss to his temple. “Hmm.”
Day Number and Prompt: day 3 - nonhuman Geralt, gift giving and courting rituals.
Artist/Author/Creator: Callmepapi/Bananapeel5127
Rating: Teen
Triggers/Warnings: blood, vampires, mentions of death/growing old
Other notes: day 3, boom! Honestly thought I wouldn’t have had this finished in time but there ya go! I actually really like how this turned out.
Word count: 609
Summary: “Jaskier, if you drink this… we can be together for all eternity.”
Jaskier looked at him, a flush high on his cheeks, eyes glassy and red. He held the vial in his palm and looked at it closely.
@geraskierweek2021
Geralt held it in his palm - a small glass vial, filled with a thick red liquid. The top and bottom of the vial were made of steel, carved into a gothic design.
Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, “ah… what is this, exactly?” He asked. Geralt smiled and took jaskier’s hand. He placed the vial, attached to a long rope-style metal chain, and placed it in the palm of jaskier’s hand.
“It’s my blood,” said Geralt, “it’s something we vampires give our beloved, as a symbol that we want to spend the rest of our life with them.” He looked up, yellow eyes meeting Jaskier, and smiled softly at him.
“Jaskier, if you drink this… we can be together for all eternity.” At jaskier’s shocked expression he continued, “I'd never force you, you know that? Whatever choice you make, I’ll respect it, and we’ll spend the rest of our days together.”
Jaskier looked at him, a flush high on his cheeks, eyes glassy and red. He held the vial in his palm and looked at it closely.
Geralt’s very own life force. The thing that kept his body running, moving, living. His own blood. And all Jaskier had to do was drink it and he could be just like him, be with him forever.
Oh, but what about his life? He'd have to quit his job at the oxenfurt academy, there wasn’t such a thing as a professor who only works at night. His friends, they’d grow old and die while Jaskier would stay youthful. He wouldn’t be able to be a bard anymore, wouldn’t be able to play competitions, play in taverns or banquets.
He glanced up at Geralt. Oh, Geralt. One look at the vampire and Jaskier knew that he could spend his life with him. He looked almost sad, as if he knew this was a big choice for Jaskier and he felt as though he had brought a burden upon the young bard.
How long would they live together? Do vampires eventually grow old and die, or would they remain as youthful as they are now even when the sun scorched the earth. What if they decided to break apart, what if one of them died. The other would be left to live all on their own.
“You don’t have to do this Jaskier,” Geralt whispered. A hand caressed his cheek, moving further to tuck a long strand of hair behind his ear.
Geralt looked so soft in the dying light of their campfire, lips so red, skin so pale. Would Jaskier look different after becoming one of them? Would his hair turn white like Geralt’s? Would his lips look as red as an apple?
“I…I-” Jaskier stuttered, brows furrowed as he looked at the vial in hand. Such a small amount of liquid to change one's life in such a dramatic way.
“Jaskier,” Geralt spoke, “this is a hard decision. You’re letting your life go to be with me forever. I’d understand if you decide not to take it.”
Geralt was right. Gods, he was always right, always had the best ideas too. Jaskier would no longer be Jaskier if he took this vial, his life would no longer be his.
But the years they could live together. They could buy a cottage by the sea, they could adopt children, so many children. Have pets, a big family. Jaskier would learn to cook, bake, even. He could read as they sat by the fire. All the nights ahead of them, full of passion or just warmth.
He was already planning the future with geralt. His decision was practically made for him.
Summary:The Wolf of Lettenhove hunts the Vampire of Blaviken.
——————
Jaskier’s heart was in his throat. As a Witcher, the bloody thing usually only hummed a slow, monotonic rhythm like a tired drummer. Even in the most dire of situations, Jaskier stayed calm and collected, his heartbeat soft thumping beneath a cage of bones and sinewy flesh. The Wolf of Lettenhove could fight or prattle his way out of any situation with weapons of wit and steel or silver strapped onto his back. No monster, no beast, no cruel human with a penchant for prejudice against Jaskier’s kind could best the man who killed like no other. Even his wolven brothers couldn’t match Jaskier’s untempered skill with his tongue and his blade.
Not now.
Not when it mattered most.
The beast was on his tail and Jaskier’s heart was beating out of control. He could hardly get a handle on his breathing, and if Witchers could hyperventilate and black out, he was sure he’d be passed out on the damp stone streets of this disgusting Blaviken back alley by now.
The beast gained on him as he turned the corner into a dead-end. Jaskier panicked, throwing back a moondust bomb and clapping both hands of his ears as a deep boom emanated through the alley. Sharp spikes of silver exploded out in an arcing radius, a good handful striking Jaskier’s armored back and falling to the ground. The creature let out a sharp gasp and the Witcher could only hope and pray that some of the silver shards had made their home in the beast’s flesh, burning and boiling skin and digging in further the more the thing tried to pull them out.
Jaskier whipped around, drawing his silver rapier in time to parry the beast’s long claws away from him. The slide of sparks it drew illuminated the beast’s snarling, monstrous face for a second enough for Jaskier to glimpse his visage.
Skin pale. So pale Jaskier could see each bluish vein in his forehead. Long hair white as snow whipping around skin gnarled to make room for his permanent snarl, his long needled teeth only inches from snapping into Jaskier’s neck. As soon as the light was there it snapped out of existence and Jaskier was grappling a pair of claws in the dark, grunting with effort and straining against any limit of his strength. His muscles burned. His hand holding the grip of his rapier shook. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t stand up to the strength of the Vampire of Blaviken.
In a last ditch attempt to win their contest of strength, Jaskier’s other hand flew up to brace the top of his rapier. Even with thick leather bracers protecting his palm the sword cut through flesh and stopped only with the sickening sound of silver bracing against bone. He barely felt the pain, it was hidden behind a curtain of terror and unbelievable exertion.
Perhaps the Wolf of Lettenhove had finally met his match. About time, anyway. He had a damn good run.
Blood welled up and flowed past his torn leather glove, dripping down the silver blade like a crimson waterfall. In the moonlight, in the lack of anything except for the catlike glint of the vampire’s eyes and the moon’s reflection in a grime puddle just a few feet away, Jaskier’s blood looked black as tar.
And he could pinpoint the moment the vampire’s wrath went from ire to bloodlust. Something terrible changed in the air, and Jaskier could not match the strength of a fully blood-driven vampire. He was knocked back, falling flat as all the air forcefully left his lungs. His sword flew from his hand, clattering in the wet puddle out of reach, droplets of blood spraying from the blade onto the stone beneath them. The vampire descended, and Jaskier could not see the bare light anymore.
He could not see at all.
He felt twin pinpricks in the soft skin of his neck, right above his jugular. He felt the slide of fangs slotting into place and he felt the wet-cold seal of lips suckling at his skin as the creature began to feed from him.
“Ghh-” Jaskier warbled, struggling weakly and pushing against the thing’s chest. “Ng- Sttt-” he tried to cry out, to protest, to say anything , but the fangs tightened in warning and he felt them slide even deeper. He felt them pierce through, and he felt the warm, sickly rush of blood flooding his throat. His own blood. He was going to drown in his own blood. It was going to fill his lungs, dribble from his cold lips as the vampire drank until he was dry and white as a sheet.
Fitting for a Witcher. To die in battle. It was just a painful shame Jaskier could not save the people of Blaviken from the vampire torturing and terrorizing their families.
His hands weakly hitting at the vampire’s chest became slow and sluggish, and then stopped altogether, the Witcher’s hands falling limp against the ground. The creature had one hand oh so gently cradling Jaskier’s head, claws retracted to bury his fingers in the Witcher’s soft brown hair. He stroked his thumb down the nape of Jaskier’s neck, soothing and calming in a way that should have made him feel sick. Instead, it lulled him, calmed his racing heartbeat. The thing’s other hand gently tangled up in his hair and tugged up, not hard enough to hurt, but exposing Jaskier’s neck completely. Jaskier could feel the being caging him in, straddling his hips and using it’s strong thighs to keep him pinned. It was strangely safe, strangely warm. It didn’t even hurt any longer. The warmth in his throat was comforting. The hands in his hair were soft. He was held, and he wasn’t dying- no- he was becoming, rather. He was being guided into another form. Another…
-
Geralt of Blaviken held the Witcher like he was the most fragile gift in the world. And he was. Not often, not ever did the higher vampire get to drink from a Witcher of all things. One whiff of the man’s blood and Geralt could not control himself. He had intended to kill the Witcher and then bleed him dry, but the intoxicating taste of his blood was too alluring. He couldn’t let the Witcher die, not when he tasted so good, looked so beautiful pale in the moonlight with blackish blood staining his lips and chin. Geralt drank just enough to sate himself, leaving enough for the Witcher to survive his turning. His changing.
The hand cradling the back of the Witcher’s head tightened, Geralt’s fingernails scraping bluntly against his scalp. He wanted so much out of the Witcher. He wanted… companionship.
Friendship?
No. Companionship. He wanted such a beautiful creature to be by his side. For centuries, if he could, and yes , he could. Geralt’s jaw locked and he stopped sucking the Witcher’s blood, and began to secrete his own into Jaskier’s bloodline. The Witcher didn’t move beneath him, but Geralt could make out the gentle slow beat of his heart.
Geralt pulled back. His hand still cradled the unconscious Witcher’s head, one hand sliding over the holes in his throat to stop his infectious blood from leaking out. He would turn this Witcher, and he would make him his… friend. His friend.
Yes, something of the sort. It sounded silly. It sounded childish.
But he was so lonely .
An hour passed. The Witcher did not wake, but he did not die. Geralt did not move. Not an inch.
Until he did, in a flurry of panic and of disgust, feeling the Witcher’s blood bubble in his stomach and the reality of his actions dawn on the frenzied man. He dropped the Witcher, his head banging against the stone before Geralt was standing up and stumbling back.
He stared at the pale body, turning, and vomited into the darkness of the alleyway.
It was impossible, to fathom, to put into comprehensible thought the immense guilt and blame Geralt of Blaviken felt upon turning the beautiful Witcher into a horrible monster.
The process would be painful. Geralt knew, he had lived through it. He knew that the one thing a young budding vampire needed when he was going through the month of torture, of fever and sweats, of untameable bloodlust, of muscle aches and bleeding gums as his sharp teeth grew in, was another to hold his hand as tight as he needed it.
Geralt knew.
He ran anyway.
He left Jaskier on the stone, passed cold out, vampiric blood flowing through his body and changing every bit of him into a monster like Geralt. He left him with no intentions to return to the man during that month of transformation. He left him, and he didn’t look back, though the guilt was as heavy as lead in his chest weighing him down every step out of that dark, disgusting, blood-spattered alleyway.
