“I need a favor.”
“No,” Geralt grunted immediately, shoveling more of the stew he’d been served into his mouth.
“You haven’t even heard it,” Yennefer snapped, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the Witcher scarf down his food. “My gods Geralt, no one is going to take that away from you, slow down.”
Geralt ignored her with another grunt, finishing the stew with gusto. It’d been a while since he’d had anything but his own hunting to feed himself with.
“I’ll buy you another, if you agree to at least listen.” Geralt scowled, but the tug in his stomach made the decision for him. No harm in hearing her out, at least.
“Fine,” he gruffed, pushing the empty bowl away from himself. “After I eat.”
Geralt cursed himself for the hundredth time.
Fucking Yen and her fucking potions.
“I need dragon scales,” she’d said, as casually as asking him for drink from his water skin.
Fucking. Dragon scales. Of course.
At first, he’d very adamantly refused to walk up to a dragon and ask for a few of its scales. Then she’d gone and offered him coin, casually mentioning that he did owe her this much, for the djinn incident. Geralt had regretted that particular day more times than he could count.
“Why can’t you get them yourself?” he’d asked, hoping to somehow still get out of this.
“There’s only one dragon I know of that would even consider making a trade,” she’d answered, features set in a frown, “but he’s not exactly fond of me.”
And so, Geralt found himself a week later, a few hours out from the dragons lair the sorceress had pointed him toward; hoping he’d find some way to get the dragon to relinquish some of his scales into the Witcher's hands.
Jaskier, its name was, or Dandelion at times.
Geralt wondered what self respecting dragon named itself after flowers. For they chose their own names, once they grew old enough, that much he knew.
“Easy girl,” Geralt gruffed, steadying Roach as she neighed, digging her hoofs into the ground, unwilling to move any closer to the dragons home. “Just a bit further.”
It took another hour, perhaps two, until he hit the lake Yen had described to him. It was massive, the water moving in lazy waves, lapping at the shore with barely a sound. At the exact opposite side of the massive body of water, there was a cave.
That’s where Jaskier was rumored to have his den.
Geralt turned to his mount, pressing his forehead against hers. He’d have to leave her here; some dragons weren’t fond of skittish horses close to their den. Even if this one turned out to be docile, as Yennefer had assured him, he didn’t want to risk it.
“Be good,” he grunted, patting her neck affectionately. She’d stay close, unless something started chasing her. Geralt hoped she wouldn’t be forced to run.
Swords still strapped securely against his back, Geralt continued on.
The sun was just about to set when Geralt arrived at his destination.
The cave’s opening was large, gaping open. Definitely large enough for a Dragon to fit through, and likely going deep into the mountain it was set into. Inside would be Jaskier’s hoard, a collection of things the dragon fancied. The myth of golden hoards kept by dragons was only mostly true. A fair share of them enjoyed gold and jewels, though Geralt had heard that some enjoyed soft materials, furs and silk; others again collected books over their long, long life, putting even large human libraries to shame.
Whatever this particular dragon enjoyed to hoard, Geralt doubted he’d get to see. While not strictly territorial, the creatures of legend were famously protective of their dens.
“Oh, there you are!” Geralt startled so badly, reflex alone pushed him to pull out his sword, growling as he turned his body towards the voice within the fraction of a second. Once he laid eyes upon the one that had spoken, he frowned.
“My my, a feisty one, aren’t you?”
It was a young man, perhaps twenty years old, standing not an inch from the tip of Geralts sword, grinning widely; oh, and also completely nude. Brown hair cut short, adding to his boyish charm, eyes as blue as the ocean. He smelled of the mountains and forest, and a bit like a fire, burning high into the sky. Geralt couldn’t help the quick glance along the bare body he was being presented with.
Jaskier still had some of the wire attributed to young humans; yet his muscles were toned, moved languidly below his skin as he took a step closer, bringing metal against his chest. His skin was kissed by sun; clearly he’d spent many hours basking in his human form.
“Are you here to kill me?” Jaskier asked, those blue, blue eyes focused on Geralt’s face.
“..No,” Geralt replied, slowly lowering his sword. If he was going to be attacked, surely Jaskier wouldn’t have done it in his human form, much less after giving himself away and ruining the aspect of surprise.
“Wonderful!” Jaskier smiled once more, stepping back and clapping his hands together. “I do so hate killing Witchers. The monsters just run wild without you.”
Geralt gave a vague hum, not sure if he was reassured by the statement. Had Jaskier been forced to kill a Witcher before?
“Could take care of them yourself,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Not much stands a chance against a dragon.”
“I despise getting my hands dirty,” Jaskier replied, handsome features twisting into an expression of disgust. “The blood and muck sticks to you forever, its quite unpleasant. But then, you know all about it! Speaking of blood and muck-”
The dragon moved to stand behind him, and though it made his skin crawl, Geralt allowed it. If he was going to ask for his scales, he’d have to at least make an effort to build some trust. They were beyond valuable, and could be used in different ways; sometimes to disastrous ends.
“-There’s something growing in your hair.”
“Usually is.” Geralt shrugged, trying to keep his voice even, to not betray just how much he despised having a stranger at his back. Thankfully, Jaskier moved back to stand in front of him, frowning.
“Well that won’t do. I assume you’re here because you want something, hm?” Geralt gave a short nod. No sense denying the obvious.
“We’ll talk about your request, after you’ve taken a bath,” the dragon decided, heading towards the cave's opening. Geralt, surprised by the turn of events, raised his brows a the boy.
“You’re letting me into your den?”
“Indeed I am! You need a bath, dear Witcher, and I have just what's needed to get that- thing out of your hair. I won’t barter with you while you smell the way you do.”
It was too easy, running too smoothly; Geralt half expected an ambush. Except- if Jaskier had wanted him dead, he would have been, long before now. The idea of having a bath in a dragon's den didn’t sit right with him, especially considering said dragon seemed to be intent on washing his hair. Geralt worked very hard not to show his disdain at the very idea on his face.
Slowly sliding his sword back into its sheath, Geralt resigned himself to his fate. It was a single bath; if it got Yen off his back, it would be worth it.
“Lead the way.”
He was led into the cave, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He wished he’d had the foresight to swallow Cat; instead, he was dependent on Jaskier, following the sound and rare glimpses he got as he walked before him.
Just when he’d resigned himself to spending the rest of his time here in darkness, they entered a short tunnel, followed by an open cave. Within it stood, surprisingly, a copper bathtub and-
“A hot spring?” Hhe asked, before he could stop himself. Above them, the stone had cracked, allowing light to spill into the cave, reflecting on the water's surface.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Jaskier preened, motioning Geralt towards the tub. “Go on and undress, I’ll be right back.”
Geralt, though reluctantly, complied. Stripping off first his armor, carefully placing it onto the floor; quickly followed by his boots, breeches and shirt. He hesitated at the small clothes; they would do nothing to keep him safe from an attack, and a Witchers life didn’t lend itself to modesty, and yet-
“Leave them on if you’re shy.” Jaskier startled Geralt once more, though this time, he managed to suppress his reaction, simply turning to face the dragon. Damn thing moved too quietly.
“Hmm.” Not deeming the remark worthy an actual response, Geralt watched as the dragon dipped a bucket into the water of the spring, then emptying it in the copper tub.
“You haven’t told me your name.” Jaskier said, as he repeated the process.
“Geralt. Of Rivia,” Geralt replied, feeling a bit too exposed for his liking. Yet there was the dragon, frolicking around in the nude. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Jaskiers backside, practically presented to him, whenever the other man bent down. It was a nice ass, he had to admit. Firm and round that would likely bounce quite nicely when slapped-
Stop it , he told himself. This is not what you’re here for.
“Well then, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier placed the bucket down, grinning wide. “Into the tub with you! We can talk about your request.”
Geralt climbed into the water, almost letting out a groan. It felt good , sinking into the hot water; the warmth surging through his body and settling in his bones. It was hard not to relax, to lay back and close his eyes, soak up the luxury that was a clean, hot bath.
The dragon moved to sit beside him, a cloth bag in his hands. When had he gotten that? Geralt frowned.
“Now, I know you have a very sensitive nose, so why don’t we find an oil that doesn’t irritate that, hm?”
Vials were pulled out of the bag, each uncorked, one after the other, and offered to Geralt. The Witcher took a sniff, shaking his head to indicate the scent was too strong. It took a few tries, but finally, he was offered an oil that didn’t overwhelm him. It was.. actually rather pleasant.
“That one,” he grunted. Fancy oils wasn’t something he usually indulged in. They cost too much, were entirely wasted on a Butcher like himself. Jaskier seemed to approve, if the happy sound coming from the dragons chest was anything to go on. A rumble, almost a purr. Peculiar.
“Chamomile it is.” Jaskier smiled, adding half the vials contents to the water. The scent started to spread, engulfed Geralt, making it all the harder to fight off his body’s pull to let go of any tension he still held. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you want from me while I take a look at your hair?”
Jaskier moved behind him, long, delicate (yet surprisingly strong) fingers starting to tug at white strands, attempting to comb through them. Geralt gave a low growl out of principal alone. There was no way he’d ever admit to liking the feeling of those fingers gliding through his hair; well, as much as the tangled state would allow them to.
H e focused on how to present his request instead, willing himself to remain concentrated. He was here for a job.
“Need some of your scales.” Direct seemed the best approach, in the end. No beating around the bush, no honeyed words. Just the facts. Jaskier didn’t stop his ministrations to the Witchers hair, tugging against a particularly bad spot; presumably the location of the “something growing” Jaskier had mentioned earlier.
“What for?” Jaskier asked casually, tugging a bit harder. Geralt ground his teeth against the approving whine threatening to spill from his lips. Whenever he fucked a whore, he had to be careful; keep his strength in check to avoid injuring them. They never treated him roughly in return, too terrified that he wouldn’t approve, and retaliate. Gods, when was the last time he’d fucked someone he hadn’t been afraid to hurt? It had to have been Yen.. he was getting distracted.
“A friend of mine needs them for a potion,” he gruffed, shoulders tensing as the dragon pulled at his hair sharply.
“Hmm. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut it out,” Jaskier answered, ignoring the Witchers reply for now. “It's right at the nape of your neck, the rest of your hair will cover it. No one should be able to tell.”
“Fine.” The idea of having a blade at his back chased away any temptation Geralt had felt before. His every instinct screamed to get his eyes on the weapon, on the enemy, to protect himself. He forced himself to sit still, still as stone. Jaskier wasn’t out to kill him.
“One moment.” Jaskier didn’t move. Had he brought a knife along with him? Suddenly, his hair was being held taut, and a second later, he was offered the chunk of his hair the dragon had taken off. Tangled in it was a sort of mass, a bit of monster flesh perhaps, covered in mold. “There. Now you know why you have to brush it.”
Geralt grunted. He didn’t care much for wasting time looking after his white mane. It would just end up tangled again, why bother?
“So, this friend of yours,” Jaskier continued, tossing the hair onto the ground. “She wouldn’t happen to have told you what kind of potion?”
“No,” Geralt confirmed, trying hard to ignore the oil being dribbled onto his head. “I’ve known her for a while, don’t think its anything nefarious.”
Probably another attempt at having a kid. He didn’t elaborate. It was a deeply personal secret, one he had no intention of divulging to anyone, least of all someone that knew her.
“Hmm,” the dragon hummed and, much to Geralt's surprise, began massaging the oil into his hair, his scalp, with tender care. The Witcher couldn’t remember ever being treated with such tenderness; even the whores he paid for attention outside of sex hadn’t been this kind.
“Don’t have much to offer in return,” Geralt huffed, trying his damnedest not to melt under skilled hands. “But whatever I have, I’d offer.”
“Everything?” Jaskier asked calmly, moving to rub the oil into individual white strands. “What if I wanted to eat your horse?”
“No,” Geralt growled, immediately on alert. “Don’t touch Roach.”
S eemingly amused, Jaskier gave a chuckle.
“Oh don’t fret, dear Witcher. I have no interest in your horse.” Thus assured, Geralt allowed himself to relax, if just a fraction. “Hmm. There is something I could use your assistance on.”
Geralt perked up just a bit. Maybe this was just his lucky day. Jaskier had already said he despised getting his hands dirty; perhaps he just wanted a nearby monster slain.
“What is it?”
“Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?” Jaskier purred, scratching his nails along the Witcher's scalp. “I happen to make quite the stew, if I may say so myself. I would love to share it with someone.”
Geralt, not exactly thrilled by the idea of procrastinating even further, simply gave a sharp nod. A bath and now dinner; whatever task Jaskier wanted him to take on, it apparently wouldn’t be an easy one. Why else would the man put so much effort into buttering him up? Steeling himself against what was to come, Geralt resolved not to let himself be lulled by the dragons attention.
He was a Witcher, he knew better. He wouldn’t be caught off guard.
The stew, incidentally, was quite good.
He’d been lead to another separate cavern, closer to the main opening. A hole had been formed into the ceiling, presumably by the dragon himself, to allow for an open flame. He doubted Jaskier would have minded some smoke; had it been an addition for other humans? Did the dragon actually enjoy company?
Jaskier had to be the strangest dragon Geralt had ever met. To be fair, he hadn’t met many over the century of his life- one or two at most. Yet this dragon strayed markedly from any lore he’d ever heard. Dragons were solitary creatures, the only exception being mated pairs, preferring their own company over that of others. Considering the past, they weren’t fond of humans, even mutated ones, either.
Yet here he sat, once more fully dressed, sipping stew from a wooden bowl with the dragon mere inches beside him, still nude, sipping from his own. A fire crackled happily before them, lit by a small huff of fire from the brunette's nose. He’d put effort into their meal; there were vegetables, potatoes, fresh meat; even herbs. Geralt had heard of dragons spending time in their human form, but this one seemed to actually enjoy this form. The way he moved spoke of comfort, and practice. Some dragons were almost comically unstable after their first shift; thrown off balance by two, instead of four, legs, and without the weight of their wings. None of that applied here.
Once they had both eaten their fill, Jaskier leaned back, arms stretched out behind him. Utterly shameless, this one.
“Now, Geralt,” he began pleasantly, turning to look at the Witcher. “How much do you know about how dragons mate?”
“Nothing,” Geralt admitted, shrugging. “I know the females lay eggs, nothing more.”
“Not just the females, dear Witcher,” Jaskier smiled, quirking a brow in amusement at the frown Geralt felt sneaking onto his face. “Some of us were blessed with the ability to create life regardless of our gender. I am one of them.”
“Hm.” He wasn’t sure what else to say to that.
“Every dragon, once old enough, starts to experience mating cycles, if you will,” Jaskier continued, lips quirking into a sly grin. “Now, we can’t breed with other species as far as I’m aware, but I have been told that simply having company for it is soothing.”
Geralt frowned harder. He did not like where this was going.
“I’ve spent quite a few on my own, and I’ve grown quite tired of it.” Geralt tried his best to ignore the sight of the dragons cock twitching with interest as he spoke. “And, as I’m sure you know, there aren’t many of us left; not to mention that I have no desire to become a parent at the moment. So, I thought to myself; why not find a partner? A mere human would not be able to withstand my appetite, but a Witcher- well. Your stamina is the thing of legends.”
“You’ll give me some of your scales if I fuck you?” Geralt had to ask and make sure. It seemed to ridiculous to be true.
“Well, it would be more than one fuck,” Jaskier replied, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “My cycle can take up to a week; you’d be required to see to me whenever I asked you to. That is, assuming you can keep up.”
G eralt gave a grunt, willing his cock to remain soft. He couldn’t deny that Jaskier was attractive; his boyish charm and well formed body were quite the sight. But was bedding a dragon something Geralt was willing to do? He considered the idea carefully, shooting a glance towards the brunette.
Fuck it , he decided. If Eskel could bed a succubus, he could fuck a dragon. And besides, it would give him a chance to scratch the itch for a hard, rough tumble. Even under the best of circumstances, he’d have no chance of injuring Jaskier.
“When?” Jaskier, obviously quite pleased, gave a rumble of approval.
“A fortnight from now. Enough time to get your horse- Roach, was it?- back to a village and a stable for however long you stay with me.”
“Not enough time to make it back.” Geralt argued, eyes narrowing. How exactly did Jaskier expect him to-
“Have Yennefer portal you here.” Jaskier waved a dismissive hand towards Geralt, rising off the ground. It put the mans ass eye level with the Witchers face, and for a second, Geralt had the very real urge to lean forward and bite into the supple flesh-
“You knew it was Yen that sent me?”
“Who else?” Jaskier rolled his eyes, glancing down at Geralt, hands at his hips. “Not to mention you still smell of her perfume. Never did like the scent she favors.”
“Why not ask her to lay with you?” Did Jaskier not like women? Did he dislike the purple eyed sorceress so much?
“Bah!” Jaskier shivered, seemingly appalled by the very idea. “She’s gorgeous, yes, but that doesn’t mean I want, or trust her. She-” The dragon broke off, considering. “She always wants more. Power, admiration, coin. Nothing is ever enough. That kind of ambition- well. I don’t want it in my nest.”
G eralt didn’t say that he was quite familiar with that particular flaw in Yen’s character; didn’t mention that he himself had found it tiring, when they had still been- together? He wasn’t entirely sure what they had been. Instead, he asked:
“But you trust me in your nest?”
Jaskier gave him a mysterious smile, eyes glinting in the light.
“Best get going now, dear Witcher. You have a way to go, back to civilization. Oh, and Geralt? Bring some blankets. Soft ones, yes?”
“And?” Yen asked before Geralt had even sat down. “Did you find him?”
“Found him alright,” Geralt gruffed, annoyed by the ever demanding nature of his- friend? Was she a friend? He couldn’t quite tell.
“Did you bring back the scales?” she pressed on. Geralt had half the mind to snap at her, but just as he opened his mouth, a tankard of ale was placed before him by the barmaid, along with a plate of venison and potatoes. Throwing a withering look at the sorceress, Geralt reigned his temper in.
“No.” Grabbing hold of the ale, he took a deep, long sip. Leave her dangling for just a bit longer, he thought grimly. She deserved it for what she’d asked of him.
“..And there is a reason, I presume?” she quipped, finely shaped brows furrowing. “He said no?”
“He proposed a trade,” Geralt grumbled, digging into the food he’d been offered; still on the fence about telling Yen what exactly the trade consisted of. The sorceress often delighted in teasing Geralt mercilessly, at any chance she was presented with. A week fucking a dragon, would that give her ammunition?
“Talking to you is like pulling teeth Geralt, has anyone told you that?”
“You have.” Geralt huffed between bites. She was becoming irritated, he could tell by the clench of her jaw. Best not to keep her waiting any longer. “He’ll give me the scales you need, if I spend his season with him.”
I t was the first time he’d seen Yennefer speechless. Not a bad sight, Geralt decided.
“He wants you to- Geralt, are you telling me he agreed to trade his scales against you fucking him?” she sounded just how the Witcher had felt when Jaskier had first made the offer. Unbelieving. A bit worried. Mostly stunned.
“Hmm,” he hummed in the affirmative, unwilling to delay his meal any longer. A Witchers appetite was massive; he took any chance to fill his stomach. “For about a week.”
“And you- agreed?” Geralt shrugged, shoveling another chunk of meat into his mouth. Let her mock him; he had good food, acceptable ale, and was looking forward to a week of sex. It wasn’t a bad situation.
“Well.” She pursed her lips, her expression pensive. “I suppose he could have asked for something worse.”
Geralt silently agreed.
“Need you to portal me back to the cave in a few days. Gotta stock up on supplies first.”
“You’re expecting me to pay for these supplies, I assume?” Yen asked, crossing her arms across her chest. “And if I portal you in, he’ll know I’m the one that sent you. The deal will be off.”
“Your scales, your coin.” Geralt grunted, washing down the last of his meal with ale. “You can go ask him again yourself, if you want. He knows its you that needs the scales.”
“How?” Ignoring the former statement the Witcher made entirely, the sorceress pulled a bag of coins from a (presumably) hidden pocket from her dress. He always had wondered how she managed to store so many things in her clothing; too tight to hide a blade, much less a medium pouch of coin. Magic, he assumed.
“Caught your scent on me.” He provided the information with little interest; his focus now on trying to figure out where he’d get fucking blankets. Was this village large enough to have a merchant that carried them? If not, how far would he have to travel to find one?
Matters he could attend to tomorrow. He’d been traveling for days, for now, all he wanted a bed to rest on. The sorceress read his mind, possibly literally, and nodded towards the stairs.
“I have a room. Go get some sleep. I have a feeling you’ll need all the energy you can get.”
A fortnight from the day he’d met Jaskier, Geralt found himself at the cave’s entrance once more. A satchel filled with blankets was slung over the Witchers shoulder, just as requested.
“Fucking portals,” he growled, still feeling the slightest bit queasy. Yen could mock him all she liked; it was like having his insides knotted, then pulled out through his mouth. How anyone could tolerate traveling like this more than once a decade, he didn’t know.
“Geralt!” Jaskier came ambling out of the darkness, his grin wide, eyes twinkling in the dying light of the sun. “You’ve come back, I’m glad!”
“Said I would,” Geralt commented dryly, sliding the satchel off his shoulder.
“Yes, well, you could’ve changed your mind.” Jaskier was still smiling as he inspected the satchels content. “Oh, these are amazing! A beautiful selection.”
Geralt gave a non committal grunt. He hadn’t bothered putting much thought into the items, aside of assessing their softness. Now that his attention had been drawn to them, he realized he’d chosen blankets colored in various shades of blue. He told himself it was coincidence.
“These will compliment my eyes quite well,” the dragon cooed, lifting a navy blue blanket to his face as he focused on the Witcher. “Though I assume my eyes will not hold much of your attention, once things get started.”
Right. This wasn’t a social visit. Geralt had come here for a reason.
“You seem unaffected.” He mentioned, following Jaskier back into the darkness of his den. This time, he’d been smart enough to take Cat before he approached, and with its aid, he could make out multiple tunnels, branching off into other caverns. Deep down, he hoped there would be another chance for him to bathe. The lukewarm water provided by most inns were no match for the heated water of the spring. Would Jaskier allow him to make use of them again?
Before he could lose himself in thought, they reached what seemed to be the main ‘room’. The walls were hollowed out in places, creating shelves that held a wide array of items. Books, bowls, cups, jewelry, brushes and combs, hair pins- too many different things to name them all, or even take them in.
In the middle was a nest, for lack of a better word; an assortment of furs and blankets carefully laid out, or rolled up, to form a circle. A mountain of pillows, in various sizes and textures, laid out in the middle.
“It hasn’t quite started yet.” Jaskier supplied, walking towards the nest, quickly adding the blankets Geralt had procured. “This is where we’ll spend most of it. Though I imagine we’ll be spending some time at the spring as well. Speaking of it, would you be adverse to another bath?”
Geralt tried not flinch. He had bathed before Yen portaled him, his scent couldn’t be that bad-
“Oh, don’t pout Geralt!” Jaskier soothed, stepping closer to Geralt once again, their chests almost touching. Of course, the dragon was once again completely void of clothing. “You don’t smell bad. I’d simply enjoy if you smelled a bit more like me. And, if I’m correct, you quite enjoyed it at the time?”
Geralt wanted to scowl. Yes he had enjoyed it, but actually admitting it out loud?
“A bath is fine.”
And if the idea of having Jaskier's scent on him thrilled a primal part of him, no one would ever know.
The bath was followed, once again, by dinner. Jaskier seemed in good spirits, chattering on as they ate while Geralt made noises at the appropriate times, much too focused on the food he’d been presented. Jaskier had put effort into their meal; roasted meat and baked potatoes that had no doubt been seasoned. The flavors exploded on the Witchers tongue, unlike all the bland food he encountered on The Path, warming him from the inside. Some part of him whispered that he could get used to this; hot baths and good food, and a companion-
Geralt stopped himself from finishing that thought. Best not get used to something he could never have.
“Seconds?” Jaskier nodded towards the empty bowl Geralt was holding. Usually, he would have refused. Most humans found the amount of food he could devour upsetting; would wrinkle their noses and scowl at him. A beast in all aspects to their eyes.
Jaskier, however, wasn’t human. Hadn’t looked upon Geralt with judgment a single t ime , during their brief encounters. Surely, he wouldn’t be surprised, or disgusted. Especially considering he expected the Witcher to plow him for a week straight in the near future.
“Please,” he rumbled, unaccustomed to using that particular word. He might have been raised by wolves, in a way, but he still had manners. Simply chose not to use them very often.
Without another word, Jaskier ladled more food into his bowl, apparently, strangely, quite happy providing Geralt with whatever he needed. It was an odd thing, having a dragon look after him. Hell, having anyone tend to him this way. He forced himself to remember that this wasn’t kindness, or affection. Jaskier fed him so he could perform.
“Tell me what to expect,” he said, before digging into his food.
“Hmm.” Jaskier took a moment to speak, clearly gathering his thoughts. “It will start with my temperature rising, quite a bit in fact. After that, I will become rather clingy- I hope you don’t mind cuddling, Geralt, there will be quite a lot of it- and eventually, I’ll need you to lay with me.”
“How soon?” With as few words as possible, Geralt tried to collect all the information he needed, and fill his stomach at the same time. If Jaskier minded, he didn’t let on.
“I’d say we have until sunrise before the real heat starts.” Jaskier turned his attention to the flames, watching them dance over the wood, suddenly tense. “Don’t be afraid to handle me too roughly, Geralt. I can be quite- enthusiastic. You’re harder to injure than a human, yes, but you’re not beyond breaking. Hold me down if you have to.”
At that, Geralt finally stopped eating. He stared at the dragon, head lowered, brown strands falling into his face, obscuring his eyes. Perhaps he had agreed to this too soon after all. Should have asked if Jaskier turned violent when not satisfied. Something about the image of a violent Jaskier seemed decidedly off to him. He couldn’t quite imagine it, if he was completely honest, and Jaskier seemed- ashamed? No, he seemed sad - at the possibility.
“..Takes a lot to hurt me,” Geralt gruffed, hoping to alleviate some of the dragons discomfort. He liked it much more when Jaskier was smiling and babbling, bizarre as it was. He did usually prefer silence. “Extra mutagens. I can’t match your strength, but if you did hurt me, I’m confident I could get away.”
“You’re not worried?” Jaskier questioned, shooting him a doubting glance. “The big, bad dragon out to devour you whole doesn’t scare you?”
Geralt snorted, feeling an odd surge of- companionship. Jaskier clearly knew what it was like, having to be careful with his lovers, afraid to cause harm. Having something in common with a dragon; huh. Who would have thought.
“No.” He kept his voice deliberately even, hoping to instill some confidence in the brunette. “You wouldn’t have asked it of me if you thought you’d cause serious harm.”
“You put a great deal of trust into me, dear Witcher. Completely undeserved, I’m afraid.” The first sad smile Geralt witnessed spread over plush lips, and it was then that he realized multiple things; one, if he ever saw that sorrow on the dragons face again it was too soon; two, he would do a considerable amount of things to wipe the sadness off that handsome face; and three; however happy go lucky the dragon had first appeared, there was far more depth to him than Geralt had expected. Combined, these things spurred him into action.
Taking hold of Jaskier's hand, he gently (clumsily, awkwardly) pulled the man closer, pushing their foreheads together in a gesture he usually reserved for his fellow wolves.
“I’ll be fine.” He huffed, pulling back before he came up with any stupid ideas, like brushing his lips against the dragon’s. “You trust me plenty without reason, too. Don’t overthink it. What happens, happens. We’ll deal with it when it does.”
Jaskier remained silent for a moment, then offered a smile so gentle, it felt like a punch to the stomach. No one had ever looked at Geralt like that before, in his entire life.
“Thank you, Geralt. You are very kind.” The Witchers first instinct was to argue that he was far from fucking kind, but he wasn’t given the chance. “Keep eating, dear Witcher. You’ll need your strength.”
Geralt frowned, but, in favor of the delicious food, let it go.
They had sat around the fire for a few hours, before Jaskier became restless. Geralt took it for the sign it was; the dragon yearned for his nest.
“Best get some rest,” he’d rumbled, rising from the ground. “Sunrise will come soon enough.”
Jaskier had quickly agreed, heading towards his nest with a bit more urgency than he likely was aware of. Geralt didn’t comment, simply followed. He’d dressed in his clothes after the bath, but hadn’t put his armor back on. He wouldn’t need it here; few creatures were dumb enough to mess with a dragon, and they were far from humans. He didn’t expect any trouble, and if some should, against all odds, arise, well. Jaskier would protect his home.
He’d ended up nude in the end; Jaskier hadn’t outright asked it of him, yet the glance he’d given as Geralt came close to the nest with his boots still on had said it all.
Now, completely bare and covered by far too many blankets (though it was a rather nice feeling), resting atop yet more blankets and pillows, they were facing each other, only inches apart. The dragons temperature had spiked considerably; Geralt was sweating, hair sticking to his neck and shoulders. It made sense that dragons enjoyed the warmth, would seek it out during their cycle, when they were needy and vulnerable.
“Comfortable?” Jaskier asked quietly, hot breath caressing Geralts face. His scent had changed as well; had become heavier, deeper somehow. It reminded Geralt of the forge at Kaer Morhen, back when the keep had been whole; hot metal, burning wood, smoke- mixed with the scent of the woods, the dirt. If anyone ever managed to bottle that scent, Geralt had no doubt it’d be an oil he’d happily spend his coin on.
“Mm.” Geralt hummed, keeping his eyes on Jaskiers face. “Had worse beds.”
Jaskier, quite obviously pleased at having provided an adequate nest, gave a happy purr; even wiggling a bit where he laid.
“I’m glad. I’ve heard a lot about the life of Witchers. It seems rather devoid of luxury.” Geralt didn’t want to talk about the Path, didn’t want to think about it even. All the things that existed outside this cave- the humans and their scorn, the monsters, the injuries he regularly sustained; it all felt miles away. Geralt wished it could stay that way. That he could remain here, with Jaskier, in a nest of blankets and pillows, made from fabric much finer than he deserved. “Geralt? Are you alright?”
“Fine,” the Witcher grunted, though he felt far from it. He shouldn’t allow himself to fantasize about these things. He was a Witcher. His life was violence and blood, not hot baths and soft things he got to share with someone he cared for. The more he indulged himself, the more it would hurt when reality caught up to him. Thrust back into a cruel world that cared not for a mutated human.
Jaskier seemed to pick up on the shifting mood, fell silent. They remained that way, for how long, Geralt didn’t know. Simply looking at each other, feeling the others presence, the warmth of their bodies. Eventually, Jaskier spoke again.
“Geralt? Do you think- I mean- Would you mind, and it’s alright to say no, I would understand-”
“Spit it out,” Geralt rumbled, just a tad amused by the sight of a stammering dragon.
“Would you hold me?” Jaskier requested, voice small; expecting, Geralt realized, to be rejected. He didn’t answer with words, instead moving towards Jaskier, placing his hand against the brunette's hip.
“Come on then,” he coaxed, gently pulling him closer. A delighted trill echoed in the darkness, followed shortly by a hot body plastering itself against his own. Jaskiers skin was so hot, it was almost uncomfortable, yet Geralt basked in it. Greedy hands running along his chest, his sides, anything Jaskier could reach; rubbing his face against the Witchers neck, no doubt covering Geralt in his scent, an action he found rather charming.
“There you go,” he rumbled, moving his hand to rest against Jaskiers back. “Take what you need, little dragon.
“’m far from little, dear,” Jaskiers reply was muffled by the skin of Geralts shoulder. “I’d fill the entire cave we’re currently in if I shifted. Might accidentally squash you, though.”
“Best not then,” Geralt hummed, abandoning reason for just long enough to let himself enjoy the attention. “You’ll be needing me soon.”
“Soon,” Jaskier agreed quietly. “Soon.”
G eralt woke to a startlingly hot tongue against his cock. Disoriented for a brief moment, his hand surged downwards, finding the mop of hair belonging to the dragon currently nosing at his length.
“Fuck,” he grunted, curling his fingers into brown strands; not attempting to guide or push Jaskier in any way; simply hold him.
“Smell so good,” Jaskier cooed, running the tip of his nose along Geralt's cock, from the crown downwards, until it was met with white curls, inhaling deeply. “Smell so good, like the mountains, like snow, like home.”
A growl slipped passed the Witcher's lip, a deep, happy sound he’d rarely made before. Dainty hands ran along his thick thighs, nails scratching ever so slightly over scarred skin. Most of his bedmates had asked about them, or at least acknowledged them (some with enthusiasm, some with disgust), but not Jaskier. Whether he was too focused on the treat before him, or simply used to scars, Geralt didn’t know, and didn’t care.
It had been too long since he’d had company he hadn’t paid; actually eager to share his bed, unlike the whores that wanted only his coin. Geralt couldn’t blame them; he was monstrous to them, closer to a wild animal than a man. Yen had been different, but their relationship had ended long ago.. Jaskier didn’t just seem eager, he seemed desperate , frantic in his need.
It's just the cycle , Geralt reminded himself, somewhat bitterly. He doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you, just- needs.
He’d be anything the dragon needed and more.
“Go on then,” he growled, tugging at Jaskier's hair. “Don’t tease me, little dragon.”
A split second later, and Geralt was engulfed by a smoldering heat, wet and silky, as Jaskier swallowed him whole. The groan that ripped out of the Witcher's throat bordering on animalistic as his hips surged upwards, completely beyond his control. It should have been unpleasant, too hot, even against a Witcher's skin and yet, Geralt found it was nothing short of euphoric.
A clever tongue curled around the fat head of his cock as Jaskier pulled back, only to swallow the Witcher again, moaning like a two-copper-whore. It was the hottest thing, literally and figuratively, that Geralt had ever witnessed. He’d had blowjobs before, but no one had ever seemed to delight in it quite as much as Jaskier; none had been able to handle his, admittedly massive, cock with such ease. He grew close to his peak much sooner than he liked to admit, falling apart easily beneath the dragons skilled tongue and lips.
“Close,” he grunted out, the only warning he could manage. Jaskier pulled back until only the head remained in his mouth, suckling at the sensitive glans of his tip. Held on to the Witcher's thighs just a little harder. It was all it took.
Geralt came so hard, he feared he’d pass out. Balls pulled tight against his body as he emptied himself into the dragon's waiting mouth, shot after shot of his seed landing on the brunette's tongue, eagerly swallowed down.
Panting, Geralt stared into the darkness above him, gently petting Jaskier's head; wanting to praise but unable to form words. It seemed enough to get the message across, for Jaskier pulled off his cock with a pleased purr, nuzzling into the wiry hair at the Witcher's groin.
“Taste so good,” the dragon whispered, a shiver running along his form. “Could spend hours tasting you, drinking you down, til you run dry, till I’m full with your seed.”
Fuck, wasn’t that a lovely thought? Geralt groaned at the filthy words, his cock already growing hard again. Would that be enough to sate the dragon's need? As much as he enjoyed the idea, and Geralt enjoyed it quite a bit, he selfishly hoped it wasn’t. He wanted to fuck the dragon, in every which way they could manage; make Jaskier come on his cock over and over, until they both collapsed into a sweaty, sated pile.
B ut only if Jaskier wanted that too.
So distracted had he been in his musings, Geralt only realized he was face to face with Jaskier when soft lips were pressed to the corner of his mouth.
“Is kissing okay?” Jaskier asked, barely loud enough to hear. “I would really like to kiss you Geralt, oh, but- but not if you don’t-”
Instead of responding in words, Geralt cut the dragon off with just a kiss. Jaskier moaned, immediately tonguing at the Witchers lips, begging frantically for entrance. Geralt happily granted his request, parted his lips and allowed his mouth to be plundered. As everything else, the dragon's tongue was almost painfully hot, almost searing as it swiped over his teeth, his fangs, not at all deterred by their presence.
The Witcher's hands latched onto the dragons sides, sliding lower with each second, until they came to rest on the firm mounds of the brunette's ass. It was just as good as he had imagined, holding those pert cheeks in his hands, kneading them as they kissed. Jaskier was a squirming mess above him, his cock rock hard as he thrust it against Geralt's stomach. Gods, Geralt deserved none of this, yet somehow Destiny had seen it fit to bestow this experience upon him.
“Please..” the dragon whimpered as they broke the kiss to breathe. “Please Geralt, I need-”
“Anything,” Geralt vowed, voice lower than it had ever been. “Whatever you need, little dragon.”
“Fill me!” Jaskier whined, clumsily moving off the body he’d laid upon, much to Geralt's disappointment. He felt bereft, too cold and too light, now that Jaskier was no longer plastered against him. “I’m so empty, it hurts, it hurts!”
That wouldn’t do. Never would Geralt allow this beautiful creature to suffer any pain.
With Jaskier on his hands and knees, Geralt swiftly moved to kneel behind him, his cock once more hard and throbbing.
“Oil?” he grunted, but before he’d even finished the word, his fingers slid into the cleft between the dragon's cheeks, and encountered- something. “What the fuck-”
“Don’t need oil, I’m ready Geralt, so wet for you. Please just fuck me, please, please-”
Geralt couldn’t resist. Two fingers breached the tight little hole before him; opening beautifully under the pressure, swallowing the digits greedily and still whining for more. His channel was burning hot and so, so slick; like a woman, but infinitely more . The Witcher couldn’t help but be captivated by this unexpected discovery; pumping his fingers to pull more desperate sounds from the man beneath him.
“Feel good, little dragon?” he growled, voice rough. “You like me filling you up with my fingers?”
“Yes!” Jaskier cried, pushing back against the Witcher's ministrations. “Feels amazing, Geralt please, I need more, need your cock!”
“Soon,” Geralt rumbled softly, pulling back his hand, only to thrust forward and in with a third finger. “Want to see you come on my fingers first, watch you clench and shake around me. You’re close, little dragon, aren’t you. So ready to empty yourself into our nest. Think you can take another? Take four fingers and come for me, all pretty?”
Jaskier yowled, frantically nodding his head as he bucked against the Witcher's hand. Geralt patted the dragon's side, like he was soothing a horse, quickly adding a fourth finger, fucking into Jaskier with increasing force and speed. Wondered, in a brief moment of delirium perhaps, if his little dragon could take his entire hand.
It didn’t take long, half a dozen thrusts, before Jaskier stilled, clenching down on Geralt's fingers so hard, had he been human, they surely would have broken. All it did now was make Geralt's cock twitch wildly, so ready to be engulfed by that enticing hole- when suddenly he noticed-
“Oh,” Geralt breathed, in awe as Jaskier's skin rippled, all along his sides and his legs, turning from human skin to golden scales beneath his gaze. They were beautiful, perfect, otherworldly; so unlike anything Geralt had ever witnessed before. He watched as Jaskier shook, barely noticing the muscles fluttering around his fingers, how his arm had become covered in slick almost all the way down to his elbow.
A s the dragon's orgasm waned, so did the scales, slowly receding back until there was nothing but smooth skin once more. Geralt remained where he was for a few moments longer, still trying to process what he’d just seen, when a pained whine pulled him from his thoughts.
“Please,” Jaskier whimpered, squirming and panting. “Please, I- you said if I came on your fingers you’d fuck me proper, please Geralt, need your cock-”
“Shh,” Geralt hushed, pulling back his hand as he spoke. “Shh, you’re right. Been so good, little dragon, came for me so beautifully. Going to give you what you want now, sweet thing.”
He’d ask about the scales when, or if , they had a break. For now, all that mattered was Jaskier.
Slicking himself up with whatever fluid Jaskier seemed to naturally produced, Geralt positioned himself; pressed the tip of his cock against the dragon's opening, allowing it to kiss the quivering ring of muscles, to tease for just a second. Jaskier gave a heartbreaking whine, frustration mingling with need, urging Geralt on. It was all the incentive he required.
A single, forceful thrust and Geralt was buried as deep as he could go, hips slapping almost violently against Jaskier's ass, forcing more slick from the puckered hole. They groaned in unison, both entirely enthralled by the other, both needing more .
Thrusting was not a conscious decision, just an instinct born from ferocious need. Geralt had never been this unrestrained, never fucked this freely; never felt so in touch with the beast that rested in his chest, so often biting at his heels to be released. During a fight, it could be unleashed; where he was meant to do damage, meant to kill. He’d never let it run free during sex.
It was liberating, ecstatic, transcendental; Geralt would never have the words to explain it, not in a million years. He fucked Jaskier like his life depended on it, and Jaskier seemed to revel in it, crying out for more. It seemed like an eternity before the dragon began to shiver, hips going still as they had before.
Geralt felt ready to burst, but fuck, he couldn’t miss this, couldn’t let a single second of the transformation pass him by. Hanging on by the skin of his teeth, Geralt forced his eyes to remain open, haphazardly taking hold of Jaskiers cock, jerking it in time with his thrusts.
Then it happened.
Jaskier came forcefully, the pressure around the Witchers cock increasing until he almost passed out, skin rippling as it turned into scales once again. It spread more this time around, all along the dragon's thighs and the inside of his arms. Geralt wanted to touch, but he couldn’t get his hands to move, desperately holding on as his own peak crashed through him like a tsunami. He howled into the darkness as he came, emptying himself deep within the heavenly channel.
They collapsed, just as Geralt had wanted; both sweating, breathing hard; his cock still sheathed in Jaskier's heat.
“So good,” Geralt panted into Jaskier's ear, nibbling at the spot just below. “Did so good, little dragon. Been so good to me. Feel amazing.”
Jaskier gave a sleepy hum, turning his head just enough to nuzzle against Geralt's cheek; sated and tired. Geralt was filled with pride at the sight of him. He’d done that. Had fucked Jaskier so good, satisfied him to the core; now all the little dragon could do was sleep, thoroughly sated, covered by Geralt and the ridiculous amount of blankets.
Nuzzling into brown locks, Geralt let his eyes fall shut; inhaling the familiar scent deep, burning it into his memory. Never wanted to forget a single moment.
Exhausted, and possibly the happiest he’d ever been, Geralt slept.
An undetermined amount of time later (telling time without being able to see the sun and moon was fucking difficult), Geralt found himself lounging lazily in the copper bathtub once more; except this time, he wasn’t alone.
Jaskier was with him, the dragons back resting against the Witcher's chest, giving pleased little purrs as Geralt ran his large hands along his sides.
“I was meaning to ask..” Jaskier reached up, brushing the tip of his fingers against the metal of Geralt's medallion. “What does this mean?”
“Its my school medallion,” Geralt hummed, finding himself uncharacteristically willing to provide information. “All Witchers have one. Signals what school we’re from. Mine is the School of the Wolf.”
“How many schools are there?” Jaskier asked, innocently.
“..Not many,” Geralt replied quietly. “The only school still standing is the one I came from. There is the School of the Cats, which travel in a caravan after their keep was destroyed. School of the Bear, School of the Manticore, School of the Crane; and then the School of Vipers, and the Griffin.”
“What happened to the schools?” Geralt wished the dragon hadn’t asked; he’d rather forget the horrid memories. But Jaskier had no way of knowing what had occurred in the past.
“Humans,” Geralt huffed. “Decided we were evil, unwanted. They sacked the schools and managed to destroy all but one. Kaer Morhen still stands, if damaged.”
Jaskier hummed; once more picking up on Geralt's discomfort without verbalizing it.
“School of the Wolf..” the dragon whispered dreamily, tracing the edges of the medallion. “Makes sense.”
“How so?” Geralt asked, intrigued.
“With all the biting and the growling..” Jaskier grinned, turning himself in the Witchers lap until he was straddling thick thighs. “The White Wolf of Kaer Morhen.. has quite the ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, undecided. It sounded too- loud, too big. He wasn’t important in any way, in no way relevant to history. The name called for glory, of which he had none to offer.
“My White Wolf..” Jaskier purred, nuzzling against Geralt's neck; and oh, that- that actually sounded good.
“Ready for more, little dragon?” Geralt rumbled, brushing against Jaskiers opening, still soft and open from their last round, slick with natural lubrication.
“Mmm, I believe I am.” Jaskier nibbled at the Witcher's neck, rolling his hips teasingly above Geralt's cock, which was starting to thicken with interest. “Ready for the big, bad wolf to devour me whole.”
Well . Geralt could do that.
“Like this?” he asked, teasing the little hole, dipping in just far enough to be felt, but nowhere near satisfying. “Want to ride me, hm?”
“It would be my pleasure..” Jaskier breathed, taking hold of Geralts cock, stroking it to full hardness with ease. He had no idea how many times they’d fucked; how many times he’s emptied himself into Jaskiers willing body. He did know that he never wanted to stop.
He wanted to have this forever, every night he was alive; wanted to hold on and treasure the miracle before him, worship at its feet. Wanted to see the golden scales shimmer in the light as his dragon came, quivering as Geralt fucked him through his peak, chasing his own release.
“Fuck,” he grunted, pulled from his musings as Jaskier lowered himself onto his cock with a single, smooth motion. No matter how many times they’d done this, how easily the brunette opened up for him, he was still so fucking tight.
“That’s the idea, dear Witcher.” Jaskier sounded much too smug for Geralt's taste; he’d have to change that. Grabbing the dragon's slender hips, Geralt held tight as he bucked his hips, surprising a moan out of Jaskier. Much better.
“If you’re still talking, I’m doing this wrong,” Geralt growled, grinding his hips upwards, right into that sweet spot that had Jaskier yowling, head thrown back, greedy for more. He was gorgeous, ethereal, a deity made flesh; and for now, Jaskier was his, and his alone.
N o more words were exchanged between them for a few hours yet.
Geralt woke alone in the nest.
His stomach sank. Jaskier hadn’t left him for longer tha n it took to retrieve dried fruits and nuts from the cave Geralt now considered the equivalent of a living room. But now the blankets and furs beside the Witcher were cold; no one had lain there for quite some time.
G eralt swallowed heavily around the lump forming in his throat. He’d known this was going to happen, that this had always been a temporary arrangement. So why did his heart still ache?
Reluctantly, the Witcher made his way out of the nest, glancing at his clothes. He hadn’t worn them since the day he’d arrived, but now Jaskier's cycle was over. Was it inappropriate to walk around his den naked? Geralt decided to chance it. He was still covered in seed, sweat and slick, drying on his skin.
One last bath , he prayed. Let me have one more bath, another hour. Just a little more time.
Jaskier was sitting before the fire, roasting what looked like deer above it. Of course, the dragon was completely bare. He bestowed the Witcher a genuine smile, motioning him towards himself.
“I took the chance to go hunting,” he trilled, preening just a bit, presumably at being a good provider. “Now that its over.”
“Hmm.” Geralt tried to keep his features neutral, lest the little dragon pick up on the misery the Witcher had no right to feel. Jaskier hadn’t chosen him as a mate, no matter how many times he whispered his new nickname into Geralt's ear.
My white wolf..
Golden eyes traveled along the dragon's form; he’d already bathed, and any bruises or bite marks Geralt had left behind had already healed. He looked just as he had the day they’d met. No trace of them sharing a week, wrapped up in each other in the dragon's nest.
Geralt felt bitterness settle into his chest, his lips threatening to curl into a snarl.
He wanted , so vigorously, so fiercely, he was almost tempted to reach out, to grab hold of Jaskier and cover him anew, in anything Geralt could, to claim the dragon as his own.
But he was a Witcher.
Witchers didn’t get soft things, or beautiful mates, or happy ever afters. They lived and died, covered in blood and monster guts.
“Thank you,” he rumbled as Jaskier held out his meal for him. It lacked the usual sides, vegetables or potatoes; but he supposed the brunette simply hadn’t had the time or energy to prepare another full meal. His cycle had probably taken quite a bit out of him. Geralts own body felt sore, almost drained, now that he spared it a thought.
No need to woo you anymore, you already fucked him. No use to him now. A nasty voice inside Geralt's mind provided. Why waste energy on you?
He pushed the thought as far away as he could. There was no way to know how long he’d still get to linger in the dragon's presence, feel the warmth radiating from sun kissed skin. He was determined to soak up every minute, every second, pathetic as it was. Burn Jaskier into his memory so he’d never forget the little dragon that, for a short time, had been his.
A few hours later, just as the sun rose, Geralt found himself at the cave’s entrance.
The time to say their goodbyes had come.
Jaskier had been more generous that the Witcher had imagined possible. Not only had he handed over his golden scales, more than were needed for the potion, but he’d also insisted on gifting Geralt a golden bracelet. The chains were so fine, Geralt feared he’d crush them with his calloused hands; he’d told Jaskier as much, only to have the dragon smile at him oh so sweetly.
“It’ll be alright, dear Witcher,” Jaskier had said, patting Geralt's cheek. “I want to give you something to remember me by.”
Geralt had almost laughed.
I’ll remember you until my very last breath, little dragon. He’d yearned so much to speak the words out loud, to give in and admit to them both just how deeply he had come to care for Jaskier. They burned on his tongue, begging to be released into the morning air between them, consequences be damned.
The Witcher kept his mouth firmly shut.
A portal appeared, Yen must have been keeping watch; Geralt glanced at the brunette one more, before offering a nod of his head. It was far from what he hungered to do; kiss the dragon one last time, passionate and deep; etch himself into Jaskiers very memory.
But he was a Witcher. Witchers didn’t get a kiss goodbye.
Jaskier waved at him, smile still firm on his lips; Geralt surely imagined the sadness he saw in those blue eyes.
He turned his back on the dragon, forced his muscles to move. Stepped into the portal as grief settled into the very marrow of his bones.
This was it. He’d never see Jaskier again.
Just as the portal closed, he heard the whisper.
“My white wolf..”
Geralt spent the following months exhausting himself on the Path. Contract followed contract, more than he’d ever taken during such a short time. Desperate to push the thoughts of the little dragon from his mind, if only long enough to meditate.
Winter couldn’t come soon enough.
He missed Jaskier with every breath he took; nothing seemed to change that. Geralt wasted his coin on ale, on whores, but no matter how drunk he was, or how many times he’d come; the second he closed his eyes, there the dragon was. Sweaty and smiling, surrounded by blankets, calling out to Geralt of so sweetly.
My white wolf.
The only reprieve he’d get was spending time with his family, hidden away for up in the Blue Mountains; away from the humans and monsters.
The hike up the mountain had been hard; he’d run himself ragged, hadn’t rested enough to recharge before he made the climb. By the end of it, Geralt could barely keep himself on his own two legs.
Vesemir hadn’t been impressed, shaking his head as he helped Geralt up the stairs to his room, even helped him strip out of his armor. The last thing Geralt saw the worried face of his father figure above him as he slipped into sleep.
Winter was better, and somehow worse at the same time.
Spending time with Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir distracted him well enough during the days; his chores kept him busy. But whenever Geralt started to push himself too hard, after nights filled with torturous dreams of his dragon, his family stepped in. They wouldn’t allow him to hurt himself, they said. Didn’t seem to understand that not being bonedeep tired was far more painful.
At first, he’d refused to discuss his sour mood- though he wasn’t quite sure why. He simply hadn’t wanted to.
Then, one night, Lambert had pulled out the spirit he’d made; it tasted like paint thinner, burned Geralt's throat, spreading warmth from his stomach, and he’d cracked. Spilled his guts to his family, told them everything. Told them about Jaskier, about how he felt about the dragon; how his heart had ripped in two as they parted ways, incapable of recovering.
Eskel had hugged him, much to Geralt's chagrin. Ashamed of himself for doing something so fundamentally stupid as falling in love.
“Sucks,” Lambert had offered, ever uncomfortable with openly expressing any kind of emotion aside of anger. Geralt had appreciated it none the less.
Vesemir had remained silent, aside of a grunt, golden eyes focused quite intently on Geralt. Eventually, he’d patted him on the shoulder, giving a short hum . The night had ended with them all drunkenly stumbling into the courtyard to watch the stars until they fell asleep.
Geralt woke to a deafening roar.
Alarmed, he scrambled out his bed, rushing into his breeches and shirt; he didn’t have the time for small clothes or armor, the sound had been too near. Too familiar.
Along the halls where he almost slammed into Eskel, dodging at the last second.
Across the main hall, ignoring Vesemir's shouts as he slammed open the large, wooden doors.
Naked feet slapping against the stone court yard, towards the gate that lead into his home.
The ground shook beneath him as something large and heavy slammed onto the ground right outside it.
Geralt knew that scent. H ad been desperate to smell it again.
Wrenching the massive gates open just enough to squeeze through the gap, Geralt was faced with a gigantic dragon, golden scales reflecting the sun. Blue eyes stared at him, clouded with pain; huge chest expanding and falling in rapid motions as it panted.
Geralt. The dragon's mouth didn’t move, yet Geralt heard his voice clear as day. My white wolf..
“Jaskier, little dragon,” Geralt whispered, pressing himself to the dragons head, calloused hand sliding along his snout, his cheeks. “Its alright now, you’re alright. I need to to shift back, darling; need to get you inside. Can you do that for me?”
Jaskier gave a heaving sigh, then nothing. Geralt froze as dread spread from his chest. Was Jaskier- had he-
The dragon gave a violent shiver, and slowly, oh so slowly, began to shift.
Scales, horns and wings disappeared, shifting into smooth skin. It took minutes that frankly felt like fucking hours to the Witcher, before Jaskier laid before him, once more in his human form; just as he had been when they parted, except-
Golden eyes were drawn to the dragon's belly, huge and round. Swollen with eggs.
Jaskier was pregnant.
“By the gods.” Vesemir breathed out. When had he even joined them? It didn’t matter, none of it did. Pregnant with another dragon's eggs or not, this was his little dragon. Geralt would keep him safe, provide for him. Lay down his life for Jaskier if need be.
Scooping the prone form into his arms, Geralt turned back to the keep, hurrying inside.
His dragon had come home.
“Not injured,” Vesemir concluded after giving the brunette a once over. Geralt had refused to leave Jaskier, even for a second; nothing in this world, or any other, was going to get him to leave him. Not now, not ever.
“The whelps?” Geralt forced himself to ask. He couldn’t deny that he hated the fact Jaskier was carrying another's young, but it didn’t deter his love. Perhaps they’d be able to raise them together; after all, if Jaskier had mated with another dragon, surely he wouldn’t have sought Geralt out. No, these whelps lacked a father, and if Jaskier was willing…
“Can’t say,” Ves gruffed, quirking a brow at Geralt. “Not a damn mage, pup. But there’s no bruising or hemorrhage as far as I can tell. Might be fine.”
That, at least, was tentative good news. Jaskier would have been heartbroken to wake and realize he’d have to give birth to eggs that held no life within. He considered calling on Yen, have her make sure the whelps were in good health; but no, that wasn’t up to him. Jaskier had made it very clear he did not trust the sorceress, and Geralt would not force her on him.
Eskel came into the room, holding a basin with warm water, along with several strips of cloth.
Geralt growled instinctively, moving to place himself between Jaskier and his brother. He didn’t think about the action, shielding his dragon from Eskel, didn’t question it; simply allowed his beast to run free, and did as it commanded. So focused on keeping Jaskier safe, he hadn’t even noticed his hand coming to rest on the dragon's swollen stomach.
“Easy now, wolf,” Vesemir scolded, though motioned for Eskel to stay back. “We’re not here to hurt him. You know that.”
Geralt did know that. Somewhere far in the back of his mind. Too far for him to grasp and latch on to. He growled again. Vesemir huffed, just shaking his head.
“Put the basin and cloths down on the table, pup,” the older wolf instructed, his voice firm; an order, rather than a request. “Geralt doesn’t seem in the mood for company.”
Geralt was about to snap out an affirmative when Jaskier twitched.
Immediately, the Witcher's entire being focused on his dragon. Watched as long lashes fluttered, before blue eyes were open, slowly focusing on Geralt's face. Jaskier gave a high pitched whine the second he seemed to fully come around.
“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier wailed, reaching out for the Witcher. Geralt did his best to appease the distressed dragon, wrapping himself around the smaller form as much as he could while still being careful of his baby bump.
“What happened?” he rumbled, lovingly nuzzling Jaskier's cheek.
“They found me.” The words where whimpered, filled with so much pain, Geralt felt physically ill. “Mages, I don’t know how, but they- they found my cave. They wanted to kill me, I could hear them whispering about who’d get what part of me and I wanted to fight but-”
But Jaskier was carrying a clutch. With so few of their kind remaining, he’d had no choice but to escape.
“It's all gone,” the dragon sobbed, holding on to Geralt with a grip strong enough to leave bruises for several days. “I didn’t want to leave, I thought you might come back to see me; wanted to stay so you didn’t think I’d abandoned you, but our whelps..”
“What did you say?” Vesemir asked, completely forgotten by them until he’d raised his voice. “You’re carrying Geralt's whelps?”
“Of course I am,” Jaskier snapped, apparently angered by the question. “I just had my cycle, and I shared it with him. Who else would be their father?”
Geralt's mind spun. His gaze drifting from the dragon's face to his bulging stomach. His whelps. His .
“Impossible.” It was Lambert that spoke, spitting the word like it was venom. “We’re sterile. There’s no way we can father children. And dragons cross breeding? Heard it was impossible.”
“I don’t care,” Geralt rasped, brushing a calloused thumb along the dragon's belly. “I don’t care how it happened, or why. It wouldn’t matter to me if they weren’t my blood.” He glanced at Jaskier, the dragon's eyes wide with surprise. “They’ll be mine for the rest of my life, if you’ll allow it.”
“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, surging forward to press their lips together in a fervent kiss. “Yes, yes, I want to raise them with you. But they are yours, my magnificent white wolf. Once they hatch, our whelps will show you themselves.”
“Insane,” Lambert grunted, prompting a murderous glance from Geralt. Eskel slapped the back of the youngest Witcher's head.
“You should contact that witch of yours,” Ves remarked, as always levelheaded. “Check up on the whelps, maybe figure out how the fuck this is possible.”
G eralt turned back to Jaskier, silently asking if that’s what his dragon wanted. Jaskier nodded without a second of hesitation.
“If she can check on our whelps, yes. Get her here. I wasn’t hurt, but shifting and flying this far..” Jaskier stroked his stomach, fingers trembling with anxiety ever so slightly. “I want to make sure they’re okay.”
Geralt grunted, motioning towards his bag. If they thought he was going to get up and leave his dragon alone, they were sorely mistaken.
“Xenovox,” he elaborated, when Vesemir didn’t move. The item finally retrieved, Geralt held it before him, muttering the incantation she’d taught him before calling out. “Yen. We need you.”
I t took a few moments before they got a reply.
“Geralt?” The sorceress said, sounding distinctively disgruntled. “What do you want, Witcher?”
“I need you to come to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt gruffed, finding his patience was quickly waning. He needed her here now, not when she fancied.
“What for?” Yen demanded, clearly unwilling to leave. “Seriously Geralt, can’t this wait until spring, or at least the evening-”
“Now, Yen,” Geralt barked. “My whelps are on the line-”
“Your what now?” Geralt didn’t let himself be interrupted.
“- and you are the only one that can check on them, so you will get here-”
“Geralt,” Jaskier attempted to soothe, but Geralt was fraying at the edges. Now that he knew Jaskier was safe, what his beautiful dragon was carrying within, protecting with his very flesh..
The sound of a portal opening far away had Lambert rushing out of the room; likely to meet Yen and lead her to them. For all the younger male seemed to despise the idea of a Witcher having pups, he moved with urgency now.
Yen practically burst into the room, shoving the other Witchers aside, only stopping when a ferocious growl stopped her in her tracks. Violet eyes darted toward Jaskier, but it was Geralt who was producing the sound.
“If you hurt them,” Geralt snarled, shoulders tensing. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. The traces of fear in her scent told him she understood.
“Hush now, my wolf,” Jaskier cooed, gently urging Geralt off the bed. “Give her room to work, darling. We’ll be fine.”
Geralt detested the idea of separating from his dragon, but Jaskier was right. Yen couldn’t do anything if he didn’t allow her closer.
“Gentle,” he ground out, aiming his words at the sorceress, while keeping his sight focused on Jaskier. Refusing too move too far away, Geralt knelt beside his dragons head, softly stroking his hair.
Yen examined his stomach, gently pressing her palms against the expanse of skin. His medallion began to vibrate as she closed her eyes, directing her chaos towards Jaskier.
Let them be alright. Geralt pleaded, to anyone that could hear him. I’ll do anything, give anything, for them to be alright.
“How far along are you?” She asked, not bothering to look up from the rounded belly before her.
“Close to the end, I think,” Jaskier replied nervously. “I’ve never.. this is my first clutch. I’ve had cramps for the last few days, and my stomach would get tight.”
Geralt couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know.
“Are. They. Even. Alive?” he rasped, each word taking truly monumental effort to press out between his teeth.
“They are,” Yen confirmed, her gaze gentling. “They’re healthy, from what I can tell.”
“Oh gods,” Jaskier exhaled, tears welling up. “Oh gods, they’re alright.”
Relief washed over them like a tidal wave; Geralt couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to. He leaned down to kiss his dragon, nuzzle into his hair, press his lips to every inch of his lovers face. Jaskier was fine, and so were their pups.
“They really are yours,” Yennefer sighed, but Geralt barely heard her. It was Jaskier who broke the moment, turning to the sorceress.
“Do you know- how many are there?” That peaked Geralt's interest as well. Quirking a brow, he turned his attention to Yen.
“Four, likely five,” she replied, lips curling in a small smile. “A big clutch, especially for a first time parent.”
“Five,” Geralt repeated, slightly overwhelmed. Five new lives they’d be responsible for; whelps they’d raise and form, then send out into the cruel world. That- He was- Geralt tried to swallow the panic rising inside him. He was nowhere near qualified to raise a child, much less five. Yennefer seemed to catch on to his train of thought, her smile turning amused.
“Why don’t we let these two rest for now,” she suggested, turning to the other Witchers, herding them out of the room. “I’m sure they could use some alone time.”
“Thank you,” Jaskier called, and the door was shut. Blue eyes took Geralt in from head to toe. “Geralt? Are you alright?”
G eralt grunted. Five mouths to feed, five children to clothe, to teach and train, to raise into happy, healthy adults-
“..Are you having second thoughts?” The dragon asked, voice small.
“No!” Geralt snarled, enraged by the very idea. He clambered back onto the bed, clasping Jaskier's face between his hands. “Look at me, little dragon. Nothing, nothing makes me happier than this. You, our whelps. This is- better than anything I ever dared dream of. I will never leave you, or our children. I will die to defend you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you, and our family, safe and happy.”
“Oh Geralt..” Jaskier breathed, lifting his head to steal a gentle kiss. “My brave Witcher, beautiful white wolf.. I love you, too.”
Geralt rumbled at the words, pleasure searing itself into every atom of his being. He lay down beside his dragon, placing his hand above Jaskiers, resting heavily on his baby bump.
“Me too,” he rumbled back, finding himself oddly incapable of saying the words back, too overwhelmed with how his life had changed in just a few hours. Jaskier smile did not dim, his gaze becoming impossibly soft.
Geralt didn’t have to say the words. Jaskier knew.
It was all that mattered.
A few days had passed since Jaskier had, quite dramatically, changed the life of everyone at Kaer Morhen. After some deliberation, they had decided (with Vesemir's blessing) to make their nest in the keep. Once the eggs were laid, it was best not to move them much, and they required constant warmth. Once they hatched, they could reevaluate.
Yen was almost certain the pups would remain in dragon form for a few years; only learning how to shift later on in their life. Until then, they would play, grow strong. Their wings wouldn’t be strong enough to carry them for quite a while, so they didn’t have to worry about them flying off into the wilderness surrounding their home. She had yet to come up with a plausible explanation for how Jaskier had even become pregnant in the first place, but Geralt found he couldn’t care less for how it had happened; just that it did .
He had to admit that he felt real affection for the raven haired witch when she’d decided to remain at Kaer Morhen for the time being. She’d made excuses, easier access to test her theories, and document how Jaskier's pregnancy progressed; yet Geralt would catch her ever so often, when she thought no one was looking, glancing fondly at the dragons swollen belly. Let her hand linger on the bump just a second longer than necessary when she checked in on the whelps. She wasn’t fooling anyone. They all knew why she was staying.
They’d come up with a plan together.
When Jaskier went into labor, Geralt would make a nest before the hearth in his room; use as many blankets and pillows they could get their hands on (Yen had ‘happened’ to have a ‘few’ left over from her last dwelling), to make it soft and warm. He’d hold his dragon as he gave birth to the eggs under Yen’s watchful eye, who would catch the eggs and place them into a corner of the nest, that wouldn’t be at risk of getting disturbed as Jaskier delivered the next.
It would take many months for the eggs to hatch, up to a year his dragon had said. They would need less care then, as long as they remained warm and unmoved. It would give them time to baby- dragon?- proof the keep. However small they were, whelps were smart and stubborn; Jaskier said he wouldn’t be surprised to wake up one morning and find the braver of their children attempting to sneak out of the nest for a glimpse at the world around it.
Geralt couldn’t wait.
Eskel shared Jaskier's open enthusiasm; delighted at the idea of youngsters roaming the castle, once it was made safe for them. Vesemir was conflicted; happy for Geralt that he’d managed to have a family of his own, but silently worried what their coupling had produced. The oldest Witcher didn’t voice his worries, but Geralt could tell by the way he looked at Jaskier's belly once in a while.
Geralt himself didn’t allow himself to ponder on the matter. His whelps would be perfect; smart, gentle beings like their dragon father, not the monsters his mutagens had made him.
Lambert, as always, was by far the prickliest of the bunch. He’d grunt and huff, frown and balk at the idea of having baby dragons lose around the keep. Geralt might have been worried, if he hadn’t caught his baby brother handing Jaskier a carved wooden horse.
“For the whelps. When they’re older. Made one for each,” Lambert had grunted, then promptly turned on his heel and stomped away. Jaskier had shot his wolf an amused smile, the wooden toy still cradled in his palms.
Life would have been perfect, if not for one tiny issue, inconsequential really, all things considered.
Geralt was- fucking horny.
His dragon was a vision, always had been, but now that he was swollen with their pups.. Geralt was barely hanging on. He wanted to touch his dragon, wring pleasure from him from for hours; make Jaskier come until they both ran dry. Fuck his love, hard and fast, then slow and deep. Take him apart until Jaskier was a mewling mess, then put him back together. Except he wasn’t sure if that was safe .
Jaskier hadn’t indicated any discomfort at being touched, though Geralt had kept their embraces chaste and gentle. His dragon didn’t seem to need anything but the Witcher at his side to be content.
Meanwhile, Geralt was forced to flee to his room and jerk off more times than he could feasibly count. Just a peek at the bare, swollen bump that held his whelps within and Geralt was hard, leaking from the tip, primed to burst.
He was ashamed, but at the same time- how could anyone blame him for feeling amorous when faced with a being as perfect as Jaskier?
That’s how Geralt found himself, frowning hard, before the sorceress room; if anyone knew if this was safe, it would have to be her.
“Come in,” Yen called, the door swinging open by itself. Geralt inhaled deeply one last time before stepping in. “Geralt? What can I do for you?”
“I have to ask you something.” He was going to die of embarrassment. Sink right into a hole in the ground, never to be seen again. His mind yelled at him to tuck tail and run; that sex could wait until Jaskier had delivered; his cock, however, demanded that he stay, teasing be damned. It seems the latter was currently in control of the Witchers body as he remained rooted to the spot.
“..And what would you like to ask me, Witcher?” Yennefer asked, grinning, clearly amused though she had no idea what this was about.
Geralt squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, then the words just started coming.
“I wan’t to fuck Jaskier. But I’m not sure that’s safe, with how close he is to giving birth. I don’t want to hurt him, or the whelps. Would making him come hurt them? Would penetrating him? He gets slick enough, but-”
“That’s enough!” Yennefer quickly cut in. Geralts frown deepened. “I don’t need the details, Geralt. Sex is perfectly fine, as long as he is comfortable. Try not to fuck him too roughly, and give him some time to rest between rounds. His body is working hard, don’t let him push himself. Aside of that, feel free to do as you both wish.”
G eralt, literally feeling his blood surge towards his groin, bit out a quick ‘Thank you’ before he almost ran from the room. Hoped Jaskier would be in their room, wouldn’t have to waste time coming up with an excuse (though at this point, he wasn’t convinced he’d be able to say anything but growl out “Going to fuck you”) to take Jaskier back to their nest; even better, Jaskier was quite adamant to keep his habit of staying bare alive, if only in the confines of their room.
His dragon would be naked, in their bed, belly swollen, spreading his legs for his white wolf, begging prettily to be taken-
Geralt slammed into Lambert.
“Jaskier?” he grunted out, watching a smug grin spread across the Witcher's lips. Lambert knew exactly why Geralt was asking, could probably smell his arousal, his frustration. Wisely, he did not comment.
“In your rooms,” the youngest wolf answered, hollering something after Geralt that sounded suspiciously like “Happy Humping, Wolf!” Geralt would deal with it later.
He barged into their rooms, slamming the door shut behind him with such force, the frame shook. Jaskier looked up at him, lounging in their nest, a lazy smile curling plush lips.
“Hello love,” he greeted, coming up to rest on his elbows, legs spreading a few inches. Teased, but not quite inviting Geralt in. “I was wondering when you would snap.”
Geralt growled, ripping at his clothes, tearing them off himself as he stalked towards his prey.
“Had to know it was safe,” he rumbled, finally free of fabric, joining his dragon on the bed. Running a broad hand over Jaskiers chest, over his distended stomach. “Yen said not to be too rough.”
“Mm, a pity. I would have loved letting you fuck me like you did during my heat,” Jaskier hummed, boldly reaching out for the Witchers cock. “Get so wet when I imagine it.. but then, I get wet whenever I’m around you. My lovely white wolf.”
Arousal surged at the dirty words, the warm hand on his cock. Geralt felt like he was losing his mind, mindlessly humping into Jaskiers hand, panting.
“Can’t,” he grunted, moving to kneel above his dragon; the fact their stomachs still touched, even when nothing else did, made the Witcher's cock jerk with delight. Jaskier was so full, and it was all because of him. He’d done this, bred his dragon right, fucked his whelps into him.
“I know, love,” Jaskier gentled, reaching out to curl the fingers of his right hand into white strands, pulling Geralt down for a kiss that quickly turned ravenous. Geralt trailed his hand lower, lower still, over Jaskiers cock and balls down to his sweet opening, and just as he’d said, his dragon was dripping for him. A few gentle brushes were enough to coat broad fingers in slick, muscles fluttering against sword calloused pads.
Geralt allowed himself a taste, bringing the slick digits to his mouth, eagerly licking them clean. And oh, it had been far too long since he had tasted his dragon, he’d almost forgotten what it was like, how good Jaskier tasted.. The Witcher needed more.
As gently as he could stand, he urged the brunette onto his hands and knees, stuffing a pillow under the pregnant belly to support it. That done, he descended upon the glistening hole, lapping at it, curling his tongue as he pushed it in, growling all the while.
“Fuck, that’s it Geralt,” Jaskier moaned, reaching back to take hold of white hair, pull Geralt closer. “That’s it, take what you need, my perfect Witcher, wondrous wolf, oh!”
Geralt couldn’t resist the urge to touch more, placed his hand securely against Jaskiers stomach, thrilled by the soft moan his actions earned, mouth still devouring the dragon's puckered hole.
“Like that you bred me up?” Jaskier asked breathlessly, fingers tightening around Geralts hair. “Fucked me full of your whelps? Watching me carry around your pups?”
Geralt groaned, redoubling his efforts. It seemed reply enough for Jaskier.
“You love it, don’t you love? I do too. Being so full of you, always, having our whelps growing inside me… I’ve never felt this complete, my sweet wolf; you’ve given me so much, so many children- fffuuuck!”
Geralt had now added fingers to the mix, thrusting into the slick channel whenever his tongue pulled back, fucking Jaskier on both; his own cock neglected, leaking onto their nest, a continuous string of seed that never quite broke off.
“Can’t wait to do it again-” Jaskier panted, writhing, bucking his hips back against the Witchers mouth. “Go into heat, have you breed me full; let you watch as my belly swells around our whelps, gods Geralt, just fuck me already-”
Geralt had no reason to deny him.
“Gently,” Geralt rumbled, though he could barely keep it together. He sunk in just a bit too quickly, cock twitching wildly with every new inch engulfing him, and fuck, he was so close-
His hips met Jaskiers, muscles fluttering around his cock as his dragon clenched down around him, and Geralt was lost. He came, his vision going white, roaring his peak into the air. Jaskier came not a second later, trembling through his orgasm.
But the Witcher was far from done.
He gave Jaskier enough time to catch his breathe before he started thrusting, slower than he would have liked, gentler than they both wanted; his dragon did not complain. They both knew why they had to be careful. Their whelps' well being stood above anything else.
“Feel so good little dragon, so tight,” Geralt groaned, one hand pressed against the blanket beside Jaskiers head, the other still on the dragons belly. “Look so beautiful. Want to keep you like this always, full of me, round with my pups.”
“Yes,” Jaskier hissed, face scrunched up with pleasure, desperately hanging on to broad shoulders. “Yes, I want that, want your pups, let you bred me as many times as you want, my white wolf, give you whatever you want, just never stop fucking me!”
Geralt complied. Fucked Jaskier into another peak, and then another, until Geralt himself came once more. Sweaty and sated, Jaskier laid on his side, pillow stuffed between his thighs, Geralt curled up behind him.
Now, life was perfect indeed.
Winter was coming to an end.
Lambert had already returned onto the path; he was almost the first to leave, clawing at the walls of the keep after months spent trapped inside. Geralt and Jaskier never mentioned the ever growing collection of wooden animals that had appeared in their room, carved with care and attention. He was sad to see his youngest sibling go, but Geralt couldn’t fault him. Had it not been for Jaskier and the whelps, he likely would have set out soon himself.
A week after that, Eskel announced at lunch that he too would soon be leaving. He had wanted to stay for the delivery, just in case he was needed, as well as being curious. He’d hoped to see the eggs before he left.
Jaskier had shot him an apologetic stare, paired with a shrug. He had felt the occasional cramp here and there, but labor didn’t seem to be in the near future.
As always, these things would happen in their own time.
That very night, Geralt was shook from a deep slumber, strong fingers digging into his biceps.
“Geralt,” Jaskier groaned. “Geralt, wake up for fucks sake.”
Groggy, Geralt forced his eyes open, disoriented for a few moments before he was fully awake.
“What’s wrong, little dragon?” he asked, reaching out to gentle Jaskier with a hand on his belly.
“Geralt, I- oooh fuck-” The dragons belly felt strange, too tight, tense- was this…? Jaskier confirmed the Witchers suspicion when he went lax a second later, his breathing labored.
“Jaskier. Is this- are you?” Geralt still asked dumbly. Maybe if he heard it, it would feel more real.
“In labor? Yes, my wolf, I think so,” Jaskier smiled, rubbing along his stomach. “We better get Yen-”
Geralt sprung to action before Jaskier could finish his suggestion. Running to the door, he ripped it opened, bellowed out the sorceress name. Making the nest came next, according to their plan, so he grabbed for the blankets they had laid aside. His heart racing, punching against his rib cage with every forceful beat.
“Geralt, calm down,” Jaskier chuckled, watching the flurry of motion with amusement. “That was my first real contraction I think. We have time.”
Geralt could barely comprehend the words meaning, frantically building their nest before the fireplace. He needed to get this done, it was his job, if the nest wasn’t built by the time Jaskier needed to push- A slap to the back of his head had him freezing, staring up at the one that had struck him; Yennefer.
“Snap out of it you big brute,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Men. They make grand speeches about how tough they are, but the moment their spouse goes into labor, they’re all a mess.”
Geralt would have been annoyed, had her words not pulled a chuckle from Jaskier. He grudgingly admitted that the slap had helped. He felt calmer now, more collected. Their nest was built not long after, layers of blankets and pillows making it as soft as possible, while Yen examined his dragon.
“The eggs have shifted, but not enough, I think,” she concluded, gently palpating the dragons stomach. “How do you feel?”
“I feel like- oh fuck me, Geralt!” Jaskier whined, reaching out for the Witcher with one hand, the other clutching his stomach. The Witcher was immediately at his side, grasping the smaller hand in his own, allowing Jaskier to squeeze as hard as he needed. Once the contraction ended, Jaskier continued. “Like my insides are trying to be on the outside. Fine aside of that.”
Yen chuckled, shaking her head. If Geralt had any capacity left to focus on anything but his dragon, laboring to bring their whelps into the world, he would have noticed how carefree she seemed to be in this very moment.
“Settle in for a long night, you two. This is not going to be fun.”
She was right.
Jaskiers groans of pain quickly turned into screams; sweat pouring off the dragon as he tried to breathe through every contraction. Geralt was helpless to do anything but reassure, wipe the sweat from his dragons forehead. Sit behind him and hold him as wave after wave of agony ripped through him. It was torture, to be so powerless while his love suffered, battling his own body to bring their eggs into the world.
Eventually, as the sun rose, Jaskier requested to be moved into the nest before the fire. Instead of laying down, as Geralt had expected, his dragon crouched, hunched offer, breathing heavily. He didn’t suggest a change in position. Jaskier was following his instincts; perhaps this was simply how dragons laid their eggs.
Geralt knelt behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his dragons chest, holding him steady. Jaskiers legs were trembling, barely holding him up, so Geralt pulled him back, allowing his dragon to shift his wait onto the Witcher. Geralt held him secure, pressing kiss after kiss against sweaty brown hair. He could hold his love, at least. This much, he could do.
Yen was kneeling before them, brows furrowed as she glanced between the dragons leg, reaching out to feel-
“I have to push.” Jaskier mewled, tears dripping from the corner of his eyes. “God fuck, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much, we’re never doing this again, I fucking hate you for doing this to me-” The dragon was cut off by another contraction, resulting in another screech of pain.
Geralt paid those words no mind. Vesemir had spoken to him about this; labor made people say a lot of things, the pain too much to bare without some sort of outlet. He held tight, mumbling none sense into his ear.
“I know it hurts, I know sweet dragon; it’ll be over soon, my love. We’ll have our eggs, watch our whelps grow inside them, and then, one day, they’ll be here.” Jaskier wept and screamed as he bore down. “Just a little more, little dragon, just push a little more, gods, I love you-”
“Its coming!” Yen exclaimed, eyes wide as the first of their eggs began to appear, slowly, inch by inch, its widest at the middle, and then- it was there.
In her hands she held a golden egg, its shell slick with blood and slick, yet utterly perfect. Geralt stared at it, awed at the sight. Their first egg. First whelp. First son, or daughter.
“In the nest!” Jaskier barked after a few seconds of marveling. Yennefer quickly complied, placing it into the nest with the utmost care, until it was nestled in the blankets. After that, things happened rather quickly.
Jaskier screamed and cursed, likely broke Geralts arm as he clawed at the Witcher, yet Geralt stayed still. A second egg came into the world, then a third. Jaskiers strength was waning, barely able to keep his eyes opens, whining pitifully whenever Geralt or Yen urged him to push. The fourth egg was a struggle, and still Jaskier had one more left to deliver.
Geralt was beginning to fear for him; Jaskier was weak, beyond exhausted; Geralt had gone from taking most of the dragons weight to taking all of it. His dragon was simply drained. Then, Jaskier refused to push, and Geralts blood ran cold.
“Please, my love.” He begged, nuzzling, even licking, at his dragons cheek. “Please, one more push. Just one more and you can rest.”
“I can’t..” Jaskier slurred, quivering in Geralts grasp. “Can’t, ‘s too hard, I can’t..”
“You can.” Geralt rumbled. “You got them this far, kept them safe and warm as they grew inside you; you’re amazing, so strong, stronger than I’ve ever been, than I’ll ever be. Please. Can you give me just one more?”
“One more..” Jaskier whined, head lolling on Geralt shoulder.
“Just one more.” Geralt promised, briefly wondering if he was lying. It didn’t matter. The egg needed to come out, and soon. “You can do this, darling. Just one more.”
He felt Jaskier tense within his grip, watched his stomach, now much smaller, grow tight one last time. His dragon made a sound of pure agony, a high pitched scream that would haunt Geralt during the night.
“Its here.” Yen breathed, holding the last egg in her hands, but quickly adding it to the rest of their clutch. Five beautiful golden eggs, all nestled together, surrounded by blankets; reflecting the light of the fire from the hearth.
“They’re here.” Geralt breathed, nudging the dragons cheek with the tip of his nose, urging him to take in their whelps. “You did it, little dragon. You did it.”
Jaskier, delirious, turned his head to glance upon their clutch for just a moment, before going slack. Passed out after a night pushing his body to its absolute limit, and beyond.
“Lay him down, on his back.” Yen commanded, so Geralt did. He found himself quite exhausted himself, the broken bone throbbing in his arm. He didn’t care; nowhere near as exhausted as Jaskier, who now slept beside their clutch. “No injuries, he’s fine.”
Geralt nodded, forcing himself onto shaky, tingling legs.
“Need to get him cleaned up.” He rumbled, almost stumbling towards the door. It opened before he could reach it, and there stood Vesemir, basin of steaming water in his hand.
“Thought you’d need this.” The older Witcher gruffed, giving Geralt a scrutinizing glare. “..You look like shit, pup.”
Geralt didn’t argue, simply stepped aside to let Vesemir in. Who was he trying to fool? He wasn’t going anywhere. Damn near collapsing next to his dragon, Geralt barely noticed Yen healing his arms as Vesemir gently wiped his dragon down.
They’d done it. Their eggs were here.
Jaskier slept for almost two days after giving birth; their eggs secure before the fire that now burned inside the hearth day and night. Geralt remained at his side, never leaving their nest, or their eggs. It felt too fragile, this peace now laying upon the keep. Eskel had visited a few times, just as fascinated by their eggs as Yen had been. He knew better than to tough, thankfully. Geralt might have taken his hand off.
Once his dragon woke, he spent hours at a time, marveling at their clutch.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He breathed, barely daring to touch himself.
“The most beautiful.” Geralt replied fondly, spooning his dragon, holding him tight. “They’re perfect.”
“Hmm.” Jaskier smiled, turning his head to steal a kiss. “Perfect indeed.”
And so the eggs remained, warmed by their bodies and the fire, for almost a year. Jaskier had been loath to leave them unattended, especially the first few months, but eventually he’d been moved to at least take his meals in the main hall with Vesemir and Geralt. The Witcher had been just as afraid of leaving them, but his guilt over leaving all the work to Ves had eventually won out. Their eggs were safe.
Eskel and Lambert returned for the winter; both eager to get another look at the golden eggs. As it turned out, they had both collected various odds and ends for the whelps, more wooden toys, dolls, anything they thought the youngest additions to their family might enjoy. Their offerings lined the shelves of their shared room. They’d been allowed just close enough to see, but not touch. Neither of them seemed to mind; possibly afraid they’d harm the fragile looking eggs with rough Witcher hands.
Winter passed in a state of calm. Chores were done, meals were eaten, and life carried on.
Until it didn’t.
Geralt was the first to be roused by the sound of- something. Sleepily, Geralt sat up in their nest, searching for the sounds origin. His breath caught as realization crept upon him.
“Jaskier.” He hissed, crawling closer to their eggs. “They’re hatching!”
His dragon immediately snapped awake, joining Geralt a moment later. The first cracks appeared, ironically, on the eggs last to be brought into the world. They stared, hypnotized, as it cracked opened, and a second later-
A small head popped out with a tiny squawk, blue eyes slowly blinking open. The scales were golden, flecked with white. A perfect combination of dragon and white wolf. Their whelp crowed, struggling out of the remains of its egg, clumsily dropping onto the soft blankets that made up its nest.
Jaskier couldn’t contain his tears.
“Hello sweetheart.” He cooed, holding his hands out to the little creature, which immediately scurried to lay in his palms, recognizing its mother. “Oh look at you, you’re gorgeous aren’t you!”
Geralt watched as Jaskier lifted their whelp to his face, nuzzling his nose against it. There were no words to describe this feeling. He was a parent now. They were parents .
Their whelp nuzzled against Jaskiers cheek, giving a happy chirp before turning its head towards Geralt.
“He wants you to hold him, my love.” Jaskier said, holding their whelp out to his.
“I’ll hurt him.” Geralt whispered, eyes wide as he stared down at his son. He looked so small, so easy to break..
“None sense.” Jaskier huffed, affectionately rolling his eyes. Their son squawked unhappily at having to wait. Finally, Geralt held up his hand, easily large enough to hold the whelp. The baby dragon skittered forward, curling up in Geralts palm, its small wings fluttering.
“He’s a daddys boy.” Jaskier chuckled, eagerly eyeing the other eggs. There it was, another crack in another egg. “Oh Geralt, look! They’re all hatching! We won’t have a moment of peace soon.”
“Peace is overrated.” Geralt breathed, staring in wonder at their son. “This is everything.”
By the end of the day, all their whelps had hatched. They had three sons, and two daughters, all a combination of gold and white. The largest was a boy that shared Jaskiers blue eyes; the smallest a little girl that favored Geralt, her scales predominantly white with small specks of gold, her eyes molten honey like his own. She was the most stubborn of them all, the most fearless; the first that had nipped at Jaskiers finger demanding to be fed, right after she woke from her nap. Hatching was hard work; after all. They had rested, and now, they were hungry.
As he fed his family with small pieces of cooked meat, brought to them by Vesemir, Geralt marveled at his good fortune. At the happiness that coursed through him with every slow beat of his heart. It should never have been possible, and yet, here it was.
His family. His love.
His happy ever after.