The Witcher (One shots)

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Jaskier cannot help but lean into the soft touch and groan. The tension behind his eyes releases just a little at the contact. “Should we find the healer again?”

“No, my dear.” Jaskier doubts there’s anything else the lovely lady can do. He has taken some needed herbal teas and potions. Now they can only wait it out. “I just couldn’t sleep laying down. The infection seems to affect me worse at night-”

A coughing fit racks Jaskier’s body. He gasps for air, lungs trying to clear the obstruction. The room whirls and darkens before his eyes with the lack of oxygen. With his appetite becoming sparse, Jaskier’s strength can no longer hold himself up.

In his haze, he can feel Geralt guiding him to lean on his shoulder and making soothing circles down his back. His entire airway burns with each rise and fall of his choking breath. The only thing keeping him upright is Geralt’s arm around him.

Jaskier rests his head in the crook of Geralt’s neck, waiting for it to calm down. He can hear his lover murmuring sweet nothings and his hand stroking through his sweat-soaked hair.

The cadence of Geralt’s hushed voice and soft touches lulls his breathing back to normal after a few minutes, but Jaskier stays there, completely drained of strength.

Geralt props them both up, arranges the pillows, and sits against them. He carefully gathers Jaskier up so he’s leaned back on his shoulder.

He sees Jaskier’s occasional shudders and tucks the blanket around his fevered body and rubs his arm absent-mindedly.

“Geralt, dear,” Jaskier’s voice is now hoarse, barely a whisper, “You don’t have to sit with me. Go back to sleep.”

The soothing motion on his arm stops as a light kiss is pressed to Jaskier’s temple. “How come you complain incessantly of some minor discomfort every day, but dismiss it when you’re this miserable?”

Another painfully loud wheeze comes out of Jaskier’s chest.

Now there is a hint of desperation in Geralt’s deep voice. “Damn it, Jaskier. You should have woken me up long ago.”

Jaskier turns to look at his lover. Even though his words seem berating, Geralt’s amber eyes are overflown with worry and barely concealed fear and panic.

For it to affect him like this, Jaskier must look quite a sight.

“Mind you! I have never-” Jaskier feigns affront, but breaks off to draw breath, “-I never complain, ever, in my life! And I only-”

He catches Geralt’s hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. He knows more than anyone that, despite the stoic front he tried to put on, Geralt cares so much and so deeply. He cares especially about his loved ones and Jaskier has had the greatest luck to become one of them.

But their love sometimes puts a burden on Geralt’s shoulders, like now, when he must feel helpless against this invisible monster he cannot fight.

That’s why Jaskier needs to reassure him now, he needs to remove the panic in those beautiful golden eyes. He will provide as much comfort as it needs to soothe the fear and guilt between Geralt’s furrow.

“I only wanted you to rest. You needed it.” Jaskier’s voice turns to seriousness. He reaches to stroke between Geralt’s eyebrows, his lips, and then places a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m fine, dear heart. Or I will be, in just a few days. You have taken such good care of me. No matter how fragile you think we humans are, it’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier keeps peppering kisses on his cheek and neck, hoping the physical contact will soothe Geralt. And they usually do calm down his nerves.

Even though Geralt still seems unconvinced, his eyes close at the caress and his expression relaxes. He heaves a sigh and presses their foreheads together, breathing in the air between them.

“Do you feel better like this?”

Geralt’s question softens to a murmur, as he touches and kisses in return wherever he can reach, on Jaskier’s nose, under his eye, then his lips as well.

He knows Geralt means their sitting position, yet he cannot help answering: “Yes dear, it’s always better when you are all over me.”

A soft smile appears on the face of his dearest witcher, and it gives Jaskier the fuzziest feeling he’s had since he’s fallen ill.

Jaskier leans back on Geralt’s chest, burrowing under his chin, and closes his eyes.

One of Geralt’s arms holds a comfortable pressure around his waist, while the other hand runs through his hair with a hypnotizing rhythm.

Along with the rise and fall of both their breaths, Jaskier is lulled into sleep.