Geralt x Jaskeir // Sleepy Reading

Shit

"Hmm.. fuck."
Geralt's dummy thicc ass cheeks tried to clap, but they did not. His leather pants were too tight, allowing him to stealthily enter the house. However, his quiet footsteps weren't needed at all. Jaskeir was dancing with his voice probably able to break glass. Geralt's emotional strain forced him to spit, "Hmm.. fuck," to quiet the bard. Of course, Jaskeir merely kissed him hello, then began to sing again. The man who is probably some sort of demon, because he does a weird eye thing at moldy people, frowned more and went to his room. Jokes on him, though, for Yennefer decided to sleep in his bed.
Geralt left the cottage, taking his sword with him. He frowned, but his sword smiled. His white hair quickly got soaked in the rain. He shook his head a few times, continuing on his frustrated trek to where ever he ended up. He heard a soft noise. A footstep behind him. Whipping around, he drew his sword. No one was there, so he waited a moment.

Pain. A searing pain shocked his body, his back bursting with blood. He whipped around and slashed at whatever attacked him. A drowner stood before him. No, not one. At least ten.
"Hmm.. fuck." 

His sword crashed down on each one. He has skill. Talent. He was The Witcher. All the pennies tossed to him fueled his soul, helping him move faster. Faster. Slash it. Shove it out of the way. Thankfully, his sword was made from silver, allowing him to kill these vampire-like beings. The rain had brought them out of the sewers, crawling to his merciless blade. He quickly defeated half, then switched to using Group Style attacks. He was an experienced witcher, after all. A drowner screamed his face, and he saw Jaskeir's howling head for a moment. He hesitated, costing him a cut on his arm. It wasn't deep, but it wasn't a mistake he was supposed to make. 

He walked into the house, his blood fighting with rain to coat his body. He stripped and got into his bath, pouring a bucket over himself. Jaskier looked at him, then began to build something out of pillows by a window. What was that bard doing this time? Geralt cleaned himself and changed into his clothes, bandages underneath. He went to the brown haired man's creation. His heart melted when he saw that it was a nest, and Jaskeir was balancing cookies onto the window sill. Jaskeir grinned at Geralt, then sat down, opening his arms. The witcher climbed into his hold, feeling comfort. Peace. Relief. 

Jaskeir opened a book and read to him.