Chapter Text
Vesemir
"When is your next heat due?"
Geralt glared at him, and it would frighten any other man or witcher, but not Vesemir. He knew his pup -all bark, no bite. So he held Geralt's gaze, patiently waiting for an answer.
"None of your business," the Omega grunted finally.
"It is my business," Vesemir said calmly. "Stop being so stubborn, son, and tell me."
"In a week," the Omega admitted eventually.
"Have you thought more about letting Jaskier help you?"
"I don't need help.”
Vesemir sighed. He was too old for this. He sat down, gesturing for Geralt to do the same, and he hesitantly obeyed.
“I was against second-grassing you, you know that, pup. But what happened, happened. It’s your curse and your blessing. You’re the strongest of us, no denying it. You have helped a lot of people, and you will continue to do so. But you’re an Omega, and there’s no denying nature. Like it or hate it, your heats will keep happening; not much you can do about that. But there’s no point to suffering when there’s another way. The Path brings us enough suffering either way. And I don’t like seeing you in pain; neither does Eskel or Lambert. So let that boy help you.”
Vesemir fell silent. He had said more in one go than he ever did. Geralt seemed aware of that, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’ll...give it a thought,” he finally said.
“That’s all I ask for,” Vesemir nodded.
Jaskier
Jaskier tensed when he saw the white-haired Witcher approach him. He was sitting in the dining hall, empty during the afternoon hours, scribbling in his parchments. Being a bard might have been a faded dream, but he could never stop writing songs, no matter what.
“How can I help, Master Witcher?” he asked, forcing a smile on his face.
The Omega anxiously paced the floor, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. At least Jaskier assumed that he was anxious, because he didn’t smell like any emotion. Which was peculiar, because Alphas and Omegas usually conveyed their emotions through scents (an ability Jaskier often loathed in himself). But this witcher smelled like sweat and leather with a faint scent of onions. No emotions whatsoever. If he hadn't been told otherwise, Jaskier would have assumed that he was a Beta. But perhaps all Witchers were without scents.
Finally the Witcher sat down right across from Jaskier.
“You said you had...helped during heats before.”
He sounded tentative, almost scared, which was a ridiculous thought. Witchers weren’t scared.
“That’s true. I have helped Omegas during their heats before.”
“Hmm. How did that go?” the Witcher asked.
Jaskier took his time to think the answer over before he opened his mouth. He had the feeling that he was walking on thin ice. For the first time ever, the Omega wasn’t overly hostile with Jaskier, and he didn’t want to ruin that.
“Usually they would hire me before their heat even started,” he said eventually. “We would discuss what they wanted me to do during their heat, so once it arrived, there wouldn’t be any surprises. Some wanted me to use toys on them. Some were married to Betas, and they wanted their partner to be there during the heat. And sometimes they just wanted me to be there, scent them and calm them with my scent. There was a separate room at the brother for heats, we would stay there for however long it lasted, and they would send up food and water. I did what they wished for, looked after them, made sure they were okay. But I only ever did what they wanted, nothing more, nothing less.”
Even being close to an Alpha, smelling their pheromones and having them scent the Omega helped during heats. It wasn’t as good of a solution as getting knotted by an Alpha, but it was better than nothing. Most clients had wanted more, but Jaskier wasn't sure that was the case with the Witcher.
“Hmm.”
That’s all Geralt said, sinking into silence. Jaskier watched his face, stoic as ever, not letting any emotions show. He was very handsome, Jaskier had to admit that. Even despite the scars, the unnatural eyes, and the hair, or maybe because of them. He had a striking appearance; that was sure. Surely, he had no problems getting young men or women into his bed during the heat. Although maybe it wasn’t that easy if he wanted to keep his designation under wraps...
“I’ll have my heat in a week. You can stay by my side, scent me, help me drink and eat enough. But that’s it. You don’t touch my hole, you don’t fuck me. If you try anything, I’ll kill you. Don’t think I can’t do it just because I’ll be in heat.”
The Witcher looked straight into Jaskier’s eyes, holding his gaze. His voice didn’t waver, and Jaskier was sure he meant every word of that threat. He gulped, trying to rein in the scent of his fear.
“As you wish, Master Witcher.”
The week passed by too quickly. Jaskier hadn’t seen much of Geralt; the Witcher was clearly avoiding him. And that was fine, really. Jaskier made himself scarce, working on a new ballad in his free time, or hanging out in the barn, brushing the horses or sweet-talking Little Bleater. He was there when Lambert came to get him, six days after Jaskier’s conversation with Geralt.
“Come with me,” the Beta said, gesturing for Jaskier to hurry. “Geralt’s heat has started.”
He led Jaskier to the western wing of the keep, one that was usually abandoned. They stopped in front of a door. Jaskier still couldn’t smell anything: if Geralt was an average Omega, the whole corridor would have been reeking.
“Listen to me,” Lambert said, forcing Jaskier to look up at him. “Do not fuck this up. Geralt needs your help, so help him.”
His worry was tangible, and when Jaskier spoke up, he meant every word:
“I’ll do my best for him.”
Lambert nodded, then opened the door, letting Jaskier inside and locking it behind him.