[Geralt knows that he will be coming back to potentially some trouble, considering he was in a tavern listening to Jaskier when a letter came for him. He smelled her immediately on it and sighed, knowing that she was always able to find him wherever. They had a little business to discuss so he very shortly informed the bard of where he was going, it wasn't far, and with who. He didn't want to pretend later, it seemed wiser to get that out of the way early. And yes, despite everything, despite the complicated relationship he and Yennefer shared, he did tend to drop everything to run after her.
After a terse discussion which did turn out to be helpful regarding a monster in the area, she came close to him and for a moment, he lost his head. He will never fully be out of her spell, destiny's spell. Her perfume surrounded him and he found himself in her bed, her mouth on his, his shirt undone, her hands everywhere, but before anything more happened some instinct of his said No! so loudly that he practically leaped out of her embrace. He'd like to say that it was his self-preservation, but he knew exactly what it was. He hasn't slept with another person since he and Jaskier became daily lovers.
Yen took one look at him and did her witch intuition, and she laughed at him, somewhat cruelly, somewhat not. Geralt, I thought you wiser than that. He flinched, picking up his weapons. The cruelty shifted and she was serious when she stopped him at the door. He wanted her, he felt that tug, they never said they couldn't have someone else. But he couldn't. There are only two ways this ends, you know that. Either he dies old in his bed far away from you, or he dies younger in your arms. He's a mortal. He's not like us. There is true wisdom in that he understands, but he pulled away and left her.
The words haunt him on his short journey back. Obviously, she is right. And it is impossible to keep convincing himself none of it matters when he just turned down a lover with her nails in him. The honesty is out there now, lacking the ability for the same denial, but it is no less concerning. Still, what Geralt does is go straight back to the room he shares with Jaskier. He doesn't go downstairs to see if the bard is still performing or carousing, he likely is. He feels like he needs a bit of time to mull over his thoughts. To brood, as Jaskier would say.
Geralt bathes to try and get her smell off him, but it is impossible and he knows that. Gooseberries follows him afterward, cloying and sweet, and her taste is still in his mouth although he's trying to cover it with ale. He doesn't linger long and ends up back at their bed, casually clothed and sharpening his knives as he waits for Jaskier. He is very weary though, not sure he's in the mood for nonsense and pouting. But it has to be done.
He's not like us. No, he isn't. And that is why this is all so damned complicated.]
[ He didn't make a scene when Geralt told him that he was leaving, and for that alone Jaskier was proud of himself. The man had the decency to tell him to his face what he was going to do and with whom, and he can both appreciate the consideration and be livid at the confirmation of how little he matters to the other man. His lips pulled into another tight smile before the wished Geralt good luck and apologized for his own hasty goodbye, he had patrons to entertain. And yes, he did use that specific word because he couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
It's not that he wouldn't be able to share with Yenneffer or that he really hated the woman. But she was like a hurricane. It came and went it pleases, leaving destruction on its wake. She made Geralt act recklessly, like a lovesick puppy. It would be funny it Jaskier wasn't so used to act that way himself around the Witcher. But what the bard couldn't stand is what always happened after, how Geralt was left taciturn and distressed after their interactions. Jaskier could handle knowing that Geralt wouldn't care enough to follow him if he decided to leave, could accept that the Witcher will instead pursue her to the end of the world, but what he will never tolerate is the pain she leaves behind. It's not even his own and Jaskier always felt like he was choking on it.
Not wanting to focus on the what-ifs, he put all his energy on singing and chatting up with the tavern patrons. It earned him both coin, free ale and attention. Maybe too many drinks at that, there was a pleasant buzz in his head by the time a pretty maiden sat next to him and started chatting him up. She was fun and she liked music, had a good singing voice as well and that was enough to get his attention, it was enough to quell his loneliness.
At some point in the night, her hand had landed on his thigh and she was leaned in to speak right into his ear, asking about his room. For some reason, Jaskier had been expecting a baritone voice, a growl that could be like a caress, not the musical cadence of her voice. She was smiling when the bard turned to look at her and it was as if he saw her for the first time. Her eyes were a soothing brown, his cheeks speckled with freckles, dark skin and long black hair that fell down her back. So, so different from Geralt.
Years ago he would have given his left hand to be with her. And now he was going to tell her that it had been a pleasant evening but that he had to return to his friend because they would be leaving early in the morning. Except his 'friend' wasn't here, wasn't waiting for him, and might not even be back by morning, too busy tangled in someone else sheets. Something unpleasant and cold twisted in him, anger and jealousy settling in Jaskier's guts like lead.
It didn't register that they were moving until he finds himself almost tripping on the stairs that lead to his room and she laughs merrily against the collar of his shirt, one of her hands unlacing his doublet. His arm is wrapped around her lithe waist when he opens the door of the room. Jaskier doesn't realize that Geralt is already inside because he flinches away when the girl's mouth finds his neck and she tries to nip him. ]
[Geralt's relationship with Yennefer does typically leave him reeling and agonized, all on the inside, very little shows on the outside after she's gone. But Jaskier knows how to read him. He believes that despite what technically binds them together, which he hasn't communicated, what is between them is real. It's real complicated and sometimes shitty beyond imagining. She's a hurricane. She's beautiful and brilliant and vicious. She cuts him to pieces and then puts him back together. He adores her.
Saying no to her used to be impossible, as if his addiction to her removed all common sense. Now the other person in his life is giving him the same problem. They are so different and yet both wield power over him, and he doesn't know how it fucking got this far but it did. He can't believe he felt guilty kissing her. What is this shit? And that he came back here, wanting to shuck her influence off her skin and to pull Jaskier on him, never explaining, listening to his heartbeat and not thinking about it stopping.
He hears them before they appear. He knows every sound Jaskier makes and it's far from the first time he has heard some pretty woman giggling with the bard. It's just been a long time. He is instantly angry, like a rain cloud booming over his head, ready to ruin everything underneath. His rational mind points out they made no promises and that he did almost have sex with Yennefer, but his rational mind has been no part of this relationship for some time.
Luckily it's a woman. Despite knowing many powerful woman who could handle him easily, such as Yen, on the whole he knows they are no warriors. He is far less likely to get in the face of a rival if it's a young woman than a young man, who would find himself very quickly regretting putting any of his stink on Jaskier. Not that he loves this either. Of course Jaskier did this to irritate him. That much is clear and part of his ire. If Geralt came back to Jaskier in bed with her, smelling like her, even if he was covered in gooseberries and lilac himself, it would have gotten ugly.
As it is, he is staring coldly at the two of them when the door opens. Cold is not an adequate word. Freezing is a better one. Geralt's back straightens and he sees the girl note him first. He is generally a fearsome looking creature; attractive, to some, but to many intimidating and the way he is looking at her is definitely that. He does not like making people afraid of him, so he bites back a snarl of warning. It is not her fault. It is Jaskier's fault. Geralt tries his very best to keep his voice even and not vicious as he looks right at her.]
Leave. [It is deceptively calm. If he tells Jaskier to make her leave, it's ignoring she is a person who deserves acknowledgement. But this is the last of his ability to be anywhere nearing nice.] Now.
[ Jaskier face goes through a journey emotions in a matter of seconds once his eyes land on the intimidating dark figure on the bed. First, quick look of confusion flashes across his face, blinking at Geralt as if he's a ghost. Then his eyes dart around trying to locate Yennefer, almost expecting the woman to appear out fo the blue and spook them. No such thing happens. Jaskier might not have the enhances senses of a Witcher but he has developed an uncanny ability to recognize the smell of lilacs. He dislikes it on the spot. And It's in their room. Geralt might have taken a bath but his clothes still smell like her and that can only mean one thing.
There's a pang in his chest, like a stab through his heart, nasty and vicious. He's starting to get used to the feeling. It’s not like they said they were exclusive. But Jaskier had been, like an idiot, and his reward was Geralt leaving this morning to meet with an old flame. And now, tonight, he doesn't need to explain shit to him, doesn't need to justify his actions, because it was Geralt himself who burned that bridge. He owes the man nothing.
So why does Geralt annoyed face upsets him so much?
The maiden's eyes go to Jaskier's face, then they immediately fall on the very sharp knives Geralt is holding. She's still clinging close to the bard, out of doubt and worry more than the previous lingering want, and she's clearly at a loss of what to do. He gives her waist a reassuring squeeze, acting far more clam then he feels. ]
Forgive him, dear. He was absent when they handed out manners. [ Jaskier murmurs, forcing his voice to stay level. Jaskier tilts his head as he speaks, nose grazing her cheek but eyes never leave Geralt. He doesn't try to reassure her saying that the Witcher is all bark and no teeth. It's been a while since he's seen him look this murderous and never before directed at him. ]
Let's go to your room instead, I'd hate to interrupt his... [ ' Brooding' is at the tip of his tongue and he pauses before finishing with a casual. ]... personal affairs.
[If Geralt did give in to his weakness and slept with Yen, he wouldn't be back until she felt like kicking him out. Or until she finally slept after a few bouts and he left since they didn't wake up together really. Not like him and Jaskier. Jaskier who he holds all the night through, who smiles when he opens his eyes and sees Geralt, and Geralt is sincerely and thoroughly fucked. He wonders if having sex with Yen would've been helpful even if he went through with it. If he could get Jaskier out of his system too. He suspects Jaskier smells her perfume; he thinks it might be a spell of hers, making certain her scent stays on him long after necessary.
He really does not want to deal with this. He is already tired of it and they haven't even started to actually fight, which seems likely. If he lets Jaskier leave with her, they will have a far worse fight on the horizon, but he has no intention to. The question is how to handle the girl, because Geralt truly does not want to hurt or upset her. For one, she is innocent of the drama she stepped into, for two, that's the sort of thing that leads to some father or brother or townsfolk not liking it.
He glares at Jaskier, his scary face on full display.] I may not have courtly manners, but I'm not the one using someone else right now, bard. [Geralt knows if he gets up he will loom and be intimidating, so he stays firmly where he is. It's difficult because he has to bite back a growl at Jaskier so very clearly taunting him. His expression does intentionally soften when he turns his attention on her instead.] Go. You don't deserve this.
[ He still speaks so calmly, but the girl seems to get the idea. And few people are stupid enough to want to deal with a witcher in general, let alone one barely contained like this. She excuses herself from Jaskier and leaves, which is really the smartest thing a person can do in a room this tense. Geralt considers it himself, since he'd rather be doing anything at the moment than dealing with an annoying, jealous, dramatic Jaskier.
Only after the girl is gone does he spring up to his feet and his supernatural speed as him across the room barely a breath after, slamming a hand on the wall next to Jaskier's head, getting in his space. He bares his teeth at him but does not speak yet.]
[ He likes waking up next Geralt, on top of him, under him...it's his favorite part of the day. When they're still lazy, sleepy, and use the excuse of wanting to stay warm to snuggle to their heart content. Geralt doesn't always sleep, Jaskier has noticed, and while it concerns him and wants to help he came to accept that the only thing he can do is be there for Geralt when he needs him. He can kiss him and map his body with his lips first thing int he morning, massage his back or touch his hair to get him to relax. It's soothing to both of them.
Nothing like their current predicament. Geralt is right and for a fleeting second, Jaskier hates him more than he hates himself. It's not fair to drag the girl into their problems and the bard isn't that selfish, no matter what it might look like. He wouldn't have gone through it if they had left the room together, and not only because the mood was totally ruined. He would have apologized, thanked her for her time, and promised her that if she was still interested in music he would put in a word in for her at the Oxenfurt. Geralt might not really appreciate his singing but others do, and he's quite known at the Academy. She does have the right voice to become a talented musician, he can tell. If Jaskier still in one piece tomorrow, he will do all that. Now, he wordlessly lets his hand fall from her waist as she shifts and turns to leave, giving her a regretful look.
Geralt is on him almost before the door clicks closed and he's not even understanding why the Witcher is doing this, why is he back so early, why the growling. As if Jaskier being with someone else matters. There's not that much of a difference between their heights, Geralt only has a few inches on him, but he's twice as muscled and three times faster, so he paints a much intimidating picture than any other man Jaskier's ever met in his life. He doesn't care. He also doesn't give a shit about the man's mood anymore, not today. You can beat up a dog just so many times until it bites back.
Jaskier growls back at him.
Blue eyes harden while staring into golden ones and the younger man stands his ground. If Geralt is aiming for a fight, so be it. He lifts his chin, fully intent on storming out the second he can make himself. And yet... They're so close that the bard can smell him, his real scent, under Yennefer's. He wants to get rid of the shadow of her presence in Geralt skin but he also wants to scratch the man's face off for going to her in the first place.
He does both.
His hands grab Geralt's face, the nails clawing at the high cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. ]
You make me so mad sometimes I want to scream.
[ Jaskier's breath is hitching he’s pretty sure there are tears in his eyes from frustration, which he will not let spill over, he won't look any more pathetic than he already feels. He lets out a sharp, bitter snarl and crushes their mouth together, biting down on Geralt's lips aiming to draw blood. ]
[Geralt does not sleep in, but sometimes he allows Jaskier to sleep in, so they both end up taking too much time in the mornings being together instead of being on the road, something he often grumbles about and yet never stops doing. He would probably bristle if he was accused of being a cuddler, even if he does in fact cuddle the bard close to him. It's the principle of the thing. Witchers don't do that. They don't get close to mortals and they don't linger uselessly in bed and therefore he cannot either.
Jaskier being with someone else absolutely matters, and he is well aware that he was the one who put the line between them of not belonging to each other. It doesn't mean that his heart or his instincts are believing in that. If he came in there a half hour later and found Jaskier having sex with her, it would have been far worse, no amount of rationalization would have been good for them. He would say that he doesn't like being defied or challenged, but it's actually much simpler than that. He thinks Jaskier is intentionally trying to hurt him, by bringing someone into their bed, and he doesn't like it.
He also doesn't like that it works.
Jaskier sometimes looks silly when he tries to be angry and his growls are cute rather than impressive, but Geralt does see the intention behind them currently and therefore respects the anger. He can smell it on Jaskier too, the rage, and he would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on. Geralt never said he was healthy, especially not when it comes to sex and relationships. He was just with his on-again-off-again lover who cruelly laughed at him for loving someone else. Healthy isn't in their vocabulary. He snarls at the nails in his face and golden eyes immediately fill with heat.
He understands that sentiment, he really does. Same. Geralt is more than willing to fuck this out rather than fight, sex is much easier than words. Besides he's still bleeding from his conversation with Yennefer and his feelings that it stirred in him. Jaskier's heartbeat is loud and reassuring and he returns the kiss with vigor. His breath intakes sharply out of desire when Jaskier bites him that hard and he wraps an arm around the bard's back, crushing him to his chest. He walks back toward the bed instead of simply picking up Jaskier and throwing him on it, taking the time instead to undo his pants and aggressively shove his rough hands into them, gripping Jaskier's pert arse and squeezing it.
It's better that Jaskier didn't smell like another person or he would have to pin him down and lick every part of him that did, sitting on the bed and tugging Jaskier to straddle on his lap. Geralt breaks the kiss, his lip throbbing with a little taste of blood, and he licks it off, already hard and wanting. This is far more frantic than the briefly passionate moment with Yennefer, but this doesn't feel guilty at all, this feels right.]
[ The road can wait, neither the mountain nor the towns and monsters are going to disappear while they have a tumble in the sheets. Perhaps if more witcher cuddled they would lead happier lives, no one says one can't snuggle up to their boyfriends in the morning and go hunt bruxas in the afternoon. Jaskier doesn't call him a cuddle to his face, of course, lest the man actually stops, but he smiles every time Geralt pulls him closer.
He isn't smiling now but there's no less passion. The pleasant buzz of alcohol is now gone, the tense situation from before managed to sober him up. Jaskier doesn't like to think about why he started to drink so much tonight so he gets drunk on Geralt instead. He hadn't been aiming to find someone to share his bed with intentionally but he also didn't discourage the maiden when he should have done it and for that he is sorry. It's not in Jaskier's nature to cause pain or be vicious but even he can be rather unhinged when pushed enough.
When Geralt starts walking them back to the bed JAaskier's hand move to his shirt, pull and push at the same time, as if trying to tear it off of him while simultaneously urging the man faster towards the mattress. He rewards that squeeze to his ass with a grunt against Geralt's lips and his nails rack down the man's chest once he's gotten the shirt out of the way, with force enough to leave scratches.
He's angry. Worse of it, he's also desperate to make Geralt forget about Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg, to rid them both of her smell and her wit and the fascinating eyes. He really shouldn't be the one who is, shouldn't care so much about a man who will eventually go back to her, but life rarely goes the way he wants it. He's in love with a Witcher of all people, he's forever screwed.
Jaskier slaps Geralt's hands away once they get on the bed yet climbs him all the same, just not straddling his lap but only one of his thighs. He doesn't need to be prompted, thank you very much, he knows what he's doing. Except he doesn't and it's mostly being driven by his passions, always a dangerous thing for a bard.
His right-hand closes around a handful of Geralt's hair after the kiss stops, gripping his nape and tugging hard. Geralt has the option of pulling Jaskier of the bed or tilting his head back and exposing his neck. If he chooses the later, Jaskier will hungrily sink his teeth on the exposed skin. Until then, the bard shifts and presses a knee between Geralt's legs, grinding down the front of his pants and adding pressure to his straining cock. ]
[Geralt hisses when Jaskier's nails go down his chest and he loves the scratches they leave behind, having helped get his shirt off as quickly as possible. He has a lot of complex emotions that he'd like to ignore entirely at the moment, and being lost in sex and desire seems like the absolute best way to get there. He loves Jaskier's heated body under his hands and wants to press him down onto the mattress, wants to fuck the breath out of him. He also doesn't want to think about Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg or the regrets she causes, either between them or with him and Jaskier.
He groans and reacts positively to every time Jaskier seems to be aggressive, moving with him, slapping his hands, straddling his thigh. Then his fingers go into his hair and he tugs tight and Geralt's breath catches. When he bites down on Geralt's neck, exposed despite himself, the witcher actually whimpers and takes it. He's insanely turned on and he wants Jaskier on him, around him, and then, shockingly, in him. This is a very rare impulse for him. Geralt is usually so dominant, but he feels that overwhelming sense of desperation for it. Maybe some part of him wants to be possessed, he wants Jaskier to wipe Yen and all the complex parts of their situation off him.
It's still difficult to admit to a want outside of what comes easily to them, but he isn't sure it's a want, but a need instead. Geralt exposes his neck more in an obvious plea for Jaskier to keep marking him, and he closes his eyes.] Fuck me. [It's rumbled low in his chest, rasping, almost too quiet at first, like he's still getting used to it himself. It is not the first time, but it has been a long time. He grips Jaskier by the hips and then the thighs, lifting him off him for a moment and undoing his tight pants quickly. He isn't looking right at him, face flushed slightly. He gestures for Jaskier to wait as he takes off his pants, and then he climbs on the bed.
He intentionally and by choice gets on his hands and knees, glancing sideways at Jaskier. Presenting himself the exact same way that Jaskier has before, usually with some flirtation and wiggling just to be flirtatious about it, but Geralt doesn't have that in him. If Jaskier wants him in a way Yennefer can't, it's right in front of him, somehow nervous about it. Being submissive is not easy for him, mostly because his instincts want him to buck and be defensive. But he trusts Jaskier.] I want you to fuck me hard like I fuck you.
[He wants to be driven mad by feeling and now there's a little smirk on his lips.] Or is that too much for you? [Is he going to challenge him specifically to get the bard to feed into his defiant side? Oh yes.]
[ Jaskier narrows his eyes at him after pulling at Geralt's hair and getting such a lovely reaction, the corner of his lip twitching as if he’s fighting a smile. The whimper he gets thanks to the bitting is an even sweeter treat and he does it again, this time closer to the shoulder, where the muscle is thicker and he can bite harder without worrying about breaking the skin. Seeing the telltale rounded marks left behind once his mouth is done torturing Geralt ignites something in him.
He moves without thinking, body pressing against his lover when the words reach his ears. 'Fuck me'. It takes him a second to process the unfamiliarity of the request and Jaskier’s eyes widen, momentarily overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Geralt is offering. Sex is how they communicate best, but it's also a show of trust. Geralt looks up at him and the flush in his face makes Jaskier’s chest hurt with affection and hunger, his pupils blow to the point the blue now a thin rin around the blackness. It's the first time he sees Geralt close to blushing, he didn't think such a thing was possible. It's incredibly hot and he wants to undo him, fuck Geralt's brains out until his eyes roll behind his head, leave him a sated mess.
After the Witcher lifts him and tugs at his pants, not an easy feat giving how his cock is straining agains the fabric, Jaskier gets quickly rid of any other piece of cloth he still has on. Geralt might, just might, have a point when he complains about the bard wearing far too many layers to be practical. Not everyone is a mutated Witcher impervious to the cold and extra layers are needed. Plus, he likes to look good and catch Geralt's eye, as vain as that might be.
After he turns, Jaskier makes an effort not to stare at the muscles of Geralt’s scarred back, the perfect curve of his ass but he's only human. It's a really pretty view. Something flares in Jaskier's eyes at the taunting. ]
Don't test me, Witcher.
[ 'I know what you're doing', his eyes say, because Jaskier has done the same thing to him before, many times. He wants to kiss the man senseless, wants to bruise his mouth. Instead, because he tells himself he's still mad, Jaskier brings a hand down and slaps his ass. Leaning in, he nips at the reddened skin before Geralt can say anything and bites down hard. ]
Stay put. [ He moves to get close to the nightstand, the muscles in his shoulders on display when he stretches and closes his hand around the vial of oil. He might be pissed off at Geralt and give him exactly the rough treatment the man craves but there's pain and then there's pain. Only one of them is fun in the bedroom and Jaskier despises the other. He would rather hang himself than hurt anybody that way, least of all Geralt.
They really are shameless, the bard muses as he uncorks the small bottle with his teeth, noticing how they just left it right next to the bed for convenience. He very pointedly does not think in deep about the maidservant who changed their sheets that morning but takes mental note to leave her a big tip before they leave. ]
Didn't know you had it in you. [ Jaskier says conversational, bringing up the words Geralt told him a little while ago and coating his fingers until they're slick enough. ] But if you change your mind...eeh, you can pretty much throw me across the room, so... [ Can do, doesn't mean Would do, so Jaskier wants to make it clear that if Geralt is uncomfortable or wants to stop for whatever season, they will. No hard feelings. And because things were turning sentimental again, Jaskier stares at the wooden bedpost, considers its resistance, then meets Geralt's eyes. His smile is wolfish. ] Hands up there.
[ It's not a request. And yes, he knows he's pushing it but he has the feeling Geralt likes him pushy too. If the Witcher's hands are busy then he can't touch himself, and if he can't control his pleasure, then what happens to it is Jaskier's decision. As an incentive, he moves his fingers between Geralt's thighs, sliding up until his thumb is gently circling the ring of muscle. His knuckles graze over the curve of the perineum, testing Geralt's reaction to the new feeling. Jaskier has never seen him with another man and while Geralt looks too sure of himself to be his first time doing this, and he wants to be careful. He's not treating him with kid gloves, though, his other hand slides down Geralt's back and scratches him here and there, grabs his sides, his hip. Then it moves further, kneading the left glove of his ass, nails digging in and pulling his cheeks apart. ]
[This is not something he asks for or allows easily. It requires control on his part not to overtake his partner. It also is very vulnerable which is uncomfortable for someone always in control. But if he wanted to find an in-between, a way for him to let Jaskier have him but be able to have power over their movements, he would have gone on his back and spread his legs. He chose this position. He chose to be vulnerable, to be the one looking like a dog in heat that Jaskier gets to fuck. He has a very nice arse which they both know, but it's also showing the multitude of scars on his back which Geralt is sometimes very touchy about. This is a gesture for him. They both know he can fuck Jaskier beautifully, but can he be fucked just as well? They'll find out.
He already expects that Jaskier will ease the way with oil, like he always does, both of them more inclined toward pleasure even with a bit of pain to it. It's for the best too because it has been a long time since he let anyone mount him, and he knows his body is not as open to it as others. When Jaskier slaps his ass Geralt groans loudly and humps the air in front of him, desire flooding through him to one place.] Again. [He says throatily, so the next time Jaskier gets a chance he knows it will be welcome. ]
I will not change my mind. [But yes, he does know that if he wants to stop, he can make Jaskier stop at any point. Or ask him to, and he will. That's why this is a symbol of trust between them. Geralt wants this. He is not hiding his eagerness when he follows the instructions and holds onto the bedpost. He knows this means that Jaskier will have his body, every part of it, this will be his show for once. And for some reason he craves it, needs it. He wants to forget, and having sex with Jaskier gives him the ability to focus on anything but his thoughts. This is different. He'll be consumed by Jaskier, owned by him. Yennefer does a good job of pushing him around, making him helpless to her desires, and he is sharing his pleasure of that feeling with his bard now.
Besides, a part of him wants Jaskier to get out this anger and pain and take a piece of him for it. Geralt's legs spread to give Jaskier more room between them. His breath catches at the first feeling of aa finger on him.] I'm not made of glass. [He snaps, demanding more. There is no doubting that he's tight though. Relaxing is not easy for him. He grits his teeth and forces himself to not make his more difficult. His cock is hard and leaking and he wants it, desire is radiating off him.
His back arches when nails touch his skin and he rocks back demandingly toward Jaskier's body and fingers. He would let Jaskier fuck him right here with no preparation, accepting the pain easily if it got him inside. His fingers grip the headboard tightly and his head bows, breathing deeply.] I want you in me. Get the fuck in me.
[ Being very familiar with vulnerability and knowing the risk of putting one's body into someone else hands, Jaskier knows the value of what Geralt is giving him. He won't abuse it, quite the contrary, he intents on making sure Geralt is so thoroughly well fucked he manages to fall asleep afterwards. He is going to ensure there's no trace or Yennefer in his body and mind.
The problem lies in Geralt himself, though, and how impatient he can get when sex is involved. It's so different from his usual calm and aloof demeanor. Count on him to still be demanding even in this position. Usually, it pleases Jaskier more than anything and today is no exception. But today he's also the one who sets the pace, since Geralt offered, and he's in no rush to make this quick. He intends to savor every second of it, to draw it out and chase away the painful memories of what happened earlier. Geralt might not have the healthiest coping mechanism but neither does Jaskier. Birds of a feather, as they say.
The Witcher voicing that his mind is set and then following Jaskier's command without a fuss makes the younger man pleased in a way he can't put in words. It earns Geralt a pleased purr and the palm of a hand connecting with the back of his thigh in a way Jaskier is sure stings the right way. The bard ignores the next order, pressing a finger into him at a very unhurried pace, letting him get used to the stretch. No one would take a look at Geralt and call him fragile but no matter how many muscles he has, Jaskier only cares about the ones tightening around his finger. Because Geralt is so, so tight right now that fuck, Jaskier wants that heat surrounding his cock. And he wants Geralt begging, shaking and relaxed by the time it happens.
At the protest, Jaskier moves up and leans in, face tucked into Geralt's neck, this breath hot again the shell of his ear. ] I want that too, and I will. [ The voice is low and terse, his teeth biting the earlobe. Jaskier finger curls up, press against the bundle of nerve he knows it's inside there, teasing. ] Eventually.
[ He anticipates a protest and smacks Geralt's ass a third time with more force as the man wanted before, the sound echoing in the room. Jaskier's lips move down the curve of his back, between his shoulder blades and over some of the scars. He doesn't mention the scars, he's seen them before and understands Geralt's feelings about how they came to be but they're another part of his Witcher and he adores them like the rest of him. Scarred but still whole, alive. And now, all his to do as he pleases.
Jaskier is no slouch in bed, he takes pride and joy in leaving his partners much happier than when they first met him. He is also aware that his stamina can't compare to that of a Witcher but that's okay, he gets to be creative in bed with Geralt. As he sees it, they have all night and he can make him come as many times as he sees fit before they even get to rut against each other like beasts. There's no way that will not be fun, and will surely earn him a few snarls because Geralt has the patience of a toddler with absolutely no concept of delayed gratification.
The brunette shifts his posture, kneeling properly behind Geralt and withdrawing his finger, ignoring his own unintended cock, heavy and so hard again his lower belly. Hands squeeze the flesh of Geralt's ass and Jaskier is smirking, which should be the Witcher's first clue that the bard is up to no good. ]
I'd gag you if I weren't sure you will bite through it, and there's no point in ruining a perfectly fine silk handkerchief. That...and I enjoy hearing you far too much.
[ Then, without another word, Jaskier licks him. It's a slow and wet hot stripe right between the cheeks, tongue pressing over where his fingers had been a second ago. His breath huff out against the man's pucker when Jaskier pauses only for a second to gauge his reaction. He’s closing his eyes and licking again in no time, the flat of his tongue hard against the sensitive skin. It presses on him, in him, working Geralt open, thrusting as deep as he can, kneading at one cheek and then the other. ]
[Geralt's only done this particular act with other warriors, people are rough and difficult as him, so he should have known that the bard would take his time, would want to torment him rather than give it to him straight. He growls his open impatience but he has no intention of forcing it either. He will stay in Jaskier's hands and let him run this; he made his choice. Even as his body is telling him to turn the tables, to take what he wants, he grits his teeth and pushes the impulse down. That's part of why he wants this too. Maybe to prove to himself that he can let his guard down around someone else. Maybe he's tired of being alone and broken and cold.
His breath intakes sharply at the first movement of Jaskier's finger into him and he feels like his skin is on fire. Tingling. Everywhere Jaskier is touching it lights up, such as when his body goes up against him and he leans his head toward Jaskier's hot murmuring mouth. Gods he knew the bard was hot, he never got enough of fucking him, but he might be impressed. Then he twists his fingers and Geralt's fingers dig into the headboard, hissing.]
Jask--- [His rough voice sounds like it absolutely was about to protest or demand more and then Jaskier slaps his ass and he groans. He is usually quiet in bed, even when he makes noise it's muted, but this one rumbles hard in his chest. He's done that to others before, who requested it, but didn't think to ask for it himself. The fact Jaskier just seems to know what he wants is baffling to him; or maybe he's so turned on that he can do almost anything and it will work on Geralt.
The irritated look he shoots over his shoulder when Jaskier removes his finger. He's supposed to add more of them, not pull them out, how the fuck is he supposed to get ready without that? If the bard teases him too much he will snap eventually and take it from him. He will ride that cock in a punishing form if he doesn't get on with it. That being said, golden eyes are confused when he sees that smirk, knowing Jaskier's about to do something mischievous.]
I am going to fucking st--- [Strangle was going to be his word and then his eyes widen in shock as Jaskier licks him. Geralt almost loses his balance in his surprise, scrambling harder with his grip on the headboard. He gives a full body shiver and his heart pounds so fast it is closer to a human beat than a witcher one.] Fuck. [That sounds weak at best, more amazed, and it is clear he's never had this happen to him before. He turns his head back to the wall and rests his forehead down on the headboard between his hands, gasping for breath. It feels incredible. Hot and wet and new and his head is spinning from lust.]
Yes. [It's all he can murmur out of little gasp-moans and his body is adjusting to this new sensation. He does seem to open up more now, relaxing around Jaskier's tongue and touch, almost like the surprise of it got through to his stubborn tension and he's just so fascinated to keep experiencing it. The problem is he likes it too much. There is a desperation in how he starts wiggling his hips and leaning back into it. A single touch from a hand on his painfully hard cock would set him off, that's how on edge he is.] More, I need ....
[ There's a whole world of sexual practices that doesn't leave you limping and maybe it's time they give it a try. Jaskier likes the rough treatment on himself, can offer it in return is that's what his partner wants, but it's always been easier for him to pamper others. He's too soft, as Geralt might have pointed out to him in the past. He can be a wicked little shit too, so it balances out.
His lips curl into a smile at every grunt, every snarl and moan he can wring out of Geralt. He's often the one at the other's mercy during sex, which he loves honestly, and it feels so good to tease him back that it would almost be enough to get Jaskier off. Almost. Geralt is growling but he's still behaving, the headboard intact even if it might not be for long, and Jaskier is proud of him. He had joked in the past that he would do anything Geralt wants if the man asks nicely but the truth is that he would do anything the man wants for no other reason than it would make Geralt happy. Hence the scratches and the smacks, and the biting. The last one is especially easy because Jaskier is as fond of marking him as he is of being marked in return.
The way Geralt chest rumbles after the bard slaps his ass has Jaskier's heart skipping a beat, answering with a purr born deep down in his throat. It's rare for Geralt to noisy and he treasures the moments when they happen. He tries to pay attention to the tell-tales of what might turn on Geralt, the things he only hints at and the one he outright demands. He has to stifle a chuckle after Geralt's curse is cut short and doesn't fully manages it. His tongue ripples with a contained laugh, vibrations against the Witcher's most intimate muscles.
The ripple and subdued swear that follows is endearing and it dawns on Jaskier that he's really managed to catch him off guard this time. The hand that was squeezing one of Geralt's thigh slides up, pressing the flat of his warm palm on his lower back, thumb moving in small circles. A grounding touch, 'I've got you', it tells. Everything it's easier after that, the tension in Geralt's body marginally decreasing with every sweep of Jaskier's tongue. When the hand retreats, it does so while digging the nails along the skin of Geralt's back and thighs. ]
I know. [ Jaskier says, voice roughened with desire. He tilts head to the side, kisses and bites at the flesh of his arse. He mouths one cheek, then the other, enough so it stings for a moment. The heels of his hands are placed where strong thighs meet the curve of Geralt's ass and spreads him, then returns to bury his face between the cheeks again. The burning warmth of his tongue laps cat-like at his hole and then Jaskier groans deep in his chest as if he can't get enough of Geralt's taste. He's not trying to tease any more, knowing that the other man is at his limit. The bard can read the signs, see it in the bend in his spine, the rocking of the hips, the waves of sensation racking through his body.
He licks him open, first with long, slow strokes across the skin and then letting his tongue slide in faster, pushing deeper, getting into a rhythm. Jaskier's spit dribbles down his chin, mixing with the smeared oil, leaving Geralt's puffy and pink hole a wet mess. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, even as he starts feeling a little out of breath. A slick hand sneaks between Geralt's legs and grips his cock, firm and steady, giving some rough tugs while Jaskier tenses his tongue and wriggle it inside him. ]
[Geralt has thought before that he would enjoy, someday, being able to fuck Jaskier without making the bard wince for a week afterward. It doesn't help that Jaskier's hungry enough to keep coming back regardless of whether it's too much. He'll be crying on Geralt's cock for the third time in a night and it's not as if Geralt can stop, but still. That will always come naturally to him, what he enjoys, how much he likes looking at the bard wrecked and helpless in his arms. But perhaps there are other options too.
His strength is something that occasionally he has to consider. He doubts they'll make it through this night without him breaking the bed at some point. Because of that he is more hesitant about smacking Jaskier, so instead he typically squeezes his body and bites, things he knows he likes. But clearly at the moment he is loving every slap; Jaskier being this strong and aggressive is really doing it for him. He will have to reward him later for it. His bard isn't so soft after all.
Geralt feels like he's a livewire, wanting to struggle away from the pleasure he's being given and into it at the same time. It's overwhelming, more than he expected, to be opened like this. The touch of Jaskier's hand to his lower back, the sweet caress that is clearly meant to be reassuring, is taken both well and badly by Geralt at the same time. He appreciates the thought while struggling with the concept that he needs reassurance. It is going to take time for him to get used to letting someone in, both literally and emotionally.
He's distracted from his discomfort by the feel of Jaskier's teeth on his arse and he really doesn't care now. Jaskier can do anything, ask anything, he's lost his grip on keeping his mind intact. Geralt swears and feels a rush of relief when the bard doesn't seem to be teasing, he's amping up his behavior instead. If he didn't have incredible stamina he might have begged for him to stop, but Geralt's three times as quick to bounce back as an average human. So he allows himself to have this. He lets the pressure and pleasure build until it's agony, he rocks back into Jaskier's tormenting mouth and growls, his nails digging hard enough into the headboard to make a scratching mark.
When Jaskier touches his cock it's such a sudden change from the new sensation of being opened and something so grounding and familiar. He whimpers and his control fractures, thrusting his hips forward into Jaskier's hand and coming a very short few seconds later. Geralt gives a guttural low cry that might be Jaskier's name and he bites his own bleeding lip, the copper and pain making it all the sweeter.
He breathes in a long shuttering sigh and then out again, his body loosened now, between Jaskier's actions and an orgasm. He hums, deep and content, and doesn't turn.] That was good. [He murmurs, understated to say the least, and lets go of one of his hands from the head board to reach behind him and stroke fingers through Jaskier's hair.] Now fuck me. [Geralt has no interest in an afterglow. His hunger is not sated.]
[ It probably comes as no surprise to anybody who knows Jaskier for longer than 10 minutes that the man has very little concept of self-preservation. He will argue that it's a bard thing, the need to pursue what interests him with all his energy, let it be an adventure, sex or music. And maybe sometimes it gets too much, he ends biting more than he can chew or overwhelmed but he always, always comes back for more once he's done licking his wounds. It might be both his worst and best trait.
There are limits of course, he does draw the line at certain practices. Being on the receiving end of a smacking doesn't do much for him, it doesn't work for his libido as it does for Geralt's. The other man doesn't have to worry about not delivering that particular kink. While Jaskier has joked with the Witcher about gags, being actually tied up it's something he does not enjoy. It makes him skittish and too tense, and if he were honest with himself, Jaskier would admit that it scares him to be at someone's mercy and not being able to move, even if that someone is a partner he knows well. Maybe that's a conversation he has to have with Geralt one day but getting him to talk about kinks might just be as impossible as getting him to admit he has feelings of any sort.
It's a worry for another day, now his mind has zeroed on the way Geralt's body is quivering, how he rocks back against his mouth and the cracking the wood makes under his hands when he comes. Jaskier withdraws from him when he starts to worry about over-stimulation, placing one last, loud and wet kiss on Geralt's left cheek. As the man reaches back and plays with the bard's hair, the action earning him a contended whimper, Jaskier brings his cum stained hand to his lips and licks his fingers clean while staring at Geralt. He beams at the praise.
Is the happy hum Geralt is making what prompts Jaskier to nuzzle into his back, wrapping his hands around the narrow waist, reveling in the feel of the strong muscles against his chest, the incredible animal warmth of him. His cock is now pressed against the perfect curve of Geralt's ass and Jaskier is kind of dying from holding back for so long, but he can handle a few more minutes. His fingers grip the nape of Geralt's neck, pressure sure and hard and bring their faces close. It's clear he wants to kiss him but doesn't just yet, Geralt might not be comfortable with that after what he's done, which is fine. ]
No need for a break? [ Brown eyebrows rise, impressed. Jaskier shouldn't be surprised, though, goddamn Witchers' stamina, lucky bastards. ] Good, I'm far from done with you. Now, let go of the headboard, I want your hands on me.
[ Leaning back and reluctantly also letting go of his lover, Jaskier sits on the mattress. His hardness is bordering on painful now and he pulls at Geralt's wrist to try and convince him to move. The bard pats at his own thighs, his smile sharp. ] Sit on me.
[ Another request but said in a softer voice, almost like he wants to plea for that to happen but Jaskier knows is better not to. He keeps eye contact with Geralt, intense and possessive, watching him with hunger. It's a big turn on to have Geralt bent down in front of him but Jaskier wants to see his face, wants to touch and kiss and bite. A selfish part of him says that he only wants Geralt to see who is leaving him an incoherent mess, but the honest truth is that Jaskier wants them both to be on equal ground. They're partners in more than one sense of the word, and Jaskier wants him to feel like a person, not a piece of meat or something to be used. ]
[They've never really spoken directly about the things they do or do not like, because they do not talk about the sex they have outside of confirming they enjoy it. And it isn't likely to be something Geralt is ready to do yet either, it's outside of his level of comfort. Many things are, as Jaskier's sure to find out for himself, the closer they get and the more they experience together. He will never be chatty. It will never come to him easily to communicate or talk. He still prefers short clipped words or sentences. He still hates talking about his feelings. Especially with Yennefer's words so close to the surface of his raw skin at the moment.
He contently leans back into Jaskier, glad for the hands on his waist and he is hungry when he feels his bard's cock so close to where he wants it. Geralt's mouth goes dry he and he moves his arse back so he can rub it against Jaskier. He's begging for it with his body if not in words. Geralt needs no break, he needs the bard to be inside of him already. He's dismayed when Jaskier moves away and something about his posture stiffens all at once.
Usually, Geralt has no problem saying no. He says it sharply, firmly, knowing what he wants, knowing what he doesn't want. This is the first time he can remember where he hesitates, swallowing down the no at first. The problem is, if he says no, he has to explain. He does not want to explain. Geralt can barely put into words that he wants to be fucked in the first place, let alone complicated details like the fact he can't look Jaskier in the eye right now. It's not shame, it's emotion. He has to guard his eyes and he will be so focused on doing that, it'll hold him back. He will struggle with pleasure, struggle with feeling this freedom he's craving to let someone have him.
It should be clear by now, since he's not obeying Jaskier and yet also not taunting him as if it's a game, that there's something going on, whirling, in his head. It may show in when he does look at Jaskier, briefly, but has trouble keeping his gaze, and there's stone on his face again, like he's iced over or attempting to. He wants to say no but he doesn't want to explain, and he doesn't want Jaskier to be upset, both because of the no and lack of explanation. At this point Geralt has to have faith. Jaskier knows him. He won't push him.]
No. [He says. Geralt may not want to be fucked face to face, but he does turn to look at Jaskier, his eyes guarded. He crawls closer to him on the bed and grabs him by the back of the neck, tugging him in for a knee-weakening kiss. He doesn't care about the taste or any of that. He wants Jasker to know that it's not lack of want of him. Geralt pulls away and finally just says what's on his mind.] I want it in that position, and I don't want to explain why.
[He feels very tense at the moment and more than a little uncertain if this is going to blow up or not. Geralt really wants to keep it at that, but he is about to let this man come inside of his body. He can probably give him a little more.] No to this time. [There, that will hopefully communicate that it's not a no forever, but whatever is going on in his head, it isn't going to be solved in this moment.
That communicated, more than he really feels comfortable doing, this is all outside of his comfort zone and he really is doing his best. Every part of him is rebelling. Geralt goes back into position, hoping trusting him wasn't a mistake.] Fuck me, Jaskier. [Saying please is far too much for him at the moment, but there is almost an implication there, like he's biting off the word rather than it not coming to his lips at all.]
[ The kiss distracts him before he can speak. It is a very good strategy at that, getting Jaskier to moan into his mouth as they press against each other. So it's not a lack of want that is stopping Geralt. ]
All right. [ Jaskier agrees once they break the kiss, doesn't argue or sounds mad. He had promised Geralt that he was going to listen if the man told him to stop or if he was uncomfortable. Geralt might not have used those exact words but a simple 'no' suffices. Jaskier doesn't like the way his whole body has tensed up all of sudden.
He's realizing that maybe Geralt isn't only trying to prove something to him but also dealing with a personal issue because of the way he hesitated. Generally, no matter what they do, he's bold and direct, especially when voicing his displeasure. This change in behaviors is puzzling but he knows when to push and when to give the wolf some space. ]
I think I can make that sacrifice, get you to stop you from being able to think so much. [ The tone is light, a joke meant to get everything back on track and the situation less tense for Geralt. It's meant to reassure him that it's all fine even if Jaskier is not completely happy. He's worried about his partner but Geralt said 'this time' so that opens up the door for some unexpected things in the future. He thought this was going to be a one-time thing only, gods, he's luckier than he ever imagined. ]
Since you asked so nicely, sunshine. [ He grins while saying the last word, intentionally looking to make the Witcher grunt in exasperation.
In a blink he's back to pressing his chest to Geralt's back, one of his hands sliding around the man's sides and moving to his chest, the other buries itself on Geralt's hair and tugs. Jaskier starts toying with his nipples, rolling one of the quickly hardening buds between his thumb and index finger and then flicking the tip. His mouth finds the curve of his Geralt's and starts working on a mark there. He's back to being hard and wanting, cock pressed to Geralt's ass, but before they go further Jaskier wants him to relax again.
And so, he starts with the dirty talking.
Jaskier had always had a way with words, it was necessary for his profession and his creativity got better with the years. He doesn't deliver sickly-sweet verses this time, opting for bold and direct and crude, raw feeling and need. Jaskier tells Geralt that he want him to scream his name when he comes, that he wants to feel his cock twitch inside the Witcher, leave him hoarse from screaming, fuck him like he owns him and make it so Geralt can't walk straight tomorrow, and what does Geralt think about Jaskier dominating him? Would he want the bard to eat him out more often? Or maybe make him come with just his fingers knuckle deep in his ass, milking his prostate?
It's not degrading because Jaskier is still testing the waters about what works and doesn't for Geralt, but there's growing desperation in his own voice too. It had dropped a few octaves and gotten thick with need, his cock almost twitching as it slides between Geralt's ass cheeks without yet burying himself into the man's body. ]
[Something relaxes slightly in Geralt when Jaskier accepts without pressing for details. He suspected the bard wouldn't risk his chance at fucking him no matter what questions he might have, but it is reassuring to know it for certain. He relaxes enough for him to roll his eyes at Jaskier and his 'sacrifice.' He grunts in annoyance so he's back to that part of himself at least, and the joke does help remove some of the tension that was thick in the air around them. He didn't know until he said next time that he was going to let this happen again, but now it seems obvious that he would. Why not? If Jaskier's good at it, he doubts this will be the last time he wants to get fucked senseless.
The sunshine absolutely gets a sharply irritated look.] I will toss your ass out of this room. [He tries not to smile and mostly fails, but then Jaskier's on him. Geralt's body is waking up again and he hmms in satisfaction, warming to Jaskier's touch. He likes the feeling of arms around him, clever hands playing with his nipples until they're to a hard point. He groans his pleasure the moment Jaskier's mouth is on his neck and he can feel Jaskier's cock there. It's hot and hard and he wants it.
Jaskier did have a way with words. Geralt hates how much he wants him to talk but when he's saying filth like that, the witcher can't do much more than breath steadily and nod his head. Yes he wants him to do all of those things, and while they won't all happen, the fantasy of it is very good all the same. He doesn't feel like it's degrading at all; he enjoys hearing all of it and the low rumbles and growls in his throat say as much. Not to mention he hears Jaskier's voice get deeper and he growls, frustrated.]
Jaskier. [Geralt's voice is throaty and low and angry, groaning when he feels Jaskier's cock between his cheeks but not going inside of him. He spreads his knees apart, bending down more so his back arches just right, making his arse stick up higher in the air, tantalizing him.] Fucking fuck me, right now, or I am going to lose my shit and break your lute over your godsdamn not-fucking-me head. [He's gotten properly riled up now and he jerks himself back, rubbing friction on Jaskier's cock.
Geralt's cock has started to come back, growing slowly with those filthy words whispered, but he's not getting harder until he gets what he's desperately starving for. He never thought he would be this much of a physical mess, pathetically begging with his body, and maybe he'd be angry about it another time. But the timing now is perfect for his ego not to get in the way.] If you want to own my ass then fucking take it.
[ Geralt growls when Jaskier talks, low and menacing, and the bard proves he's a basket case again by keening back at him in response between filthy words. Geralt is grinding his arse against him, lifting his hips and that's is such an open invitation that it makes him shudder. He takes a moment to appreciate being here, so close to Geralt’s, able to run his hands over his body and adore Geralt’s lovely grumpy self because he's just so...
Fucking fuck me, right now, or I am going to lose my shit and break your lute over your godsdamn not-fucking-me head.
...insufferable. Jaskier has no idea why he's even in this relationship.
If you want to own my ass then fucking take it.
Ah, yeah, okay, that's part of the why. ]
Fuck you, no. [ Jaskier says, voice cracking. He's still angry at Geralt, it's just hard to remember that when all he can finally smell is the man under him, the scent of lilacs long forgotten. Hand gripping his hair, Jaskier growls into his ear. ] You don't get to order me around tonight.
[ He's being contrary for the sake of his pride and because it turns Geralt on. Part of him finds it immensely gratifying, that the Witcher is this on edge because of him, for him. Geralt is more relaxed now but no less calm and Jaskier is at his limit, he doesn't want to drag things out anymore. A snarl of his own is the last sounds he makes before Jaskier bites down rather viciously on the curve of his neck. He sneaks a hand down between their bodies to grab his own cock and angles himself. Geralt's still wet enough from the attention of his mouth and his slicked fingers that it's easy, and Jaskier pushes into him in a move that seems wholly instinctual.
Immediately, he feels the full pressure-drag down deep, all around his cock, and curses under his breath. He struggles not to buck up into the sensation too hard, because, fuck, fuck, it's good, so good and so tight and so warm. Jaskier can imagine the discomfort of the breach Geralt might be feeling. No matter how aggressive the other man wants him to be, he stills his hips for a few seconds, let's him adjust to the stretch. ]
Aaah, that's, fuck...you’re so, this is... [ Being inside Geralt It's like nothing he's ever felt before. It's heady, just the implications of it, that Jaskier is in him and that Geralt allowed it, craved it. It's enough to make him gasps raggedly, start moving his hips in a deliberately slow roll, one hand clutching Geralt's hair and the other clutching his hip, nails digging in. The first proper thrust happens without warning too. Jaskier gasps against Geralt's neck and starts to rock forward. He nips and bites his shoulder, his neck, trembling and gasping and not managing to produce a single coherent sentence any longer. ]
[Since he was only briefly in Yennefer's arms in comparison, he thinks it won't be difficult for Jaskier to cover him with his scent instead. He smells only him and arousal at the moment, and it's gratifying. Geralt is holding on by a thread and the sharp grip in his hair helps. It grounds him and it's tight and he remembers to breathe. It would be more difficult for him to break out of this hold and force Jaskier onto his back, riding him like he asked angrily, and when he finally, finally feels Jaskier's cock at his entrance he breathes out slowly. There may be a murmured thank the gods under his breath there.
It's been a very long time since he let anyone take him and while yes, it is slightly discomforting, especially since he is not good at relaxing, it's also perfect. Geralt likes a little bit of pain and his body stretches and adjusts to the intrusion slowly, but he moans his pleasure, his relief. He didn't realize exactly how much he wanted this, more so than he even knew when he asked for it the first place. It's hot and intense and Jaskier surrounds him. All of his senses, everywhere he can be touched, Jaskier is there. He wants him to dive in, he wants it to be hard, but he lets Jaskier take it his way. To start.]
Yes, fuck yes.[He makes a strangled sound when Jaskier moves his hips like that and the nails on his hip are a perfect contrast so the pleasure burning through him.] More, do it, more. [Geralt's hands tighten on the bedpost again, a creak heard, and he drops one hand from it, his other one sturdy enough. His thick arm hooks up and around, fingers digging into Jaskier's sweaty hair. He is not staying passive, rocking his hips back into Jaskier's cock, obscenely spread now for Jaskier to have him. His own cock is back to fully hard and dripping with want.]
Hard, I can take it. [His voice is low and rasping, strained. It isn't a surprise that the witcher's powerful body wants to be strung out and used. Gentle is not his way, whether it's him taking or being the taken. Jaskier feels incredible though. Geralt keeps his neck purposely exposed so Jaskier can bite him as much as possible. In his lust-filled and unfocused mind, he knows Jaskier doesn't want him to order. Begging is also not something he likes the idea of, except he is so deeply desperate right then. He's already letting the man take him like this, so he can forgive himself.]
Fuck my brains out. [Geralt grits his teeth, needing more, needing the sound of their flesh smacking and Jaskier's words in his ears.] Please. [The word is a beg, but not the tone Geralt is using it in. That will have to suffice. He makes the please sound like a demand, but it is a please, no matter how it's choked out.]
[ He always finds Geralt's body to be pleasantly warm to the touch but he's a furnace inside and thigh enough to turn carbon into diamond. The headboard is going to be a casualty of war, Jaskier can tell, if the way Geralt grips it and how the wood creaks are any indication even under only one hand.
He's moved the white hair aside and it's sucking a rough hickey onto the back of Geralt’s neck, just where it would brush with the collar of his shirt if it lasted long enough. Stupid Witchery powers and enhanced healing, ruining the fun. Only once he would like to see the bruises on Geralt body in the morning, right where he put them the night before.
There's a strong hand tangling in his hair and Jaskier seems so pleased by the extra contact that he moans, sounding as stripped raw as he feels. He slides out of him slowly and then pushes back in quicker, slamming into Geralt, and it's twice as good as the first times. His eyes flutter shut, breath punched out of him with a groan, and he can't find his voice to speak back because when Jaskier is really lost into sex, it's the only time he's actually capable of silence.
Pleas aren't something he expects from Geralt and hearing one becomes more rewarding for that reason alone. He doesn't care that it sounds like another growl, that is bossy, because a tiger can't change its stripes and a Witcher isn't used to show vulnerability. Jaskier understands it well enough to reward Geralt for the attempt. Rocking his hips, the bard moves his legs a bit and changes the angle, aiming for his sweet spot, first fucking Geralt with sharp, shallow thrusts and then deeper ones, dragging his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside.
If things were easier, better between them, Jaskier would be able to see his face properly and bite his lips with a ferocity that would leave Geralt breathless. 'No to this time', Geralt had said, and the bard really hopes he keeps his word because being inside him feels fucking fantastic and there's pretty much nothing he wouldn't do to have a second chance at it. If things were easier, he wouldn't have to worry about sharing the man with Yennefer and never having him fully. The thought stings and he doesn't want to think anymore. Jaskier ends up digging his fingers into Geralt's narrow waist, and then it's far too natural to hold him, stepping up the pace of his thrusts until the rhythm is just short of brutal, both feeling the hot burn of the shift. ]
I'm still pissed at you. [ Jaskier says with gritted teeth and then leans all his weight into him.
His right-hand slides down Geralt's stomach, wrapping his fingers around the man's thick cock and squeezing. He starts to jerk him in rhythm with his thrust, except that when he feels Geralt starts to tense up under him, Jaskier's hand slides down further and he grips the base of his cock to keep him from coming. ]
[Geralt isn't about to ask Yennefer or any other witch to slow his healing down simply for the sake of hickeys, but he is happy to have them placed on his skin regardless. They won't last, but he feels them even through his thick skin. He loves seeing Jaskier marked up. Sometimes simply looking at his neck is enough to get Geralt hard, so he does understand why his partner would like it too. Jaskier will just have to keep making them. Forever. Maybe one will stick (it won't).
The reward for his please definitely tells him he should do it more often, even if it pricked his pride, because Jaskier is fucking him in a deliciously perfect way. Geralt can't keep his hand in brown hair, Jaskier hits his sweet spot with vicious aim and Geralt's hand is forced to grip the headboard again to keep him steady. He doesn't mind, he needs to be grounded with how thoroughly Jaskier's taking him and it gives him the strength to push back into him.
The more brutal Jaskier is the louder Geralt is, so keep at it, because his groans and snarls tell the story. Geralt's aggressively pushing back and then forward and the headboard is banging loudly on the wall, something he likes when it's Jaskier underneath him, a whimpering mess. Geralt isn't a whimpering mess, he's much more animalistic in the moment, nails scratching open the wood, his teeth gritting. He eagerly lets Jaskier's hands on his hips control him for a moment, enjoying staying still and letting Jaskier's brutal strokes take over.
The words barely make it through a fog of lust, he's confused by them. There's nothing in Geralt's mind at the moment but them having wild sex, and it feels good. Not as good, really, as when he's plunging inside of Jaskier, but still what he needed at the moment. His breath shutters and he closes his eyes, making a pleased rumble when Jaskier finally grips his cock. He builds up to his orgasm, or at least he plans on it, before the hand on him decides to halt it.
Geralt is shocked out of his haze, and he teeters very close on the edge. He could snap Jaskier's hand right off of him, force the bard on his knees, fuck him for such insolence. Except in his riled state he wouldn't be feral, and he wouldn't want that. He is flushed red and bucks back at Jaskier, a clear warning that he is far from as submissive as he may be allowing then. Geralt snarls at him.]
I didn't fuck her. [It's a hissed admission. Geralt did eventually plan on confessing, probably, depending on how easy he could brush it off without explaining. But he's angry about being punished for something he didn't do. Jaskier has no reason to be angry. Geralt wasn't unfaithful to him. Not that he would call it that, they aren't monogamous even if they've stopped having sex with other people, but still. He doesn't feel like explaining that when Jaskier is balls-deep in him. Stop being a fucking prick and come in me. [He says it and oh does he want it, licking his dry lips.]
[ If they don't get kicked out of the inn come morning, it will be a miracle. They're making enough noise to be heard in a different town. Somehow the angle now is just that much better, just that much deeper, and it does wonders for them both. And gods, Geralt is beautiful like this, skin slick with sweat, pushing back to meet each snap of his hips, bodies moving in tandem.
But It turns out that Geralt isn't too keen on being dominated or controlled, who would have thought. Jaskier has half a mind not to smile too broadly. For once he's glad that they're not face to face because if Geralt hadn't killed him for keeping him from coming, he would have bitten his head off after seeing his grin. And then, Geralt's words sink in and he feels like all the air has been ripped from his chest. ]
You didn't...y-you, bastard. [ Jaskier's voice is strained, brittle, like his control is fraying or he wants to cry at the revelation. It's relieving but devastating for the terrible timing, like feeling the floor drop out from under him. From all the times to tell him, to explain himself, the Witcher goes and chooses this very moment? Goddamn Geralt of Rivia, he always finds a way to screw him up even when Jaskier isn't the one getting fucked. The bard almost wants to scream. His cock has other ideas, though, the traitorous bastard, and he feels himself getting close, in part because Geralt demands it.
Which is about the point he completely loses it.
His free hand grips Geralt's jawline to make him turn his head and crushes his lips against the man. The angle is not right, necks can only twist too much until it gets painful, and Jaskier is using more teeth than actual tongue, but he does not fucking care about anything anymore. He can't tell if he feels angry at not knowing sooner, pleased that Geralt didn't give into her, or if he's just going mental.
He rams into Geralt with a force he didn't know he had in him, breaks the kiss to gasp wetly against his neck and lets go of his face to rack his nails down his back, leaving four angry red marks. Jaskier pants, forehead resting between Geralt's shoulder blades, tightening his grip on the man’s cock, no longer keeping him from tipping over the edge but encouraging it. Long fingers squeeze him from base to tip, swiping his thumb along with the head of his cock. Fast, rough and unrelenting.
The muscles of Jaskier's stomach tense and he can hear his own heartbeat in his throat, his jaw slacking and his rhythm starts staggering. His mouth makes a shaky noise that sounds like Geralt's name over and over and over until the only thing that comes out is a snarl followed by a draw out moan. He's pressing into Geralt in one long grind and then falling apart, coming in a hot pulse deep inside the other man that only adds to the sensation of electricity starting at the base of his spine and rushing upward. ]
[They will definitely get snipped at for this, but most people don't push too hard at a witcher, and a murderous look from him will keep from any taunting about the noises being made too. He likes it much better when it's Jaskier who was making all of the noise, it's something he prides himself on, but it's his turn and he hasn't stopped himself either. It would be easy with his control to bite down on something or keep himself together, but then he wouldn't feel this spinning feeling where he's embracing the ecstasy instead of fighting against it.
Luckily he has a lead on the monster they're dealing with here because of Yennefer, so they'll shut their mouths if it means he'll save their lives. And maybe have to throw in the price of fixing the headboard. He has some stupid hope that telling Jaskier in the heat of the moment will keep him from having to explain himself, as opposed to in the quiet of the afterglow, and that's his intention until forced otherwise. It gets him what he wants right then so who cares. He turns his head at Jaskier's request and it's not comfortable but he'll allow it. It's not as personal as face to face would be and he enjoys it.
Their first night together, Geralt was in complete control, he moved Jaskier how he wanted him, he ordered him around, and overtime it's eased, he's allowed Jaskier to make more demands and experiment with what they both enjoy best in bed. That is why Jaskier clearly knows what he wants the most. Between him being rough and hard, slamming into Geralt with the same kind of force he himself likes to give, and the scratches on his back, the witcher moans. He keeps murmuring yes, over and over again, sometimes louder and sometimes quieter, to spur Jaskier on.
What he said got Jaskier to touch him again and he could only let himself be dizzy with relief, thrusting into his hand and seeking the release he needs. The headboard finally cracks from the pressure of his fingers in it, not broken off entirely but that may end up in the cost of their room. Geralt feels the bard start to fall apart and gets greedy for it, rolling his hips back until Jaskier goes deep inside of him and the wood under his nails cracks in a different spot. He comes the second that Jaskier fills him up, hot and wet, and he whites out with it. It sounds like the rushing of white noise in his head and he breathes raggedly, head pressed between his hands.
Geralt isn't entirely certain why he needed this but he feels complete because of it. He feels like there's less of a weight on his chest, of words haunting his ears, and there's a certainty of Jaskier's life thudding around him here. Maybe it's because he felt out of control and needed to let someone else take it from him to feel better. Whatever the reason, he feels relaxed and soothed. He's come twice now and perhaps not for the last time tonight.
Typically he moves out of Jaskier just so he doesn't put too much weight on him, but the bard's weight is nothing on top of him in comparison. He leaves him where he is, contently humming with him still wrapped around him, although now he can release the headboard for real. His sweaty arm goes back up around him and strokes fingers through Jaskier's hair, gentler this time, affectionate.] Mmm, thanks. [Geralt doesn't thank people frequently, but he is pliant at the moment.] For doing it my way.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
They are dramatic bitches the continuation
After a terse discussion which did turn out to be helpful regarding a monster in the area, she came close to him and for a moment, he lost his head. He will never fully be out of her spell, destiny's spell. Her perfume surrounded him and he found himself in her bed, her mouth on his, his shirt undone, her hands everywhere, but before anything more happened some instinct of his said No! so loudly that he practically leaped out of her embrace. He'd like to say that it was his self-preservation, but he knew exactly what it was. He hasn't slept with another person since he and Jaskier became daily lovers.
Yen took one look at him and did her witch intuition, and she laughed at him, somewhat cruelly, somewhat not. Geralt, I thought you wiser than that. He flinched, picking up his weapons. The cruelty shifted and she was serious when she stopped him at the door. He wanted her, he felt that tug, they never said they couldn't have someone else. But he couldn't. There are only two ways this ends, you know that. Either he dies old in his bed far away from you, or he dies younger in your arms. He's a mortal. He's not like us. There is true wisdom in that he understands, but he pulled away and left her.
The words haunt him on his short journey back. Obviously, she is right. And it is impossible to keep convincing himself none of it matters when he just turned down a lover with her nails in him. The honesty is out there now, lacking the ability for the same denial, but it is no less concerning. Still, what Geralt does is go straight back to the room he shares with Jaskier. He doesn't go downstairs to see if the bard is still performing or carousing, he likely is. He feels like he needs a bit of time to mull over his thoughts. To brood, as Jaskier would say.
Geralt bathes to try and get her smell off him, but it is impossible and he knows that. Gooseberries follows him afterward, cloying and sweet, and her taste is still in his mouth although he's trying to cover it with ale. He doesn't linger long and ends up back at their bed, casually clothed and sharpening his knives as he waits for Jaskier. He is very weary though, not sure he's in the mood for nonsense and pouting. But it has to be done.
He's not like us. No, he isn't. And that is why this is all so damned complicated.]
It takes a special kind of talent
It's not that he wouldn't be able to share with Yenneffer or that he really hated the woman. But she was like a hurricane. It came and went it pleases, leaving destruction on its wake. She made Geralt act recklessly, like a lovesick puppy. It would be funny it Jaskier wasn't so used to act that way himself around the Witcher. But what the bard couldn't stand is what always happened after, how Geralt was left taciturn and distressed after their interactions. Jaskier could handle knowing that Geralt wouldn't care enough to follow him if he decided to leave, could accept that the Witcher will instead pursue her to the end of the world, but what he will never tolerate is the pain she leaves behind. It's not even his own and Jaskier always felt like he was choking on it.
Not wanting to focus on the what-ifs, he put all his energy on singing and chatting up with the tavern patrons. It earned him both coin, free ale and attention. Maybe too many drinks at that, there was a pleasant buzz in his head by the time a pretty maiden sat next to him and started chatting him up. She was fun and she liked music, had a good singing voice as well and that was enough to get his attention, it was enough to quell his loneliness.
At some point in the night, her hand had landed on his thigh and she was leaned in to speak right into his ear, asking about his room. For some reason, Jaskier had been expecting a baritone voice, a growl that could be like a caress, not the musical cadence of her voice. She was smiling when the bard turned to look at her and it was as if he saw her for the first time. Her eyes were a soothing brown, his cheeks speckled with freckles, dark skin and long black hair that fell down her back. So, so different from Geralt.
Years ago he would have given his left hand to be with her. And now he was going to tell her that it had been a pleasant evening but that he had to return to his friend because they would be leaving early in the morning. Except his 'friend' wasn't here, wasn't waiting for him, and might not even be back by morning, too busy tangled in someone else sheets. Something unpleasant and cold twisted in him, anger and jealousy settling in Jaskier's guts like lead.
It didn't register that they were moving until he finds himself almost tripping on the stairs that lead to his room and she laughs merrily against the collar of his shirt, one of her hands unlacing his doublet. His arm is wrapped around her lithe waist when he opens the door of the room. Jaskier doesn't realize that Geralt is already inside because he flinches away when the girl's mouth finds his neck and she tries to nip him. ]
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Saying no to her used to be impossible, as if his addiction to her removed all common sense. Now the other person in his life is giving him the same problem. They are so different and yet both wield power over him, and he doesn't know how it fucking got this far but it did. He can't believe he felt guilty kissing her. What is this shit? And that he came back here, wanting to shuck her influence off her skin and to pull Jaskier on him, never explaining, listening to his heartbeat and not thinking about it stopping.
He hears them before they appear. He knows every sound Jaskier makes and it's far from the first time he has heard some pretty woman giggling with the bard. It's just been a long time. He is instantly angry, like a rain cloud booming over his head, ready to ruin everything underneath. His rational mind points out they made no promises and that he did almost have sex with Yennefer, but his rational mind has been no part of this relationship for some time.
Luckily it's a woman. Despite knowing many powerful woman who could handle him easily, such as Yen, on the whole he knows they are no warriors. He is far less likely to get in the face of a rival if it's a young woman than a young man, who would find himself very quickly regretting putting any of his stink on Jaskier. Not that he loves this either. Of course Jaskier did this to irritate him. That much is clear and part of his ire. If Geralt came back to Jaskier in bed with her, smelling like her, even if he was covered in gooseberries and lilac himself, it would have gotten ugly.
As it is, he is staring coldly at the two of them when the door opens. Cold is not an adequate word. Freezing is a better one. Geralt's back straightens and he sees the girl note him first. He is generally a fearsome looking creature; attractive, to some, but to many intimidating and the way he is looking at her is definitely that. He does not like making people afraid of him, so he bites back a snarl of warning. It is not her fault. It is Jaskier's fault. Geralt tries his very best to keep his voice even and not vicious as he looks right at her.]
Leave. [It is deceptively calm. If he tells Jaskier to make her leave, it's ignoring she is a person who deserves acknowledgement. But this is the last of his ability to be anywhere nearing nice.] Now.
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There's a pang in his chest, like a stab through his heart, nasty and vicious. He's starting to get used to the feeling. It’s not like they said they were exclusive. But Jaskier had been, like an idiot, and his reward was Geralt leaving this morning to meet with an old flame. And now, tonight, he doesn't need to explain shit to him, doesn't need to justify his actions, because it was Geralt himself who burned that bridge. He owes the man nothing.
So why does Geralt annoyed face upsets him so much?
The maiden's eyes go to Jaskier's face, then they immediately fall on the very sharp knives Geralt is holding. She's still clinging close to the bard, out of doubt and worry more than the previous lingering want, and she's clearly at a loss of what to do. He gives her waist a reassuring squeeze, acting far more clam then he feels. ]
Forgive him, dear. He was absent when they handed out manners. [ Jaskier murmurs, forcing his voice to stay level. Jaskier tilts his head as he speaks, nose grazing her cheek but eyes never leave Geralt. He doesn't try to reassure her saying that the Witcher is all bark and no teeth. It's been a while since he's seen him look this murderous and never before directed at him. ]
Let's go to your room instead, I'd hate to interrupt his... [ ' Brooding' is at the tip of his tongue and he pauses before finishing with a casual. ]... personal affairs.
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He really does not want to deal with this. He is already tired of it and they haven't even started to actually fight, which seems likely. If he lets Jaskier leave with her, they will have a far worse fight on the horizon, but he has no intention to. The question is how to handle the girl, because Geralt truly does not want to hurt or upset her. For one, she is innocent of the drama she stepped into, for two, that's the sort of thing that leads to some father or brother or townsfolk not liking it.
He glares at Jaskier, his scary face on full display.] I may not have courtly manners, but I'm not the one using someone else right now, bard. [Geralt knows if he gets up he will loom and be intimidating, so he stays firmly where he is. It's difficult because he has to bite back a growl at Jaskier so very clearly taunting him. His expression does intentionally soften when he turns his attention on her instead.] Go. You don't deserve this.
[ He still speaks so calmly, but the girl seems to get the idea. And few people are stupid enough to want to deal with a witcher in general, let alone one barely contained like this. She excuses herself from Jaskier and leaves, which is really the smartest thing a person can do in a room this tense. Geralt considers it himself, since he'd rather be doing anything at the moment than dealing with an annoying, jealous, dramatic Jaskier.
Only after the girl is gone does he spring up to his feet and his supernatural speed as him across the room barely a breath after, slamming a hand on the wall next to Jaskier's head, getting in his space. He bares his teeth at him but does not speak yet.]
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Nothing like their current predicament. Geralt is right and for a fleeting second, Jaskier hates him more than he hates himself. It's not fair to drag the girl into their problems and the bard isn't that selfish, no matter what it might look like. He wouldn't have gone through it if they had left the room together, and not only because the mood was totally ruined. He would have apologized, thanked her for her time, and promised her that if she was still interested in music he would put in a word in for her at the Oxenfurt. Geralt might not really appreciate his singing but others do, and he's quite known at the Academy. She does have the right voice to become a talented musician, he can tell. If Jaskier still in one piece tomorrow, he will do all that. Now, he wordlessly lets his hand fall from her waist as she shifts and turns to leave, giving her a regretful look.
Geralt is on him almost before the door clicks closed and he's not even understanding why the Witcher is doing this, why is he back so early, why the growling. As if Jaskier being with someone else matters. There's not that much of a difference between their heights, Geralt only has a few inches on him, but he's twice as muscled and three times faster, so he paints a much intimidating picture than any other man Jaskier's ever met in his life. He doesn't care. He also doesn't give a shit about the man's mood anymore, not today. You can beat up a dog just so many times until it bites back.
Jaskier growls back at him.
Blue eyes harden while staring into golden ones and the younger man stands his ground. If Geralt is aiming for a fight, so be it. He lifts his chin, fully intent on storming out the second he can make himself. And yet... They're so close that the bard can smell him, his real scent, under Yennefer's. He wants to get rid of the shadow of her presence in Geralt skin but he also wants to scratch the man's face off for going to her in the first place.
He does both.
His hands grab Geralt's face, the nails clawing at the high cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. ]
You make me so mad sometimes I want to scream.
[ Jaskier's breath is hitching he’s pretty sure there are tears in his eyes from frustration, which he will not let spill over, he won't look any more pathetic than he already feels. He lets out a sharp, bitter snarl and crushes their mouth together, biting down on Geralt's lips aiming to draw blood. ]
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Jaskier being with someone else absolutely matters, and he is well aware that he was the one who put the line between them of not belonging to each other. It doesn't mean that his heart or his instincts are believing in that. If he came in there a half hour later and found Jaskier having sex with her, it would have been far worse, no amount of rationalization would have been good for them. He would say that he doesn't like being defied or challenged, but it's actually much simpler than that. He thinks Jaskier is intentionally trying to hurt him, by bringing someone into their bed, and he doesn't like it.
He also doesn't like that it works.
Jaskier sometimes looks silly when he tries to be angry and his growls are cute rather than impressive, but Geralt does see the intention behind them currently and therefore respects the anger. He can smell it on Jaskier too, the rage, and he would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on. Geralt never said he was healthy, especially not when it comes to sex and relationships. He was just with his on-again-off-again lover who cruelly laughed at him for loving someone else. Healthy isn't in their vocabulary. He snarls at the nails in his face and golden eyes immediately fill with heat.
He understands that sentiment, he really does. Same. Geralt is more than willing to fuck this out rather than fight, sex is much easier than words. Besides he's still bleeding from his conversation with Yennefer and his feelings that it stirred in him. Jaskier's heartbeat is loud and reassuring and he returns the kiss with vigor. His breath intakes sharply out of desire when Jaskier bites him that hard and he wraps an arm around the bard's back, crushing him to his chest. He walks back toward the bed instead of simply picking up Jaskier and throwing him on it, taking the time instead to undo his pants and aggressively shove his rough hands into them, gripping Jaskier's pert arse and squeezing it.
It's better that Jaskier didn't smell like another person or he would have to pin him down and lick every part of him that did, sitting on the bed and tugging Jaskier to straddle on his lap. Geralt breaks the kiss, his lip throbbing with a little taste of blood, and he licks it off, already hard and wanting. This is far more frantic than the briefly passionate moment with Yennefer, but this doesn't feel guilty at all, this feels right.]
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He isn't smiling now but there's no less passion. The pleasant buzz of alcohol is now gone, the tense situation from before managed to sober him up. Jaskier doesn't like to think about why he started to drink so much tonight so he gets drunk on Geralt instead. He hadn't been aiming to find someone to share his bed with intentionally but he also didn't discourage the maiden when he should have done it and for that he is sorry. It's not in Jaskier's nature to cause pain or be vicious but even he can be rather unhinged when pushed enough.
When Geralt starts walking them back to the bed JAaskier's hand move to his shirt, pull and push at the same time, as if trying to tear it off of him while simultaneously urging the man faster towards the mattress. He rewards that squeeze to his ass with a grunt against Geralt's lips and his nails rack down the man's chest once he's gotten the shirt out of the way, with force enough to leave scratches.
He's angry. Worse of it, he's also desperate to make Geralt forget about Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg, to rid them both of her smell and her wit and the fascinating eyes. He really shouldn't be the one who is, shouldn't care so much about a man who will eventually go back to her, but life rarely goes the way he wants it. He's in love with a Witcher of all people, he's forever screwed.
Jaskier slaps Geralt's hands away once they get on the bed yet climbs him all the same, just not straddling his lap but only one of his thighs. He doesn't need to be prompted, thank you very much, he knows what he's doing. Except he doesn't and it's mostly being driven by his passions, always a dangerous thing for a bard.
His right-hand closes around a handful of Geralt's hair after the kiss stops, gripping his nape and tugging hard. Geralt has the option of pulling Jaskier of the bed or tilting his head back and exposing his neck. If he chooses the later, Jaskier will hungrily sink his teeth on the exposed skin. Until then, the bard shifts and presses a knee between Geralt's legs, grinding down the front of his pants and adding pressure to his straining cock. ]
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He groans and reacts positively to every time Jaskier seems to be aggressive, moving with him, slapping his hands, straddling his thigh. Then his fingers go into his hair and he tugs tight and Geralt's breath catches. When he bites down on Geralt's neck, exposed despite himself, the witcher actually whimpers and takes it. He's insanely turned on and he wants Jaskier on him, around him, and then, shockingly, in him. This is a very rare impulse for him. Geralt is usually so dominant, but he feels that overwhelming sense of desperation for it. Maybe some part of him wants to be possessed, he wants Jaskier to wipe Yen and all the complex parts of their situation off him.
It's still difficult to admit to a want outside of what comes easily to them, but he isn't sure it's a want, but a need instead. Geralt exposes his neck more in an obvious plea for Jaskier to keep marking him, and he closes his eyes.] Fuck me. [It's rumbled low in his chest, rasping, almost too quiet at first, like he's still getting used to it himself. It is not the first time, but it has been a long time. He grips Jaskier by the hips and then the thighs, lifting him off him for a moment and undoing his tight pants quickly. He isn't looking right at him, face flushed slightly. He gestures for Jaskier to wait as he takes off his pants, and then he climbs on the bed.
He intentionally and by choice gets on his hands and knees, glancing sideways at Jaskier. Presenting himself the exact same way that Jaskier has before, usually with some flirtation and wiggling just to be flirtatious about it, but Geralt doesn't have that in him. If Jaskier wants him in a way Yennefer can't, it's right in front of him, somehow nervous about it. Being submissive is not easy for him, mostly because his instincts want him to buck and be defensive. But he trusts Jaskier.] I want you to fuck me hard like I fuck you.
[He wants to be driven mad by feeling and now there's a little smirk on his lips.] Or is that too much for you? [Is he going to challenge him specifically to get the bard to feed into his defiant side? Oh yes.]
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He moves without thinking, body pressing against his lover when the words reach his ears. 'Fuck me'. It takes him a second to process the unfamiliarity of the request and Jaskier’s eyes widen, momentarily overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Geralt is offering. Sex is how they communicate best, but it's also a show of trust. Geralt looks up at him and the flush in his face makes Jaskier’s chest hurt with affection and hunger, his pupils blow to the point the blue now a thin rin around the blackness. It's the first time he sees Geralt close to blushing, he didn't think such a thing was possible. It's incredibly hot and he wants to undo him, fuck Geralt's brains out until his eyes roll behind his head, leave him a sated mess.
After the Witcher lifts him and tugs at his pants, not an easy feat giving how his cock is straining agains the fabric, Jaskier gets quickly rid of any other piece of cloth he still has on. Geralt might, just might, have a point when he complains about the bard wearing far too many layers to be practical. Not everyone is a mutated Witcher impervious to the cold and extra layers are needed. Plus, he likes to look good and catch Geralt's eye, as vain as that might be.
After he turns, Jaskier makes an effort not to stare at the muscles of Geralt’s scarred back, the perfect curve of his ass but he's only human. It's a really pretty view. Something flares in Jaskier's eyes at the taunting. ]
Don't test me, Witcher.
[ 'I know what you're doing', his eyes say, because Jaskier has done the same thing to him before, many times. He wants to kiss the man senseless, wants to bruise his mouth. Instead, because he tells himself he's still mad, Jaskier brings a hand down and slaps his ass. Leaning in, he nips at the reddened skin before Geralt can say anything and bites down hard. ]
Stay put. [ He moves to get close to the nightstand, the muscles in his shoulders on display when he stretches and closes his hand around the vial of oil. He might be pissed off at Geralt and give him exactly the rough treatment the man craves but there's pain and then there's pain. Only one of them is fun in the bedroom and Jaskier despises the other. He would rather hang himself than hurt anybody that way, least of all Geralt.
They really are shameless, the bard muses as he uncorks the small bottle with his teeth, noticing how they just left it right next to the bed for convenience. He very pointedly does not think in deep about the maidservant who changed their sheets that morning but takes mental note to leave her a big tip before they leave. ]
Didn't know you had it in you. [ Jaskier says conversational, bringing up the words Geralt told him a little while ago and coating his fingers until they're slick enough. ] But if you change your mind...eeh, you can pretty much throw me across the room, so... [ Can do, doesn't mean Would do, so Jaskier wants to make it clear that if Geralt is uncomfortable or wants to stop for whatever season, they will. No hard feelings. And because things were turning sentimental again, Jaskier stares at the wooden bedpost, considers its resistance, then meets Geralt's eyes. His smile is wolfish. ] Hands up there.
[ It's not a request. And yes, he knows he's pushing it but he has the feeling Geralt likes him pushy too. If the Witcher's hands are busy then he can't touch himself, and if he can't control his pleasure, then what happens to it is Jaskier's decision. As an incentive, he moves his fingers between Geralt's thighs, sliding up until his thumb is gently circling the ring of muscle. His knuckles graze over the curve of the perineum, testing Geralt's reaction to the new feeling. Jaskier has never seen him with another man and while Geralt looks too sure of himself to be his first time doing this, and he wants to be careful. He's not treating him with kid gloves, though, his other hand slides down Geralt's back and scratches him here and there, grabs his sides, his hip. Then it moves further, kneading the left glove of his ass, nails digging in and pulling his cheeks apart. ]
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He already expects that Jaskier will ease the way with oil, like he always does, both of them more inclined toward pleasure even with a bit of pain to it. It's for the best too because it has been a long time since he let anyone mount him, and he knows his body is not as open to it as others. When Jaskier slaps his ass Geralt groans loudly and humps the air in front of him, desire flooding through him to one place.] Again. [He says throatily, so the next time Jaskier gets a chance he knows it will be welcome. ]
I will not change my mind. [But yes, he does know that if he wants to stop, he can make Jaskier stop at any point. Or ask him to, and he will. That's why this is a symbol of trust between them. Geralt wants this. He is not hiding his eagerness when he follows the instructions and holds onto the bedpost. He knows this means that Jaskier will have his body, every part of it, this will be his show for once. And for some reason he craves it, needs it. He wants to forget, and having sex with Jaskier gives him the ability to focus on anything but his thoughts. This is different. He'll be consumed by Jaskier, owned by him. Yennefer does a good job of pushing him around, making him helpless to her desires, and he is sharing his pleasure of that feeling with his bard now.
Besides, a part of him wants Jaskier to get out this anger and pain and take a piece of him for it. Geralt's legs spread to give Jaskier more room between them. His breath catches at the first feeling of aa finger on him.] I'm not made of glass. [He snaps, demanding more. There is no doubting that he's tight though. Relaxing is not easy for him. He grits his teeth and forces himself to not make his more difficult. His cock is hard and leaking and he wants it, desire is radiating off him.
His back arches when nails touch his skin and he rocks back demandingly toward Jaskier's body and fingers. He would let Jaskier fuck him right here with no preparation, accepting the pain easily if it got him inside. His fingers grip the headboard tightly and his head bows, breathing deeply.] I want you in me. Get the fuck in me.
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The problem lies in Geralt himself, though, and how impatient he can get when sex is involved. It's so different from his usual calm and aloof demeanor. Count on him to still be demanding even in this position. Usually, it pleases Jaskier more than anything and today is no exception. But today he's also the one who sets the pace, since Geralt offered, and he's in no rush to make this quick. He intends to savor every second of it, to draw it out and chase away the painful memories of what happened earlier. Geralt might not have the healthiest coping mechanism but neither does Jaskier. Birds of a feather, as they say.
The Witcher voicing that his mind is set and then following Jaskier's command without a fuss makes the younger man pleased in a way he can't put in words. It earns Geralt a pleased purr and the palm of a hand connecting with the back of his thigh in a way Jaskier is sure stings the right way. The bard ignores the next order, pressing a finger into him at a very unhurried pace, letting him get used to the stretch. No one would take a look at Geralt and call him fragile but no matter how many muscles he has, Jaskier only cares about the ones tightening around his finger. Because Geralt is so, so tight right now that fuck, Jaskier wants that heat surrounding his cock. And he wants Geralt begging, shaking and relaxed by the time it happens.
At the protest, Jaskier moves up and leans in, face tucked into Geralt's neck, this breath hot again the shell of his ear. ] I want that too, and I will. [ The voice is low and terse, his teeth biting the earlobe. Jaskier finger curls up, press against the bundle of nerve he knows it's inside there, teasing. ] Eventually.
[ He anticipates a protest and smacks Geralt's ass a third time with more force as the man wanted before, the sound echoing in the room. Jaskier's lips move down the curve of his back, between his shoulder blades and over some of the scars. He doesn't mention the scars, he's seen them before and understands Geralt's feelings about how they came to be but they're another part of his Witcher and he adores them like the rest of him. Scarred but still whole, alive. And now, all his to do as he pleases.
Jaskier is no slouch in bed, he takes pride and joy in leaving his partners much happier than when they first met him. He is also aware that his stamina can't compare to that of a Witcher but that's okay, he gets to be creative in bed with Geralt. As he sees it, they have all night and he can make him come as many times as he sees fit before they even get to rut against each other like beasts. There's no way that will not be fun, and will surely earn him a few snarls because Geralt has the patience of a toddler with absolutely no concept of delayed gratification.
The brunette shifts his posture, kneeling properly behind Geralt and withdrawing his finger, ignoring his own unintended cock, heavy and so hard again his lower belly. Hands squeeze the flesh of Geralt's ass and Jaskier is smirking, which should be the Witcher's first clue that the bard is up to no good. ]
I'd gag you if I weren't sure you will bite through it, and there's no point in ruining a perfectly fine silk handkerchief. That...and I enjoy hearing you far too much.
[ Then, without another word, Jaskier licks him. It's a slow and wet hot stripe right between the cheeks, tongue pressing over where his fingers had been a second ago. His breath huff out against the man's pucker when Jaskier pauses only for a second to gauge his reaction. He’s closing his eyes and licking again in no time, the flat of his tongue hard against the sensitive skin. It presses on him, in him, working Geralt open, thrusting as deep as he can, kneading at one cheek and then the other. ]
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His breath intakes sharply at the first movement of Jaskier's finger into him and he feels like his skin is on fire. Tingling. Everywhere Jaskier is touching it lights up, such as when his body goes up against him and he leans his head toward Jaskier's hot murmuring mouth. Gods he knew the bard was hot, he never got enough of fucking him, but he might be impressed. Then he twists his fingers and Geralt's fingers dig into the headboard, hissing.]
Jask--- [His rough voice sounds like it absolutely was about to protest or demand more and then Jaskier slaps his ass and he groans. He is usually quiet in bed, even when he makes noise it's muted, but this one rumbles hard in his chest. He's done that to others before, who requested it, but didn't think to ask for it himself. The fact Jaskier just seems to know what he wants is baffling to him; or maybe he's so turned on that he can do almost anything and it will work on Geralt.
The irritated look he shoots over his shoulder when Jaskier removes his finger. He's supposed to add more of them, not pull them out, how the fuck is he supposed to get ready without that? If the bard teases him too much he will snap eventually and take it from him. He will ride that cock in a punishing form if he doesn't get on with it. That being said, golden eyes are confused when he sees that smirk, knowing Jaskier's about to do something mischievous.]
I am going to fucking st--- [Strangle was going to be his word and then his eyes widen in shock as Jaskier licks him. Geralt almost loses his balance in his surprise, scrambling harder with his grip on the headboard. He gives a full body shiver and his heart pounds so fast it is closer to a human beat than a witcher one.] Fuck. [That sounds weak at best, more amazed, and it is clear he's never had this happen to him before. He turns his head back to the wall and rests his forehead down on the headboard between his hands, gasping for breath. It feels incredible. Hot and wet and new and his head is spinning from lust.]
Yes. [It's all he can murmur out of little gasp-moans and his body is adjusting to this new sensation. He does seem to open up more now, relaxing around Jaskier's tongue and touch, almost like the surprise of it got through to his stubborn tension and he's just so fascinated to keep experiencing it. The problem is he likes it too much. There is a desperation in how he starts wiggling his hips and leaning back into it. A single touch from a hand on his painfully hard cock would set him off, that's how on edge he is.] More, I need ....
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His lips curl into a smile at every grunt, every snarl and moan he can wring out of Geralt. He's often the one at the other's mercy during sex, which he loves honestly, and it feels so good to tease him back that it would almost be enough to get Jaskier off. Almost. Geralt is growling but he's still behaving, the headboard intact even if it might not be for long, and Jaskier is proud of him. He had joked in the past that he would do anything Geralt wants if the man asks nicely but the truth is that he would do anything the man wants for no other reason than it would make Geralt happy. Hence the scratches and the smacks, and the biting. The last one is especially easy because Jaskier is as fond of marking him as he is of being marked in return.
The way Geralt chest rumbles after the bard slaps his ass has Jaskier's heart skipping a beat, answering with a purr born deep down in his throat. It's rare for Geralt to noisy and he treasures the moments when they happen. He tries to pay attention to the tell-tales of what might turn on Geralt, the things he only hints at and the one he outright demands. He has to stifle a chuckle after Geralt's curse is cut short and doesn't fully manages it. His tongue ripples with a contained laugh, vibrations against the Witcher's most intimate muscles.
The ripple and subdued swear that follows is endearing and it dawns on Jaskier that he's really managed to catch him off guard this time. The hand that was squeezing one of Geralt's thigh slides up, pressing the flat of his warm palm on his lower back, thumb moving in small circles. A grounding touch, 'I've got you', it tells. Everything it's easier after that, the tension in Geralt's body marginally decreasing with every sweep of Jaskier's tongue. When the hand retreats, it does so while digging the nails along the skin of Geralt's back and thighs. ]
I know. [ Jaskier says, voice roughened with desire. He tilts head to the side, kisses and bites at the flesh of his arse. He mouths one cheek, then the other, enough so it stings for a moment. The heels of his hands are placed where strong thighs meet the curve of Geralt's ass and spreads him, then returns to bury his face between the cheeks again. The burning warmth of his tongue laps cat-like at his hole and then Jaskier groans deep in his chest as if he can't get enough of Geralt's taste. He's not trying to tease any more, knowing that the other man is at his limit. The bard can read the signs, see it in the bend in his spine, the rocking of the hips, the waves of sensation racking through his body.
He licks him open, first with long, slow strokes across the skin and then letting his tongue slide in faster, pushing deeper, getting into a rhythm. Jaskier's spit dribbles down his chin, mixing with the smeared oil, leaving Geralt's puffy and pink hole a wet mess. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, even as he starts feeling a little out of breath. A slick hand sneaks between Geralt's legs and grips his cock, firm and steady, giving some rough tugs while Jaskier tenses his tongue and wriggle it inside him. ]
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His strength is something that occasionally he has to consider. He doubts they'll make it through this night without him breaking the bed at some point. Because of that he is more hesitant about smacking Jaskier, so instead he typically squeezes his body and bites, things he knows he likes. But clearly at the moment he is loving every slap; Jaskier being this strong and aggressive is really doing it for him. He will have to reward him later for it. His bard isn't so soft after all.
Geralt feels like he's a livewire, wanting to struggle away from the pleasure he's being given and into it at the same time. It's overwhelming, more than he expected, to be opened like this. The touch of Jaskier's hand to his lower back, the sweet caress that is clearly meant to be reassuring, is taken both well and badly by Geralt at the same time. He appreciates the thought while struggling with the concept that he needs reassurance. It is going to take time for him to get used to letting someone in, both literally and emotionally.
He's distracted from his discomfort by the feel of Jaskier's teeth on his arse and he really doesn't care now. Jaskier can do anything, ask anything, he's lost his grip on keeping his mind intact. Geralt swears and feels a rush of relief when the bard doesn't seem to be teasing, he's amping up his behavior instead. If he didn't have incredible stamina he might have begged for him to stop, but Geralt's three times as quick to bounce back as an average human. So he allows himself to have this. He lets the pressure and pleasure build until it's agony, he rocks back into Jaskier's tormenting mouth and growls, his nails digging hard enough into the headboard to make a scratching mark.
When Jaskier touches his cock it's such a sudden change from the new sensation of being opened and something so grounding and familiar. He whimpers and his control fractures, thrusting his hips forward into Jaskier's hand and coming a very short few seconds later. Geralt gives a guttural low cry that might be Jaskier's name and he bites his own bleeding lip, the copper and pain making it all the sweeter.
He breathes in a long shuttering sigh and then out again, his body loosened now, between Jaskier's actions and an orgasm. He hums, deep and content, and doesn't turn.] That was good. [He murmurs, understated to say the least, and lets go of one of his hands from the head board to reach behind him and stroke fingers through Jaskier's hair.] Now fuck me. [Geralt has no interest in an afterglow. His hunger is not sated.]
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There are limits of course, he does draw the line at certain practices. Being on the receiving end of a smacking doesn't do much for him, it doesn't work for his libido as it does for Geralt's. The other man doesn't have to worry about not delivering that particular kink. While Jaskier has joked with the Witcher about gags, being actually tied up it's something he does not enjoy. It makes him skittish and too tense, and if he were honest with himself, Jaskier would admit that it scares him to be at someone's mercy and not being able to move, even if that someone is a partner he knows well. Maybe that's a conversation he has to have with Geralt one day but getting him to talk about kinks might just be as impossible as getting him to admit he has feelings of any sort.
It's a worry for another day, now his mind has zeroed on the way Geralt's body is quivering, how he rocks back against his mouth and the cracking the wood makes under his hands when he comes. Jaskier withdraws from him when he starts to worry about over-stimulation, placing one last, loud and wet kiss on Geralt's left cheek. As the man reaches back and plays with the bard's hair, the action earning him a contended whimper, Jaskier brings his cum stained hand to his lips and licks his fingers clean while staring at Geralt. He beams at the praise.
Is the happy hum Geralt is making what prompts Jaskier to nuzzle into his back, wrapping his hands around the narrow waist, reveling in the feel of the strong muscles against his chest, the incredible animal warmth of him. His cock is now pressed against the perfect curve of Geralt's ass and Jaskier is kind of dying from holding back for so long, but he can handle a few more minutes. His fingers grip the nape of Geralt's neck, pressure sure and hard and bring their faces close. It's clear he wants to kiss him but doesn't just yet, Geralt might not be comfortable with that after what he's done, which is fine. ]
No need for a break? [ Brown eyebrows rise, impressed. Jaskier shouldn't be surprised, though, goddamn Witchers' stamina, lucky bastards. ] Good, I'm far from done with you. Now, let go of the headboard, I want your hands on me.
[ Leaning back and reluctantly also letting go of his lover, Jaskier sits on the mattress. His hardness is bordering on painful now and he pulls at Geralt's wrist to try and convince him to move. The bard pats at his own thighs, his smile sharp. ] Sit on me.
[ Another request but said in a softer voice, almost like he wants to plea for that to happen but Jaskier knows is better not to. He keeps eye contact with Geralt, intense and possessive, watching him with hunger. It's a big turn on to have Geralt bent down in front of him but Jaskier wants to see his face, wants to touch and kiss and bite. A selfish part of him says that he only wants Geralt to see who is leaving him an incoherent mess, but the honest truth is that Jaskier wants them both to be on equal ground. They're partners in more than one sense of the word, and Jaskier wants him to feel like a person, not a piece of meat or something to be used. ]
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He contently leans back into Jaskier, glad for the hands on his waist and he is hungry when he feels his bard's cock so close to where he wants it. Geralt's mouth goes dry he and he moves his arse back so he can rub it against Jaskier. He's begging for it with his body if not in words. Geralt needs no break, he needs the bard to be inside of him already. He's dismayed when Jaskier moves away and something about his posture stiffens all at once.
Usually, Geralt has no problem saying no. He says it sharply, firmly, knowing what he wants, knowing what he doesn't want. This is the first time he can remember where he hesitates, swallowing down the no at first. The problem is, if he says no, he has to explain. He does not want to explain. Geralt can barely put into words that he wants to be fucked in the first place, let alone complicated details like the fact he can't look Jaskier in the eye right now. It's not shame, it's emotion. He has to guard his eyes and he will be so focused on doing that, it'll hold him back. He will struggle with pleasure, struggle with feeling this freedom he's craving to let someone have him.
It should be clear by now, since he's not obeying Jaskier and yet also not taunting him as if it's a game, that there's something going on, whirling, in his head. It may show in when he does look at Jaskier, briefly, but has trouble keeping his gaze, and there's stone on his face again, like he's iced over or attempting to. He wants to say no but he doesn't want to explain, and he doesn't want Jaskier to be upset, both because of the no and lack of explanation. At this point Geralt has to have faith. Jaskier knows him. He won't push him.]
No. [He says. Geralt may not want to be fucked face to face, but he does turn to look at Jaskier, his eyes guarded. He crawls closer to him on the bed and grabs him by the back of the neck, tugging him in for a knee-weakening kiss. He doesn't care about the taste or any of that. He wants Jasker to know that it's not lack of want of him. Geralt pulls away and finally just says what's on his mind.] I want it in that position, and I don't want to explain why.
[He feels very tense at the moment and more than a little uncertain if this is going to blow up or not. Geralt really wants to keep it at that, but he is about to let this man come inside of his body. He can probably give him a little more.] No to this time. [There, that will hopefully communicate that it's not a no forever, but whatever is going on in his head, it isn't going to be solved in this moment.
That communicated, more than he really feels comfortable doing, this is all outside of his comfort zone and he really is doing his best. Every part of him is rebelling. Geralt goes back into position, hoping trusting him wasn't a mistake.] Fuck me, Jaskier. [Saying please is far too much for him at the moment, but there is almost an implication there, like he's biting off the word rather than it not coming to his lips at all.]
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All right. [ Jaskier agrees once they break the kiss, doesn't argue or sounds mad. He had promised Geralt that he was going to listen if the man told him to stop or if he was uncomfortable. Geralt might not have used those exact words but a simple 'no' suffices. Jaskier doesn't like the way his whole body has tensed up all of sudden.
He's realizing that maybe Geralt isn't only trying to prove something to him but also dealing with a personal issue because of the way he hesitated. Generally, no matter what they do, he's bold and direct, especially when voicing his displeasure. This change in behaviors is puzzling but he knows when to push and when to give the wolf some space. ]
I think I can make that sacrifice, get you to stop you from being able to think so much. [ The tone is light, a joke meant to get everything back on track and the situation less tense for Geralt. It's meant to reassure him that it's all fine even if Jaskier is not completely happy. He's worried about his partner but Geralt said 'this time' so that opens up the door for some unexpected things in the future. He thought this was going to be a one-time thing only, gods, he's luckier than he ever imagined. ]
Since you asked so nicely, sunshine. [ He grins while saying the last word, intentionally looking to make the Witcher grunt in exasperation.
In a blink he's back to pressing his chest to Geralt's back, one of his hands sliding around the man's sides and moving to his chest, the other buries itself on Geralt's hair and tugs. Jaskier starts toying with his nipples, rolling one of the quickly hardening buds between his thumb and index finger and then flicking the tip. His mouth finds the curve of his Geralt's and starts working on a mark there. He's back to being hard and wanting, cock pressed to Geralt's ass, but before they go further Jaskier wants him to relax again.
And so, he starts with the dirty talking.
Jaskier had always had a way with words, it was necessary for his profession and his creativity got better with the years. He doesn't deliver sickly-sweet verses this time, opting for bold and direct and crude, raw feeling and need. Jaskier tells Geralt that he want him to scream his name when he comes, that he wants to feel his cock twitch inside the Witcher, leave him hoarse from screaming, fuck him like he owns him and make it so Geralt can't walk straight tomorrow, and what does Geralt think about Jaskier dominating him? Would he want the bard to eat him out more often? Or maybe make him come with just his fingers knuckle deep in his ass, milking his prostate?
It's not degrading because Jaskier is still testing the waters about what works and doesn't for Geralt, but there's growing desperation in his own voice too. It had dropped a few octaves and gotten thick with need, his cock almost twitching as it slides between Geralt's ass cheeks without yet burying himself into the man's body. ]
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The sunshine absolutely gets a sharply irritated look.] I will toss your ass out of this room. [He tries not to smile and mostly fails, but then Jaskier's on him. Geralt's body is waking up again and he hmms in satisfaction, warming to Jaskier's touch. He likes the feeling of arms around him, clever hands playing with his nipples until they're to a hard point. He groans his pleasure the moment Jaskier's mouth is on his neck and he can feel Jaskier's cock there. It's hot and hard and he wants it.
Jaskier did have a way with words. Geralt hates how much he wants him to talk but when he's saying filth like that, the witcher can't do much more than breath steadily and nod his head. Yes he wants him to do all of those things, and while they won't all happen, the fantasy of it is very good all the same. He doesn't feel like it's degrading at all; he enjoys hearing all of it and the low rumbles and growls in his throat say as much. Not to mention he hears Jaskier's voice get deeper and he growls, frustrated.]
Jaskier. [Geralt's voice is throaty and low and angry, groaning when he feels Jaskier's cock between his cheeks but not going inside of him. He spreads his knees apart, bending down more so his back arches just right, making his arse stick up higher in the air, tantalizing him.] Fucking fuck me, right now, or I am going to lose my shit and break your lute over your godsdamn not-fucking-me head. [He's gotten properly riled up now and he jerks himself back, rubbing friction on Jaskier's cock.
Geralt's cock has started to come back, growing slowly with those filthy words whispered, but he's not getting harder until he gets what he's desperately starving for. He never thought he would be this much of a physical mess, pathetically begging with his body, and maybe he'd be angry about it another time. But the timing now is perfect for his ego not to get in the way.] If you want to own my ass then fucking take it.
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Fucking fuck me, right now, or I am going to lose my shit and break your lute over your godsdamn not-fucking-me head.
...insufferable. Jaskier has no idea why he's even in this relationship.
If you want to own my ass then fucking take it.
Ah, yeah, okay, that's part of the why. ]
Fuck you, no. [ Jaskier says, voice cracking. He's still angry at Geralt, it's just hard to remember that when all he can finally smell is the man under him, the scent of lilacs long forgotten. Hand gripping his hair, Jaskier growls into his ear. ] You don't get to order me around tonight.
[ He's being contrary for the sake of his pride and because it turns Geralt on. Part of him finds it immensely gratifying, that the Witcher is this on edge because of him, for him. Geralt is more relaxed now but no less calm and Jaskier is at his limit, he doesn't want to drag things out anymore. A snarl of his own is the last sounds he makes before Jaskier bites down rather viciously on the curve of his neck. He sneaks a hand down between their bodies to grab his own cock and angles himself. Geralt's still wet enough from the attention of his mouth and his slicked fingers that it's easy, and Jaskier pushes into him in a move that seems wholly instinctual.
Immediately, he feels the full pressure-drag down deep, all around his cock, and curses under his breath. He struggles not to buck up into the sensation too hard, because, fuck, fuck, it's good, so good and so tight and so warm. Jaskier can imagine the discomfort of the breach Geralt might be feeling. No matter how aggressive the other man wants him to be, he stills his hips for a few seconds, let's him adjust to the stretch. ]
Aaah, that's, fuck...you’re so, this is... [ Being inside Geralt It's like nothing he's ever felt before. It's heady, just the implications of it, that Jaskier is in him and that Geralt allowed it, craved it. It's enough to make him gasps raggedly, start moving his hips in a deliberately slow roll, one hand clutching Geralt's hair and the other clutching his hip, nails digging in. The first proper thrust happens without warning too. Jaskier gasps against Geralt's neck and starts to rock forward. He nips and bites his shoulder, his neck, trembling and gasping and not managing to produce a single coherent sentence any longer. ]
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It's been a very long time since he let anyone take him and while yes, it is slightly discomforting, especially since he is not good at relaxing, it's also perfect. Geralt likes a little bit of pain and his body stretches and adjusts to the intrusion slowly, but he moans his pleasure, his relief. He didn't realize exactly how much he wanted this, more so than he even knew when he asked for it the first place. It's hot and intense and Jaskier surrounds him. All of his senses, everywhere he can be touched, Jaskier is there. He wants him to dive in, he wants it to be hard, but he lets Jaskier take it his way. To start.]
Yes, fuck yes.[He makes a strangled sound when Jaskier moves his hips like that and the nails on his hip are a perfect contrast so the pleasure burning through him.] More, do it, more. [Geralt's hands tighten on the bedpost again, a creak heard, and he drops one hand from it, his other one sturdy enough. His thick arm hooks up and around, fingers digging into Jaskier's sweaty hair. He is not staying passive, rocking his hips back into Jaskier's cock, obscenely spread now for Jaskier to have him. His own cock is back to fully hard and dripping with want.]
Hard, I can take it. [His voice is low and rasping, strained. It isn't a surprise that the witcher's powerful body wants to be strung out and used. Gentle is not his way, whether it's him taking or being the taken. Jaskier feels incredible though. Geralt keeps his neck purposely exposed so Jaskier can bite him as much as possible. In his lust-filled and unfocused mind, he knows Jaskier doesn't want him to order. Begging is also not something he likes the idea of, except he is so deeply desperate right then. He's already letting the man take him like this, so he can forgive himself.]
Fuck my brains out. [Geralt grits his teeth, needing more, needing the sound of their flesh smacking and Jaskier's words in his ears.] Please. [The word is a beg, but not the tone Geralt is using it in. That will have to suffice. He makes the please sound like a demand, but it is a please, no matter how it's choked out.]
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He's moved the white hair aside and it's sucking a rough hickey onto the back of Geralt’s neck, just where it would brush with the collar of his shirt if it lasted long enough. Stupid Witchery powers and enhanced healing, ruining the fun. Only once he would like to see the bruises on Geralt body in the morning, right where he put them the night before.
There's a strong hand tangling in his hair and Jaskier seems so pleased by the extra contact that he moans, sounding as stripped raw as he feels. He slides out of him slowly and then pushes back in quicker, slamming into Geralt, and it's twice as good as the first times. His eyes flutter shut, breath punched out of him with a groan, and he can't find his voice to speak back because when Jaskier is really lost into sex, it's the only time he's actually capable of silence.
Pleas aren't something he expects from Geralt and hearing one becomes more rewarding for that reason alone. He doesn't care that it sounds like another growl, that is bossy, because a tiger can't change its stripes and a Witcher isn't used to show vulnerability. Jaskier understands it well enough to reward Geralt for the attempt. Rocking his hips, the bard moves his legs a bit and changes the angle, aiming for his sweet spot, first fucking Geralt with sharp, shallow thrusts and then deeper ones, dragging his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside.
If things were easier, better between them, Jaskier would be able to see his face properly and bite his lips with a ferocity that would leave Geralt breathless. 'No to this time', Geralt had said, and the bard really hopes he keeps his word because being inside him feels fucking fantastic and there's pretty much nothing he wouldn't do to have a second chance at it. If things were easier, he wouldn't have to worry about sharing the man with Yennefer and never having him fully. The thought stings and he doesn't want to think anymore. Jaskier ends up digging his fingers into Geralt's narrow waist, and then it's far too natural to hold him, stepping up the pace of his thrusts until the rhythm is just short of brutal, both feeling the hot burn of the shift. ]
I'm still pissed at you. [ Jaskier says with gritted teeth and then leans all his weight into him.
His right-hand slides down Geralt's stomach, wrapping his fingers around the man's thick cock and squeezing. He starts to jerk him in rhythm with his thrust, except that when he feels Geralt starts to tense up under him, Jaskier's hand slides down further and he grips the base of his cock to keep him from coming. ]
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The reward for his please definitely tells him he should do it more often, even if it pricked his pride, because Jaskier is fucking him in a deliciously perfect way. Geralt can't keep his hand in brown hair, Jaskier hits his sweet spot with vicious aim and Geralt's hand is forced to grip the headboard again to keep him steady. He doesn't mind, he needs to be grounded with how thoroughly Jaskier's taking him and it gives him the strength to push back into him.
The more brutal Jaskier is the louder Geralt is, so keep at it, because his groans and snarls tell the story. Geralt's aggressively pushing back and then forward and the headboard is banging loudly on the wall, something he likes when it's Jaskier underneath him, a whimpering mess. Geralt isn't a whimpering mess, he's much more animalistic in the moment, nails scratching open the wood, his teeth gritting. He eagerly lets Jaskier's hands on his hips control him for a moment, enjoying staying still and letting Jaskier's brutal strokes take over.
The words barely make it through a fog of lust, he's confused by them. There's nothing in Geralt's mind at the moment but them having wild sex, and it feels good. Not as good, really, as when he's plunging inside of Jaskier, but still what he needed at the moment. His breath shutters and he closes his eyes, making a pleased rumble when Jaskier finally grips his cock. He builds up to his orgasm, or at least he plans on it, before the hand on him decides to halt it.
Geralt is shocked out of his haze, and he teeters very close on the edge. He could snap Jaskier's hand right off of him, force the bard on his knees, fuck him for such insolence. Except in his riled state he wouldn't be feral, and he wouldn't want that. He is flushed red and bucks back at Jaskier, a clear warning that he is far from as submissive as he may be allowing then. Geralt snarls at him.]
I didn't fuck her. [It's a hissed admission. Geralt did eventually plan on confessing, probably, depending on how easy he could brush it off without explaining. But he's angry about being punished for something he didn't do. Jaskier has no reason to be angry. Geralt wasn't unfaithful to him. Not that he would call it that, they aren't monogamous even if they've stopped having sex with other people, but still. He doesn't feel like explaining that when Jaskier is balls-deep in him. Stop being a fucking prick and come in me. [He says it and oh does he want it, licking his dry lips.]
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But It turns out that Geralt isn't too keen on being dominated or controlled, who would have thought. Jaskier has half a mind not to smile too broadly. For once he's glad that they're not face to face because if Geralt hadn't killed him for keeping him from coming, he would have bitten his head off after seeing his grin. And then, Geralt's words sink in and he feels like all the air has been ripped from his chest. ]
You didn't...y-you, bastard. [ Jaskier's voice is strained, brittle, like his control is fraying or he wants to cry at the revelation. It's relieving but devastating for the terrible timing, like feeling the floor drop out from under him. From all the times to tell him, to explain himself, the Witcher goes and chooses this very moment? Goddamn Geralt of Rivia, he always finds a way to screw him up even when Jaskier isn't the one getting fucked. The bard almost wants to scream. His cock has other ideas, though, the traitorous bastard, and he feels himself getting close, in part because Geralt demands it.
Which is about the point he completely loses it.
His free hand grips Geralt's jawline to make him turn his head and crushes his lips against the man. The angle is not right, necks can only twist too much until it gets painful, and Jaskier is using more teeth than actual tongue, but he does not fucking care about anything anymore. He can't tell if he feels angry at not knowing sooner, pleased that Geralt didn't give into her, or if he's just going mental.
He rams into Geralt with a force he didn't know he had in him, breaks the kiss to gasp wetly against his neck and lets go of his face to rack his nails down his back, leaving four angry red marks. Jaskier pants, forehead resting between Geralt's shoulder blades, tightening his grip on the man’s cock, no longer keeping him from tipping over the edge but encouraging it. Long fingers squeeze him from base to tip, swiping his thumb along with the head of his cock. Fast, rough and unrelenting.
The muscles of Jaskier's stomach tense and he can hear his own heartbeat in his throat, his jaw slacking and his rhythm starts staggering. His mouth makes a shaky noise that sounds like Geralt's name over and over and over until the only thing that comes out is a snarl followed by a draw out moan. He's pressing into Geralt in one long grind and then falling apart, coming in a hot pulse deep inside the other man that only adds to the sensation of electricity starting at the base of his spine and rushing upward. ]
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Luckily he has a lead on the monster they're dealing with here because of Yennefer, so they'll shut their mouths if it means he'll save their lives. And maybe have to throw in the price of fixing the headboard. He has some stupid hope that telling Jaskier in the heat of the moment will keep him from having to explain himself, as opposed to in the quiet of the afterglow, and that's his intention until forced otherwise. It gets him what he wants right then so who cares. He turns his head at Jaskier's request and it's not comfortable but he'll allow it. It's not as personal as face to face would be and he enjoys it.
Their first night together, Geralt was in complete control, he moved Jaskier how he wanted him, he ordered him around, and overtime it's eased, he's allowed Jaskier to make more demands and experiment with what they both enjoy best in bed. That is why Jaskier clearly knows what he wants the most. Between him being rough and hard, slamming into Geralt with the same kind of force he himself likes to give, and the scratches on his back, the witcher moans. He keeps murmuring yes, over and over again, sometimes louder and sometimes quieter, to spur Jaskier on.
What he said got Jaskier to touch him again and he could only let himself be dizzy with relief, thrusting into his hand and seeking the release he needs. The headboard finally cracks from the pressure of his fingers in it, not broken off entirely but that may end up in the cost of their room. Geralt feels the bard start to fall apart and gets greedy for it, rolling his hips back until Jaskier goes deep inside of him and the wood under his nails cracks in a different spot. He comes the second that Jaskier fills him up, hot and wet, and he whites out with it. It sounds like the rushing of white noise in his head and he breathes raggedly, head pressed between his hands.
Geralt isn't entirely certain why he needed this but he feels complete because of it. He feels like there's less of a weight on his chest, of words haunting his ears, and there's a certainty of Jaskier's life thudding around him here. Maybe it's because he felt out of control and needed to let someone else take it from him to feel better. Whatever the reason, he feels relaxed and soothed. He's come twice now and perhaps not for the last time tonight.
Typically he moves out of Jaskier just so he doesn't put too much weight on him, but the bard's weight is nothing on top of him in comparison. He leaves him where he is, contently humming with him still wrapped around him, although now he can release the headboard for real. His sweaty arm goes back up around him and strokes fingers through Jaskier's hair, gentler this time, affectionate.] Mmm, thanks. [Geralt doesn't thank people frequently, but he is pliant at the moment.] For doing it my way.
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