Being human right now feel pretty shitty, if he asks Jaskier, Geralt isn't missing much. But pain is pain and even if one can take high amounts of it, that doesn't mean that scratches and cuts don't sting. When his eyes fall on the cut on Geralt's neck and his disheveled appearance, Jaskier immediately feels his guts twisting in knots. It's pretty clear that Geralt hasn't changed or taken a break since the fight, that the first thing on the Witcher's mind was to drag him to a safe place. He has no idea where they are but it seems irrelevant for now in comparison to everything else.
Jaskier shuts his mouth quickly, almost on cue after Geralt snaps at him, and follows his orders without complaining and only minimal wincing. His back is killing him but he supposes is better than the alternative, which is being dead for real under a ton of rubble. He still wants to say and ask a lot of things but moving alone is such a chore that it needs all his focus and he's left a bit dizzy even with Geralt's help. As soon as Geralt's hand is withing reach, Jaskier reaches out for it and gives it a squeeze, the need to comfort back his partner more important than the water. He does drink a moment later, because he's really thirsty and he doesn't want to piss off Geralt more.
"You're lying. That cut could get infected." It's probably an irrational worry, Witcher healing an all that, but since Jaskier feels like his brain is about to start leaking out of his ears, he thinks he's allowed to be a bit dramatic in his worry. Geralt might not care for himself, used as he got to be told his own well being doesn't matter, but Jaskier can care enough for the both of them.
"It wasn't your choice, I insisted. I'm a bard, I need to be where the action is, see it first hard." His eyes stay on Geralt as the man undresses and gets rid of the dusty armor, if a bit unfocused, and wished he could help clean the visible cuts.
At the kind request to keep his mouth shut, Jaskier gives a nod and listens. He's very much not happy with what he hears but is mature enough to understand it comes from a place of worry. He's aware enough to know he would only slow down Geralt or put him in danger. Shoulder slumping and a pout on his face, Jaskier looks down at his bruised hands.
"Would you tell me how things went once you get back?" Is his way of agreeing, of letting Geralt know he does care about his opinion even if the bard's reckless tendencies aren't easy to subdue.
Geralt isn't the type of mutant or magical creature that actually wants to be human, mostly because it is so alien to him now. He wouldn't go seeking for a cure or a reversal, and he has long accepted what happened and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. If his life is to be a long one, he doesn't want to bear constant regret about his existence. He has his moments, yes, where the aspects that make him so different from other people gets wearisome, but generally, he has to be who he is. There's no other option when keeping sane in this world.
He shoots Jaskier an annoyed look; of course it won't get infected. He knows when something might get infected. Geralt knows his body and its capabilities well. He knows Jaskier is just trying to find a reason to be worried too. "Healer looked at it." By that he means that the healer saw it on Geralt's face and the witcher growled to focus on Jaskier instead. But he did see it with his eyes, so that's enough.
"You're lucky I'm not forbidding you from missions entirely," Geralt grumbles. If Jaskier was any worse injured, he might have gotten to that point of panic. This isn't as bad as the djinn, for example. His armor and boots off, Geralt finally sits next to Jaskier, facing him, golden eyes watchful on his face. As if the simple reassurance of looking at him is helpful, and it is.
He reaches out to touch Jaskier's knee, a gentle warm pressure of a rough hand. "Yes. I will attempt to give you details." Geralt usually grunts 'it's dead' as his summary, but since Jaskier is giving into his anxiety with minimal complaint, he will try to be better about. He reaches out to take the hand without the water in it and brings it to his face, pressing Jaskier's palm to his own cheek. It is a very intimate and sweet gesture, requesting some type of affection that Geralt rarely does. If the others saw Geralt doing this instead of being a cold and stoic guardian, they'd understand why the witcher hovered so aggressively, but these moments are only for them. For Jaskier.
Geralt turns his head and kisses Jaskier's palm. "It will take time before you are on your feet again. We collapsed a ceiling on you." Geralt says it matter-of-factly but there is guilt there, deep underneath his deadpan tone. He blames himself. Who else can he blame? The vampire is dead and it's his partner injured. "You will take it slow and heal." That is slightly imperious in tone, but they both know he is bossy, and he could be worse.
Geralt not being human has never meant anything to Jaskier, in the sense that it had never bothered the bard or made him think less of the man. Quite the opposite. Geralt went through so much, most of it terrible, dangerous and painful, and yet here he was. Caring for others even though they hardly give him any kindness in return. It makes Jaskier's chest hurt, anger rising every time unjust words are throws at his friend, his lover.
"A healer." Hah, as if Geralt is going to let a healer near him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows and then attempts to narrow his eyes at him but the messy look of his hair and the slight red-rimmed eyes undermine the impression. He looks as threatening as an annoyed puppy.
"You wouldn't dare." The voice sounds a bit alarmed, Jaskier knows Geralt would absolutely dare and he's both indignant and terrified at the possibility. The touch to his knee is grounding, not enough because he wants more of Geralt touching him, but it helps to calm him down.
"Thank you." He adds, aware that in all the years he's known Geralt the man has never been prone to retell his adventures with anything resembling details, interest, or sentiment. Fighting is fighting to him and Jaskier had to pull his skills to use and give the stories a spin, turn them into memorable songs. His eyes soften and he cradles Geralt's face gentle, the thumb softly moving over a defined cheekbone. Something inside him melts a little at the kiss and the smile he gives the other man is loving and kind, knowing that he wounded the Witcher by making him worry for his safety.
"It was an old mansion, more rot than wood. A harsh sneeze on its direction would have collapsed it." He says, hoping Geralt hears 'It was an accident so stop blaming yourself, you big oaf' without actually having to spell it out to him. Chances are the Geralt will understand and keep blaming himself regardless.
"I think I can deal with being lazy and letting you pamper me for a few days." Jaskier leans in with all the intent to kiss Geralt. His bruised ribs protest mid-movement and he hisses, then looks annoyed at himself. He is absolutely not pouting when he looks at Geralt with pleading eyes.
Most of the time, Geralt doesn't care about what people think. He brushes it off easily. He knows he is scary, he knows people fear what is different, and as long as he can go about his life and get coin and places to occasionally sleep, it really is not a problem. Typically the only time he dislikes it is when he's helped people and done the right thing, and they turn on him anyway. It is frustrating and exhausting. That's how he got his name as the Butcher after all. Most of the time it is the first situation that happens; sometimes people are even grateful, as they were today, offering him shelter and healing for no additional price. Humans come in all shapes and sizes and personalities. He doesn't blame any for the actions of others.
It is still isolating and Jaskier was the first human who treated him like a person. He was always doomed to start to care for the bard, sooner or later. The threatening look is pathetic and Geralt simply gives him a returned glare. His scratches are fine. They will be gone. He has poultices of his own, often better than the average healer, for his own needs. It is a distraction from the true problem which is Jaskier's injury.
"I would." He will die in your arms, Yennefer warned him. It's haunted him since. He held him earlier, when he dragged him out of the rubble, listening for his heartbeat. "I want you to die of old age many decades from now." It meant they would part but they already discussed that and acknowledged it was inevitable. But it is the only option in Geralt's eyes. If his human must die, it will take a long time. Not because Geralt was sloppy in a fight or couldn't get to him in time. He will never believe this incident was because of rotted wood or anything other than his own negligence.
Geralt scowls at him. "Stop that." Stop moving, basically. The witcher gives in though and moves fully onto the bed, curling onto his side next to Jaskier. This way he can do the kissing instead, it's easy to lean over and press his lips gently against Jaskier's. His fingers run through his hair tenderly. He is reminded how easily he could lose his bard, how easily this would all stop and he'd never be able to kiss him again. His hand, usually rough and heavy, can move with light grace as it moves over Jaskier's body as if reassuring himself over and over again he is compact. He is here. His hand falls on Jaskier's chest, feeling his heartbeat as well as hearing it.
"I have a salve that will help with your bruises." As if he forgot, and perhaps he had, so focused on Jaskier surviving. He kisses him again and gets off the bed to go to his pack. He has many potions and draughts, all lovingly created through his knowledge of herbs and other healing properties. Geralt returns a few moments later and back onto the bed, setting the salve to the side for now. It has a very intense smell, not a bad one, just a strong one. "I need you to move just a little so we can get your shirt off." He insisted on them putting it back on after being examined, anxious the bard would get cold, but he is there to keep him warm.
His hands are so careful on Jaskier as he helps him. He is worlds away from the brute he appears as to others.
Jaskier made the mistake of calling him Butcher once and he's regretted it ever since. He's come to hate the nickname with a fiery dislike that matched Geralt's, and that was another of the reason why he likes the White wolf nickname much better, why he tries to make people memorize that one through his songs.
Once Jaskier learns that the townsfolk have been so generous to them and he's able to stand without dizziness overtaking him, he will sing some songs for them for free. Probably while sitting instead of dancing around, the bard doesn't think his ribs would be able to stand it otherwise. Since he's stuck resting, he will focus his energy on new songs, flesh out some that are already buzzing in his head and write one about the brave Witcher and his fight against a bloodthirsty vampire terrorizing the land. Jaskier knows that Geralt likes the tunes more than the singing, so he could play something quieter for him later.
Jaskier ignores the new glare with ease, for too used to getting them directed at him. Deep down he knows that Geralt has gone through much worse but usually Jaskier helps him clean the bruises and cuts and get some relief in doing so, caring about him. Now he can't even offer that, it's frustrating.
"Art can't be restrained, Geralt." It comes out dramatic, as Jaskier intended but there's a sort of resignation that accompanies his tone of voice. As if Jaskier is arguing for the sake of his pride but he's well aware it's a lost battle. "I won't try to follow you until I feel better, you have my humble and valuable word."
He said he would stay put and behave, so he will. There's a different kind of tension in the way Geralt is holding himself when he looks at him, and Jaskier doesn't like it one bit. He doesn't like that he caused it and doesn't know how to fix it. Geralt's wish about him dying of old age it's a shared one but something tells Jaskier that the man isn't including himself in that picture.
"I agree with the sentiment. We could go to the coast after you retire, the sea air would do us wonders." He doesn't say anything else, his head hurting too much to have a proper conversation about that but he does manage to give Geralt a meaningful look. He's not getting rid of him so easily, not even when he grows old.
The future is a dark, complicated thing and Geralt's embrace is warm and inviting, one thing can't compare to the other. He practically melts against Geralt when he settles alongside him in the bless, surprisingly big enough for both of them. The kiss, and Geralt touchings the brunette's hair earns him a pleased purr. The bard is blessedly distracted from the pain in his body for a little while and he marvels at how gentle a man with Geralt's strength could be if it's necessary. Who would have thought Witchers were such mother hens. Witnessing this, and knowing how many other times in the past Geralt has worried for his well being, he feels foolish for ever doubting if he meant anything to the witcher.
"Be quick or I might decide to leave before you are back with your witchery magic oils." Comes the soft murmur as Jaskier feels the bed dip under him when Geralt goes to fetch the salve. Not his best joke but it's hard to be witty when his head is pounding. He keeps his eyes closed and while Geralt is back in a few seconds, it enough to make the bard half sleep. The Witcher's words barely register but the salve's herbal scent makes him crack open an eye and shift as requested.
"Hmmm..." It's only a hum like those Geralt is so fond of, but Jaskier is both trying to convey 'I'm sleepy' and 'Your big hands feel very nice'. He's not sure if he nails the second one. What he does is obey and he rests a hand on Geralt's thigh. Not so much as to start anything but as a show of gratitude and appreciation for Geralt gentleness.
"You make for a wonderful nurse, love." It slips out naturally. Jaskier obviously doesn't realize he's said anything noteworthy or out of the ordinary. His eyes are half-lidded again, his breathing calm and the touches Geralt keeps giving him are making him even more sleepy.
Geralt still hasn't spoken about what happened with Renfri or in detail about how he got that nickname. He let the story exist without correction because he saw no reason to defend himself, or any care to do it. It is also personal. He doesn't want to talk about it. White Wolf is better. He can't deny that Jaskier's songs have made a positive impact for his life, he just would prefer not to admit to it either. He shoots Jaskier a look about the dramatic art argument as if that is in any way going to work on him. He also ignores the implication of going to the coast when he retires, since they both know very well he has no intention of retiring. It's better to focus on Jaskier's health and get him to rest.
Geralt is methodical when he places the salve on Jaskier's bruises, riding that fine line between applying too much and not enough pressure to rub it into the injuries. It will help with the pain at least, essentially numbing or at least soothing his body into relaxing better. It's a strong smell but it's also the type of thing easy to put someone to bed, which is what Geralt wants. By the time he's done, Jaskier is drowsy enough that it's only a matter of time before he drifts off. Geralt doesn't display any reaction to the pet name, not does he think he needs to.
Healing does take time, and Geralt may not be patient in some areas (when people annoy him, in the middle of a fight, in sex), but in this he seems calm. He keeps water and food coming to Jaskier and helps him bathe when he's still too beaten up to do much. The healer checks on them and it really is just a waiting game now as Jaskier's body knits itself back together. Geralt keeps with the salve on Jaskier's body and brings him his lute, although tells him to save his voice, a fool's hope.
He checks on Roach who is doing great having some extra downtime of her own. He leaves once while Jaskier slept to find herbs to replace the ones he's been using and to make more of the salve for Jaskier and for when he'll need it another time. He doesn't often stop long enough to resupply this well, so it seems like a wise thing to do in the meantime. He is always back in the room by the time Jaskier wakes up, as if he never left.
He spends the time cleaning his armor, he rarely takes the time so this is worth doing, letting Jaskier speak at him all he wants although he only sometimes responds. He listens, he still isn't very talkative. He is currently sharpening his knives, having already done that with his swords the night before while Jaskier slept. Geralt sits nearby, focused entirely on his task. He finds a great deal of peace in the boring tasks of being a warrior, cleaning his clothes or keeping up with his variety of weapons.
"Mmmm?" Geralt murmurs, glancing up from his short blade. He had been mostly zoning out of whatever Jaskier was going on about, but he thinks there was a question there that he missed, and he focuses on the bard. "Repeat." His common command when he is openly admitting that he wasn't listening but is ready to listen now that he is.
No matter how much he tries to stay still and how careful Geralt is being, Jaskier can't help but squirm a little every time the salve is rubbed over an especially sore spot. He at least manages to keep quiet, the last thing he wants is to upset Geralt further. Between the tiredness, the pain and the salve working his magic, Jaskier is soon enough sleeping, half on Geralt's lap, half on the bed.
Only Geralt or the healer checking on him rouse him from sleep a couple of times, aside from those occasions Jaskier is pretty much a hibernating bear the few first days. He doesn't remember ever sleeping so much in his whole life, but no other ceilings had fallen over his head before, so he thinks it's justified. He tries to sing the moment Geralt brings him his lute and after thanking the Witcher profusely, he imagines that it wasn't a choice Geralt made lightly. His voice still sounds a bit croaky and Jaskier decides to only play the melodies instead, plucking at the strings quietly while Geralt works on his potions or cleans his knives. He chooses quiet, soothing tones that he thinks might please his companion.
His body still hurts just not to the point where it feels like someone's hitting the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer. Bathing turns out to be an uncomfortable and embarrassing experience for no other reason than he feels clumsy and awkward. Jaskier absolutely refused to spend another day lying on his own filth. The bed gets changed too and it feels glorious to be lying on fresh sheets. Watching Geralt do his thing is calming but now that Jaskier is clean, relaxed and lying face down with his arms curled around a pillow, he also feels utterly bored.
It's clear that Geralt had tuned him out for the past 15 minutes, nothing new or worthy of getting annoyed about. Jaskier has been saying all sorts of absurd things to him, from pointing out how pretty the light looks reflected on his white hair to asking if he knows when Roach's b-day is, and only now does he gets a hum in response.
"Blowjob." Jaskier repeats, as if that explains anything. He reaches out to lazily move his hand up from Geralt's knee to the high curve of his thigh. He keeps his index and middle finger straight, making it so they look like a little man walking up the Witcher's leg. "Your thick cock in my mouth. I was saying that you still look tense. Would it help if I blew you?"
Geralt does like Jaskier's melodies. He genuinely listens to them when the bard plays, preferring instrumentals over words any day. It is soothing in a way, and he finds it very comfortable to go about his simple busy work while Jaskier plays and doesn't babble at him. Tranquil, even. He gives Jaskier an amused look when he grumbles about bathing considering how constantly they see one another naked. If anything, he is more disturbed by seeing the bruises so clearly, and these are far from the bruises he proudly leaves on Jaskier after sex. Geralt does not appreciate being told he's a good nurse though so any remarks of the sort makes him grunt in annoyance. It may be true, but he is a witcher, not a nursemaid.
He truly stops listening sometimes, he can't even try to go back over what he was zoning out since he didn't hear a word of it. Geralt raises an eyebrow, unsure if Jaskier is messing with him and that he said something else and only replaced blowjob when Geralt's attention went on him. He watches Jaskier's fingers, feeling the warm touch of them up his thigh, and flicks the tempting hand away.
"You're injured. You know how I am." Geralt isn't entirely certain he would be able to stop himself from fucking Jaskier's mouth raw if given the option, and that is not appropriate for the healing process. His thigh is still warm from the touch and he tells his body to calm down. He's gone months without having sex, half a year one time, and he could do it again. It's not his fault that he now travels with his full-time lover who never seems to get enough of it.
Geralt gives him a speculative look. "I could give you one." There's much less chance of trouble that way. Geralt can hold down Jaskier's hips so he doesn't hurt himself thrusting and give him something to feel good about. It's not a terrible idea. He'd like to make Jaskier feel some bliss since he still holds himself responsible for his pain in the first place. He sets his blade down and leans over, stroking Jaskier's hair affectionately. "Move onto your back." It's a credit to how worried Geralt is about Jaskier's injuries that he doesn't even attempt to manhandle him. He's been careful all this time letting Jaskier go his own speed.
It's not his voice but Jaskier likes knowing that Geralt truly likes something about his music, as he had told him once time ago, and that he wasn't only making that up to make him feel better. Jaskier can stick to calming tunes in his presence, and let the more enthusiastic songs for when he was an audience willing to part with their coins.
Big blue eyes blink at him calmly, not at all reacting to the raised eyebrows. Jaskier doesn't joke about sex so he isn't pulling his leg today (today!) but he retreats his hand when Geralt paws at him.
"My tongue isn't injured and you could just come on my face." Another casual statement before Jaskier gives him a small, mischievous smile. Geralt does have a point, though, he had a tendency to lose himself when they were intimate. Usually, it brought Jaskier a sense of pride and happiness. Today, given the state of his body and the fact that his ribs still ache if he bents down to put on socks, maybe it would be...unwise.
"And I'd love it but that kind of defeats the purpose of me helping you relax." Touching his hair gently is a low tactic because Jaskier is a sucker for it, and it absolutely works. He lets out a happy hum and shuffles on the bed with minimal fuss. In a matter of seconds, he's resting on the mattress with his back propped up slightly against the big feathered pillow he had been holding to keep himself warm.
Jaskier is only wearing a very long shirt that reaches his mid-thigh, so in that sense his lover has an easy access. It's one of Geralt's that he put on one day and absolutely refused to return, claiming it as his own. The only times he gives it back, it's because it no longer smells like Geralt and Jaskier wants the Witcher to wear it so he can steal it again the next day. He never says it out loud but it's obvious enough.
"Shut up," Geralt says with a pointed look. He does not need to hear about how he can come on Jaskier's face right then. It is distracting. They both know that he's never been able to hold himself back enough, and he does not want to have to explain to the healer if Jaskier pulls something or hurts himself again. Geralt would be flustered if he had to do that, and he does not like being flustered. That mischievous smile of his is endearing and he hates it (loves it) so he frowns back at him.
Geralt is dressed in loose pants and a shirt, not something he often does get comfortable in since he prefers his travel gear, but he has been sitting too much lately and tight leather did get a little uncomfortable in a stifling situation. "You're the one who said I was tense." He easily moves the shirt - his shirt, he loves that - up to Jaskier's chest and takes a look at the bruises. They are looking better and he gently kisses Jaskier's hip, moving between his legs. He doesn't need to put any of his blocky weight on him when he stays down there.
"I was feeling very calm." He decides to take his time, nosing at the base of Jaskier's cock, smelling him. "And then you distracted me." Geralt licks his balls, playing with one with his tongue while his fingers rub at the other. He doesn't often play around first but it seems wiser when Jaskier's body needs careful handling. He is not being a tease so much as keeping a watch on Jaskier to be certain he can handle this type of stimulation, kissing and licking Jaskier's cock until he's hard enough to suck on. Just the tip and still gentle. He's let Jaskier made him into a pervert, unable to keep his hands or his mouth to himself for too long when his beautiful bard is stretched out in front of him and wanting.
One hand keeps massaging his balls while the other reaches up to find Jaskier's hand. He brings it right now into his own hair; it's not a secret he's trying to keep now that he likes Jaskier's fingers in it. Especially when he's enjoying himself. He pulls off Jaskier's cock for a moment so he can use his hand to take some of the precome and spit and stroke him into something more comfortably slick. "You'll tell me if it hurts." There is no question mark because Geralt doesn't ask questions, he makes demanding statements. He doubts Jaskier will actually say anything if he's enjoying himself, but Geralt can read his body well, so he'll know.
The message given he gets to work, taking Jaskier into his hot mouth slowly, inch by inch until he's swallowed all of it with minimal trouble. Geralt can do a great many things, most of them lethal; deep throating is hardly much in comparison, but he can do that too. Since he puts a hand on Jaskier's hip to keep him from thrusting up and hurting himself, it's all Geralt now, lifting his head and bringing it back down to please his annoyingly gorgeous human.
The look on Geralt's face tells him he's done something the witcher enjoyed but that the man refuses to admit it on principle. Jaskier might be a little bit in love with that stupid grumpy expression. It helps soothe his worries because since the incident with the vampire he hasn't been able to brush off the sense of guilt, the knowledge and regret that he's keeping Geralt back from doing what he usually does. Witchers weren't meant to stay idle for long. Jaskier has to admit that the casual look is very attractive on Geralt, though, and keeping his hands to himself it's so very hard now that he's not sleeping 14 hours a day.
"I've done nothing but praise your cock for the last five minutes and you weren't listening! Pity, some of my ideas about what you could to do to me with it were very creative. Innovative, I must add, certainly not for the faint of heart."
Certainly not for him right now either. He still can't sit up properly or walk for more than a few steps for fear of disturbing his healing back and ribs. The bruises still hurt like a bitch, but now it's more of a dull ache than absolute agony and the salve Geralt has been religiously applying on him has done wonders. He's only regretful of the way they paint his skin a disgusting range of colors, from purple to greenish yellow, and that's why he wants to keep on the shirt to spare Geralt the view. The bard tells himself that he will be back to his normal self in a few more days, back to the singing that Geralt adores, and to their monster-hunting adventures.
The impossibility to do their usual activities in bed leaves him with a growing frustration. It's less because he enjoys the sex - contrary to popular belief he can go without it just fine it's only that he prefers not to - and more because he really wants to fuck the stress out of Geralt and prove the man he doesn't have to worry anymore about his well being. It's nice to know that somebody cares, though, Jaskier wasn't used to it.
This bull of a man, with the features of a carved statue of a god, hard edge and hands that could be surprisingly gentler than a mother's touch chooses to stay with him instead of considering him a lost case. Jaskier's insistence might have had something to do with it at the beginning but Geralt could have left. Could have punched him again, could have ridden Roach too fast for the bard to follow him on foot, could have yelled at him to leave. Jaskier was especially used to the later. But Geralt didn't.
And Geralt is still here, with feather-like fingers checking his ugly bruises, with a too warm mouth kissing his skin. Jaskier looks down at him with lidded eyes, his heart beating in such a way that no Witcher senses are needed to hear it thumping. He knows he's in love but this is ridiculous.
"I will." Any other times he would have said something sarcastic or witty but this is the situation where he doesn't feel like it. Geralt is honestly worried and Jaskier appreciates it so much that he doesn't want the man to think he's being mocked.
His eyelids flutter shut and his mouth goes slack when Geralt noses at his cock. In return touches the parts of the Witcher he can reach, presses a hand to the curve his cheekbone, brushes the pad of this thumb over his eyebrow and grabs a handful of the white hair to give it a tug. Bard doesn't know how to be quiet and he knows Geralt doesn't dislike it when he runs his mouth during sex, so he starts praising the Witcher.
Jaskier chants his name in between wet gasps, tells him how good his mouth feel and how gorgeous Geralt looks between his legs. He goes on and on about his dexterous hands and fingers, how Geralt's weigh feel especially good when he's holding Jaskier down in place. He praises his body, from ragged scars to the sharper theeth and the piercing golden eyes. All the things that make Geralt so different and to him more special. Jaskier even mentions his pale skin and pitch black eyes after a potion was needed to defeat a particularly nasty monster, because that was absolutely fucking hot rather than terrifying. There might be something not quite right with the way Jaskeir thinks and his kinks but he shouldn't be expecting to offer well though conversation when his cock is halfway Geralt's throat. His chest is heaving and he wants to drape one of his leg over the man's shoulders but Geralt's hand on his hip is effectively stopping him from doing exactly that.
Jaskier keens. The muscles of his stomach tense, Geralt's mouth is impossibly hot and wonderful, worthy of a million sonnets, and he tethers his lower lips between his teeth to stop a hiss from scaping. It feels so good, filling his head with static and leaving him wanting more. But his body tensing up makes the bruises ache painfully too. He moans instead, urging Geralt on, tights trembling and hips rocking up before he can catch himself and realize it's probably not a good idea.
"G...Geralt. Please. You need to...ahh, I need you in me. Do you want me to beg further? I could."
Witchers are not meant to stay idle, this is true. If he wasn't prioritizing Jaskier's health over his own itch to stop stalling, it might get to him, but so far he's been peaceful about it. The general concern about being idle is he has to be at his peak strength and skill at all times, and wasting time can put a witcher off his game, but it would take far more time before that happened. He won't allow them to leave until he thinks Jaskier can do it. It slows him down significantly, but that is a choice he already made when he decided to embrace this instead of walk away.
"You can tell me your ideas again when you're capable of doing them." Geralt has trouble accepting Jaskier's constant praise. He often mutters at him that he doesn't need flattery or compliments, and it's because he doesn't know what to say or do about it. There's a part of him that enjoys it, especially during sex, but it's not how he sees himself. He has never been good at giving the bard compliments outside of when he's in him. He thinks them, to himself. He likes his soft skin, his tousled hair, his blue eyes, his curling lips, his delicate hands. He wants to say them, but it never feels easy to him.
Jaskier's words have a special ability to spur him on. He gets more enthusiastic whenever he speaks, bobbing his head quicker as a reward, letting the words sink into him. He wants to suck him harder and holds himself back. Golden eyes dart up to Jaskier when he mentions liking his pitch black eyes, heat instantly lighting them up. The fact that Jaskier still finds him attractive at his most inhuman means something to him, but he also doubts it. Saying it is one thing, but Geralt generally doesn't like being around Jaskier - or anyone - when he looks like that. His senses get intense and his aggression is at an all-time high, so he prefers solitude until it wears off. But the way Jaskier says it succeeds in arousing him. All of it is sexy.
Geralt firmly presses his hand against Jaskier's hip when he feels him try to rock them. If he wasn't being careful of his injuries, he would have been more forceful about it. He's getting hard himself thanks to Jaskier's filthy mouth and he has every intention of sucking him dry. Maybe he'll get himself off after and let Jaskier watch. That's in his mind until the words penetrate him and he frowns. He pulls off his cock for a second and considers, stroking Jaskier instead to keep the stimulation coming.
"You know how I am." Geralt's left Jaskier with bruises and an ache walking every time they've had sex, and now he's already injured. It wouldn't help his condition. "I'll fuck you with my fingers instead." He moves off for just enough time to lean over and get the oil they need - he's resupplied them of that over this time in particular. Geralt wants to be inside of him, honestly he always wants to be inside of him, but he's uncertain of how safe that would be.
He slicks up his fingers and his touch is just as gentle here, taking it slow, going back to lathering Jaskier's cock with his tongue and month as he loosens him up. Geralt would love to be where his fingers are, his cock hard and wanting it, but he is trying to decide if he can take the chance. If he can trust himself to be gentle enough with Jaskier; the last thing he wants is to hurt him in bed. The pain they give one another is mostly sting and roughness and all in passion. He would truly hurt him in this situation.It's possible some begging could put him over the edge.
"Be sure I will. With extreme details." A shy guy in bed, Jaskier is not. He like seeing the predatory gleam in Geralt's eyes when he gets him all riled up. It's really disheartening to realize what a life full of neglect and rejection can do to someone, which is why Jaskier likes to remind Geralt that he's goddamn gorgeous and not the monster some stupid folks unjustly peg him as.
It's true that the bard doesn't always think clearly in these kinds of situations but by now Geralt should be aware that he's also shit at lying unless it's through songs. Jaskier can't, and thus doesn't usually bother, to come up with lies when his mind is clear, much less now that the flat of Geralt's tongue is pressing against his dick. He means every word he says, even about his attraction to Geralt when his power is fully unleashed during a fight, pale like a ghost and stronger than any creature who walks the earth. He's learned to keep his distance, though, for Geralt's comfort more than his own safety. The one time Jaskier saw the Witcher like that was an accident, and it felt like intruding even if he couldn't get the image out of his head for weeks. Or out of his fantasies too, if he's honest.
"I do, and I love it. But Geralt, we still could...." He's slow, too slow in his movements now that his body is still sore and Jaskier wants to curse himself from it.
The other man is already moving and the slick pressure between his cheeks makes Jaskier let out a low, drawn-out whine of pleasure. He bits the inside of his cheek, growls softly in frustration every time Geralt stills the rocking of his hips, gently but firmly. The movements of the fingers in him it's slow and perfect, it makes his face flush bright and his chest rises with his panting. And yet...it's not enough. Jaskier likes sex a whole lot but he doesn't want it to be one sided, it feels too selfish that way. Wrong. Geralt's fingers are the start of a delicious breach but it's nowhere near sufficient, to be really satisfied Jaskier wants the other man to enjoy himself too.
"Are you implying that my ass isn't worth giving it a try? That you don't want to get your thick, fat cock buried into me? I don't believe you."
Despise the challenge in the words, the younger man sounds as if he's pleading. It's really taking all of his willpower to keep himself under control and not come under the glorious friction that is Geralt mouth and hands combined. His focus is only marginally better now that he has an objective in mind.
When his hand tugs at Geralt's hair again, it is to get the man to look up at him in the eyes, to please listen. His voice is a bit unsteady but honest and filled with "Geralt. I trust you with my life. Why wouldn't I trust you with my body too? Always? It might come as news to you but we don't have to break the bed to have sex."
Geralt huff-laughs because he has no doubt at all that Jaskier will tell him all of those thoughts again only more graphic once he gets the chance. His bard's mouth is always moving and while he's excellent at ignoring him, as proven only moments ago, he does like the sound of his voice. He likes that Jaskier is direct and dirty. The only reason he succeeded in seducing Geralt was by that open desire and sexual promise. How he managed to go from seduction to relationship is a question that Geralt still can't exactly pinpoint the answer to, but it happened.
Geralt is enjoying getting those whines and moans, he loves the pink in Jaskier's cheeks when he's flushed, but there he is trying to tempt him again. He growls around Jaskier's cock; yes he wants to get his thick, fat cock buried inside of him. Obviously. He has no intention of it though, knowing if he applies enough pressure and keeps deep throating and fucking Jaskier with his fingers, his bard will be unable to stop himself from coming. That's when the hair tug succeeds in getting his attention though and his eyes meet Jaskier's from below.
It is a very effective plea and the desire in his gaze is unmistakable. Geralt knows that Jaskier trusts him in bed and that is why he is so hesitant to test his abilities. But he will never know unless he tries, and at least his fear of hurting Jaskier may give him the focus required not to lose control. He pulls off Jaskier cock and clearly the bard's won; the bard always fucking wins eventually. "We can try, but if I can't control myself, we're stopping and I'll get you off another way." That seems like a reasonable boundary to make.
Geralt has to pull his fingers out of Jaskier too since he's still wearing clothes and that isn't going to help. "Lie on your side, whichever one is most comfortable." Geralt is far too heavy to think it best for him to try to be on top, and Jaskier doesn't have the agility right then to be on top. It'll be the easiest way to keep them both contained. Geralt strips his clothes off and comes back to the bed, waiting until Jaskier's settled comfortably.
He moves up behind Jaskier and snuggles the front of his body along Jaskier's back, running his slick fingers over the bard's body before moving back between his legs and continuing his slow stretching. He puts his leg between Jaskier's to encourage him to rest his top leg on top of Geralt's thick thigh and to relax. He can put himself in Geralt's hands, they both have to believe that now. Geralt kisses Jaskier's cheek and then his neck, nuzzling it but no bites now. Only soft kisses and little licks. There's something very intimate and sweet about the way he envelopes Jaskier with his bigger body, holding the bard as best as he can.
Geralt usually feels better about being vulnerable when he doesn't have to look at Jaskier's eyes, giving himself the freedom to be open. He sucks on Jaskier's ear and opens him to three fingers. "I like your eyes." Quietly murmured into his ear. Jaskier says fantastically sexy and complimentary things to Geralt all the time, so this is him awkwardly attempting the same. "And your smile." He moves his hips forward so Jaskier can feel his hard cock nearby. "I like your filthy mouth and being inside of you."
Geralt pulls his fingers out to slick up his cock. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, feeling the power and want thrumming through his veins, the need to fuck, and pushes it away. Instead he buries his nose into Jaskier's neck and fills his nose with his scent to remind him what he's doing, nudging Jaskier's entrance with his cock and moving as slowly as he can into him. Usually he snaps forward as quickly as he can. This time it is excruciatingly slow and he groans into Jaskier's skin, the movement of his hips so gentle as he goes inch by inch until he's fully inside of him.
Geralt takes a moment then to remember to breathe, an arm around Jaskier, holding him instead of moving.
Amusing someone like Geralt is a rare occurrence and Jaskier treasures the occasions in which that happens, committing the sound of his laugh, or scoffing, to memory. If asked, Jaskier wouldn't be able to pint point when the change happened either. He had a thing for Geralt for more than a decade now, a crush that he probably hid pretty badly, and at the beginning had only considered himself lucky that Geralt deemed him a worthy sex partner. Then things escalated from there, as they always with then they were involved.
The sort of agreeing-sort-of-annoyed grunt he gets out of Geralt is the first sign that he might actually win this argument. And hell if the vibrations aren't sending little shocks of pleasure up Jaskier's cock. Geralt grunting while he has him in his mouth is downright illegal. When the man finally gives in, something eases on Jackie's stomach, like a knot of nerves is finally unraveling. They can do this and he can prove Geralt he has to worry no more, he's fine, wonderful, the bruising and paints bearable. But of course, Geralt has to still be contrary about his own release.
"If we have to stop, then we get each other off some other way. I'm not about to leave you with blue balls." Geralt can call it performer's pride if he so wishes, Jaskier still doesn't like the idea that his pleasure has to be somehow more significant than his partner's.
The abrd gets a bit distracted watching Geralt undress but once he snaps out of it, he moves as requested, considering his own body and its current limitations. His shirt is still on for no other reason that he doesn't want Geralt to see the rest of his bruises and feel worse or change his mind. Jaskier is holding up the bunched fabric of the front in a way that shows his bellybutton and hips, loose enough that Geralt can sneak a hand under it to touch him once Jaskier lies down on his left side.
The shirt is tailored to fit Geralt's frame, not for a much slender one, and the wide collar leaves the curve of Jaskier's neck and shoulder uncovered. Perfect for the kisses and licks, and the bard is enjoying those very much if the little soft noises he's making in return is any indication. Geralt seems to be more comfortable showing affection when Jaskier can't see his face properly and he has come to understand that, focusing only on appreciating the safety and comfort that his lover offers.
He purrs and arches like a cat at the solid warmth against his back that is Geralt, grinding his ass against the man's front and ignoring the little prickles of pain in his stomach as he does so. It's hardly unbearable and much more rewarding now that Geralt is oh so sweetly complying with his wishes. He shifts his leg and its' surprisingly comfortable to rest it against Geralt's strong thigh, even if it makes a brief blush creep up his cheekbones at how exposed it makes him feel.
The praise is s unexpected that Jaskier trembles and gasps, body clenching around Geralt's fingers inside of him. It might not sounds all that impressive to others, simple statements about his eyes and body. but to Jaskier they're sweeter than any kind of embellished poetry. Geralt is trying and sure as hell succeeding, and Jaskier's brain is a mess of endorphines and pleasant thoughts.
"Geralt..." He tries to hide the faint tremor in his voice, the touched look on his blue eyes that betray how much this means to him. He doesn't do a very good job. Geralt's hardness pressing between his cheeks makes him chuckle, the tension in his body easing. "Then get your cock in me, you beautiful bastard."
He doesn't babble this time, doesn't start talking filth because he knows the reaction it gets him from Geralt and, since they're trying to take things slow, getting him even more hot and bothered would torture rather than pleasant. Jaskier shows his appreciation in other ways, reaching back to scratch Geralt's thigh with his nails, moaning and arching his neck to expose his nape and invite the Witcher to mark him. Strong bites might be uncomfortable but Jaskier would never say no to hickeys, it's the kind of bruise he likes to have.
"Fuck, aah...you feel so good." The brunette's breath hitches as Geralt presses into him in slow movements. The Witcher is being so careful that his mind doesn't know what to do about it, whole body singing in delight. After Geralt bottoms out, Jaskier's hand slides over his own, lacing their fingers together. It's not conducive to the other man touching him more, but it's mean to help ground Geralt and Jaskier likes having an excuse to hold hands. It's his guilty pleasure.
After a few long seconds, Jaskier rocks his hips back, slowly, trying not to add more pressure to his strained muscles but wanting to bring his partner some pleasure as well. He whimpers softly, letting his body twitch and rock into the full length of Geralt's girth, feeling so stretched full and complete he could cry. It's not the best position to do it but the younger man turns his face to nuzzle Geralt under the jawline and brushes his lips against the tempting mouth.
Jaskier hid his crush well actually, at least for a time. Geralt could smell his attraction and feel his eyes on him, yes, but the bard liked sex and people so it seemed like generic appreciation rather than genuine lust. Leading up to Jaskier's seduction, the few months before, Geralt finally started to clue in that it was true desire and mulled it over for a time. Jaskier caught him at the right time but he thinks them having sex was inevitable. They spent all their time together on the road, often without the easy ability to find other partners, and the attraction was mutual. He doesn't regret it now, but Geralt thinks it's possible he might when it's over, at least until his heart mends. The bard will leave quite the scar on it.
Geralt snorts when Jaskier seems indignant about making certain they both enjoy it. "I was going to come on you after, no blue balls were happening." He had a very nice picture in his mind of blowing Jaskier's mind and looking at his flushed and blissed out face as he touched himself. It was also a good option, but he cannot deny that being inside of Jaskier is much, much better. It's nearly an addiction for him, some type of magnetic pull.
Jaskier's purr is music in itself and Geralt finds that he likes this. He can feel every part of Jaskier touching him, cradled in Geralt's arms. He is slightly less comfortable with people attempting to hold him, he ends up feeling boxed in. He smiles at that small blush of his, chuckling low near Jaskier's ear. "I like that you blush despite us fucking all the damn time." He doesn't know why it happens but it makes something warm in him each time. He knows that Jaskier is completely at his mercy, exposed and vulnerable, and that is a turn on for him. He's glad Jaskier trusts him.
It's appreciated that he doesn't tempt or taunt Geralt the way he usually does, as much as the witcher loves hearing it, because he is going to be struggling already. Every time Jaskier talks like that it makes Geralt want to make him scream, so this is for the best. He hisses when Jaskier's nails touch his thigh and he contains himself enough to take that offer and bite the exposed neck. He wants to go hard but nibbles instead, sucking a nice hickey in the place of where teeth marks typically are.
"Yes," Geralt agrees, swallowing hard. He feels good. They both feel good. He thinks he would probably be content to stay inside Jaskier like this for hours if either of them were capable of it, but he'd never be able to hold out. He always wants more out of his bard. Jaskier is hot and tight but it's in a strangely comforting way at the moment, not feeling his urgent need to break him. Yet. He blinks at the hand holding his, which is not helpful, but he gives Jaskier's fingers a gentle squeeze so he acknowledges what is meant by it. He unlaces their hands though as he needs his arm free for this.
One reason is to put his hand on his hip warningly. "Careful." Geralt's body loves it, moaning from Jaskier's movements, but his mind is trying to keep them both in check. "Patience." That's for them both. Finally Geralt moves, his hips slow as he slides out of Jaskier and back in, finding something very graceful in the motion between them. Jaskier is slick and welcoming and he keeps his thrusts long and thorough, so that every one of them has Geralt's full long length going in and out. This is love making, not sex, although he doesn't know what the term really means so he wouldn't use it. Geralt can feel the strain in his limbs now, in his arms, his senses full of Jaskier and his lust.
He lifts and tilts his head to make it easier for them to kiss although it isn't that comfortable, but Geralt puts his hunger into his kiss since he's containing it everywhere else. His tongue plunges into Jaskier's mouth, demanding and aggressive, a contrast to the pliant sweetness of the rest of him. It takes the edge off. Geralt groans out of it to breathe and moves his arm around Jaskier's middle, holding him tight and close. He moves them in a steady rock as old as time. "Fuck, I always want to be in you, Jaskier." He bites his earlobe. "Every time I look at you I want you," softly rasped into his ear.
If Geralt could smell his attraction before when Jaskier had tried to keep himself in check, nowadays he might be drowning on that scent. Something sweeter than just lust. It might have started with a simpler attraction, Geralt was a fascinating man and far more charming he might believe, getting a crush on him was inevitable, Jaskier liked people easily. And then it went deeper, Yennefer presence made him far more on edge than any crush would explain and it hurt seeing Geralt with others. What they have now is new, even for Jaskier.
So, of course, he's going to be indignant about keeping things fair and pleasant for everyone. Geralt words placate him enough and he's distracted by the shared touches, worry dissipating quickly into something far more sweeter. Geralt's breath close to his ear makes him shudder, a small tremor starting at the base of his neck and running down his spine, making him feel a little like prey. He loves it.
"It's not blushing! I'm just f...feeling a bit hot. It's all." Of course, mentioning it only makes a darker shade of pink bloom on Jaskier's cheekbones.
He can't tell why it happens either, gods know they had done plenty of filthier things. He thinks this new kind of self-consciousness might have started after they talked things out. Because once they finally admitted that they were feelings mixed with spectacular good sex, suddenly Jaskier worried about what Geralt might think about his experiences and reputation due to his formers flings. He knows Geralt, he has to remind himself of that. And the man he knows wouldn't care about his reputation, his past, or his many flaws. Not here, not now.
Jaskier lets out an impatient breathy whine when Geralt latches onto his neck to leave a pretty mark there, making it clear that having to go slow isn't easy for him either. His hand grips the sheets when Geralt let's go of his hand to steady him, Jaskier knows that otherwise he would try to claw at him again and that might break the threshold they're both trying not to cross. The bard is about to tell him to forget patience because he’s painfully hard thanks to Geralt's hands and mouth, despite having spent the past days being spent in miserable pain, and he's really at his limit already. He bites his lower lip instead, trying not to complain and sound as embarrassingly needy as he feels when Geralt finally starts moving.
Pleasure sparks up through his body in hot bursts and Jaskier’s brain sort of fizzles spectacularly. It’s good, and then Geralt picks a rhythm and it’s better. It has Jaskier groaning in seconds, long, low and deep, his thigh trembling with a tension that only eases when Geralt drives into him. He’s leaking steadily in unto the sheets, letting out punched out little gasps every time Geralt pulls in slowly and then withdraws to repeat the movement, pressure building in his belly.
Geralt kisses him fiercely, possessively, mouth hot like a brand, and the insistent press of tongue is debilitating. The Witcher bites his ear and says such lovely, raw and honest things that Jaskier can only whimper softly back, submissive, pressing himself into his body. If he tries to speak he will be foolish enough to tell Geralt that he loves him. There will be bruises into the side of Jaskier’s neck and reddened skin from the scrape of Geralt's stubble against his pale skin, and he just moans breathless, welcoming every evidence that makes him feel like be belong to the other man.
Jaskier tries to hold himself back, really tries. He hasn't even sneaked a hand between his legs to paw at his cock for that very reason but the pleasure coursing through him and the tiredness of his body makes it a lost battle. He doesn't quite realize it's happening at first, it's like leaning over the edge of a cliff and then suddenly toppling over. Jaskier comes almost silently, shuddering all over, heat all the way down to his toes. His mouth falls open around a gasp, as though the air has been punched out of him as his toes flex and curl and his muscles clench impossibly thigh around Geralt's cock like a vice-grip.
The pleasure feels different too: slow, steady and unrelenting. Not like the fast, building up tempo he's come to associate with Geralt plowing into him until they're both gasping for air. It feels like he's being unraveled at the seams. Jaskier is sure this is the quickest Geralt has made him come. It would be terribly embarrassing if it didn't feel so damn good. He goes utterly boneless against him, his own pulse very loud in his ears. His voice is a low, a satisfied rumble, but there's still a desperate edge to it.
"Don't stop, please...don't...." There’s something nakedly honest in the way he pleads like he's not sure what he's asking for but it needs to be said. Jaskier gazes at Geralt over his shoulder from underneath long, dark lashes. He clenches helplessly around him and the over-stimulation is bordering on painful but it's also so good. His body can't decide what it wants, first pushing back against Geralt's cock and seeking the pressure, then twitching away as though it’s too much. He doesn't want this to be over. He wants to keep Geralt in him forever. To come again. He wants for things to never end, maybe.
"I like the blushing," he says again, clearly. Reminding him that it was a compliment so he should accept it. It's a strangely innocent reaction to what's between them. Then again, Geralt was slightly nervous, even a bit bashful, when he let Jaskier take him. He told himself it'd been because it was a long time since he did that and he was making himself too vulnerable. That was true, but it was mostly because it was intimate. Real. They couldn't deny what was between them. He stopped wanting to. With Jaskier in his arms now, he can only be glad.
If he knew Jaskier was concerned about his reputation and Geralt's opinion of it, he'd probably laugh. While Geralt got frustrated in the past, before they were lovers, that Jaskier got into so much trouble from his dick, it didn't change his opinion of him. Who is he to judge anyone else on decisions like that? Besides, Jaskier's only his now. No one else gets to have him, at least as long as this goes on.
Jaskier's very into this and that makes Geralt into it. He is doing better with his control and coming to enjoy the sweet and slow rock of their bodies together. It feels nice. It feels important, for some reason. Geralt isn't entirely certain despite that he can come. He's so used to his style of sex that requires Jaskier to be completely submissive and at his mercy, or the stimulus of Jaskier inside of him doing the same thing. But there is submission in this too and release and trust. He is surprised when he feels the bard rising to the peak so quickly but not at all sorry for it. It's a credit to his skill ... and also a question mark about whether he wants this more often. Whether Geralt's style of wild fucking is the answer to every question between them. A thought for a time he needs to think.
Instead he sucks in a breath when Jaskier tightens around him and he growls. "That's it. I like when you let go." See, he is telling him all kinds of details about what he likes at the moment. Geralt truly is trying. He does almost stop though out of concern for Jaskier's over-stimulation. His body does not want him to stop, hates the very concept of stopping. Not when Jaskier is hot and willing. He wants to put him on his knees, on his back, but he stays restrained. He thinks of Jaskier nearly dying. He thinks of how much he cannot deal with that. He is grateful for the bard in his arms, wanting him, needing him.
"It's too much, I promise, another time." He says it through gritted teeth. It's not as if Geralt wants to get out of him; he wants to own his ass so thoroughly he'll need Geralt's salve for another reason. But Jaskier knows how Geralt feels about giving pain in the bedroom, at least true pain. Geralt's body screams at him when he slips out of Jaskier and gently pulls him onto his back, looking down at him. Geralt sits back on his thighs and golden eyes stay firmly on his bard's face. "Look at me," he rasps. He usually gets hesitant about eye contact, but not when they're in the middle of passion instead of vulnerability.
Geralt puts his hand on his thick cock, taking in every part of Jaskier's blissful face. There is no doubt in the way he sees him, in how intense his hand starts moving on himself, that he is enjoying this. Just like sex doesn't always have to be rough between them, it also doesn't need to end with him coming in Jaskier. Geralt is putting himself on display. His broad chest, his ridiculous muscles, his silver hair tousled and slightly sweaty from their sex. He looks powerful as he thrusts into his hand, moving to still Jaskier before he can try to lend a hand. This is what he wants. Jaskier to see him, to admire him. Know that his scarred and strong body is his.
It's erotic to him as he jerks himself off fiercely and fast, lust flooding his gaze, breath catching a little. "You said I could come on your pretty face. I'm going to." It seems like a fair warning and he moves up on the bed, straddling Jaskier's body to get closer. He'll warn him again, before, but now he rocks his hips into his hand, making a little bit of a show of it which is something he is only starting now to tentatively try. He will clean Jaskier off after, as he always does, but for now he lets himself just be caught in pleasure, eyes heavy-lidded.
"Close your eyes." He wants him to look at him, definitely, but he doesn't want to blind him. Seeing Jaskier's face covered in him will be more than good enough. Geralt can't hold back anymore and lets the tension release in him, gripping his cock and aiming true onto Geralt's flushed face. He groans through it, spurting more than usual, unable to stop from watching. It's erotic for him in a new way. He's marking Jaskier so completely in this moment. Coating him in his claim. Geralt tingles all over.
Jaskier lets out a small 'oh' of realization, then smiles at Geralt's words. He is so used to teasing and mockery that his brain gets defensive even before the true meaning of what Geralt had said really registered. It makes him feel all warm inside and the pinkness in his cheeks remains for a minute longer, the reasons for it completely different than before.
He's impressed with Geralt's patience, how the touches are just as meaningful as ever -if no more- but never too demanding. Never strong enough to stress out Jaskier's battered body. It's no wonder if leaves him so blissed out. His constant demands for attention are but a thin veil to mask that what Jaskier really craves with desperation is this kind of faithful affection. He knows he finished too soon for the other man, who's stamina can rival a god, and hot embarrassment sits on his belly and colors his high cheekbones. But then Geralt’s reassuring him in that absurdly hot growly voice of his, and it’s sort of perfect, and at that moment Jaskier could marry him.
"It's not fair that you're so stupidly charming in top of being such a great fuck." It's bold, and fucking isn't the right way to describe what they did, but Jaskier's veiled compliment is raw with honesty, his tone full of warmth.
When the other man gently shifts them and slides off of him, it prompts a whimper from Jaskier that sounds like a miserable plea. It's a request, begging Geralt to stay even if he knows it's useless. The Witcher is too considerate, often knows what's better for him even when the bard doesn't. Jaskier loves him all the more for it, for that side of Geralt that reprimands or denies him for his well being.
He follows the demand with eagerness, blue eyes staring into golden ones. Jaskier looks wrecked, red bitten lips and mouth parted in a gasp, eyes still glassy with pleasure and hair in disarray. Geralt is no less of a wonderful sight either. His fist wrapped around his cock, energy barely contained, muscles on display...if Jaskier had any strength left he would be climbing him, eating him whole, letting himself be devoured in turn in all sort of ways. His fingers itch, dying to reach out and touch but he stays put as Geralt wants him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You're gorgeous, I told you before, didn't I? Marred skin and stubble that leaves me with beard burn and everything. I often ask myself how I got to lucky." Something that can only be described as love kindles in Jaskier's gaze.
His spent cock gives a twitch, his blood runs hotter, and Jaskier has to stop himself from nodding frantically at the last order. He just moans in encouragement and then swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, before lifting his chin and closing his eyes. Jaskier's wet lips parts and he waits obediently, submissive, his face tilted toward Geralt and his throat on display. All that he cares about right now is Geralt getting himself off.
He catches the first shot on his tongue. Thick, white stripes land on his cheeks, dribble down his jawline, speckle his neck, and some end all the way up into the locks of his hair. Once it's over, Geralt's cum pools on Jaskier's tongue and the young man sweeps a finger over the mess on his cheek to bring more into his mouth before visibly swallowing. After a shuddering breath, Jaskier scoots forward and takes the generous length into his mouth. His ribs protest at the movement yet he pays them no mind and hums around the cockhead, then moves downward, licking Geralt clean.
Geralt can see the value in something this slow and patient between them. Sometimes his mindless desire to split the bard apart doesn't communicate the full breadth of his want for him. And in the past that was what he wanted; he didn't want Jaskier to be led on or for himself to weaken to their building feelings. Now they are on the other side of it, and a part of him is curious to try the types of tender sex that he's never allowed himself before. It may not be his instinct, but that doesn't mean he rejects it entirely. Perhaps a suggestion for another day, when he is less concerned at all times about Jaskier's injured body.
Geralt knows they will have other chances to fuck ahead of them, so his instinct to protect Jaskier from himself is also giving him something he wants. Such a vision. Jaskier looks fucking delectable like that. Geralt's nostrils flare and he breathes in the scent of his bard's come and bliss. He could absolutely get off solely on staring at Jaskier's face this way. He is typically not someone who shows off, it doesn't come naturally to him. He doesn't put himself on display like this ever. Only Jaskier makes him feel this attractive and sexual, after decades of being seen as other.
He feels a strange sort of flutter in his heart at the compliment, stroking himself a little faster to display that he enjoyed it. His mind wants to remind Jaskier that he is far from lucky considering he is in this bed because of his mistake, but his heart and body react positively and needy. Geralt sees something in Jaskier's eyes that he doesn't recognize; no one's looked at him with love before. He assumes it's a more affectionate type of lust. Close enough.
"Fuck," Geralt murmurs when Jaskier lifts his face, closes his eyes. "Look at you. So fucking eager." It may be one of the sexiest things he has ever seen, flat out. The bard truly wants it, and that feral part of him snarls in pleasure. That newest red mark he made it very fresh on Jaskier's throat and if he wasn't already about to reach his peak, all of those details would have done it immediately. He groans through it, swearing several more times when Jaskier purposely puts more of him in his mouth. The bard is a damned incubus. A creature of sex and temptation.
He only proves that when he moves forward and Geralt isn't fast enough to stop him, too slow and heavy with his orgasm to warn him, and he scrambles with a startled hand into Jaskier's hair. Geralt doesn't react that much to overstimulation; he feels it but as someone who likes the sting, it is fine for him. Still! "Jaskier," he rumbles, a mixture of warning and pleasure from it, as he's licked clean and he shivers. But he uses his grip in Jaskier's hair to push him back after a few seconds, his mind coming back to him. "Lie back. You're insatiable."
Geralt is slightly unsteady as he pulls back and moves off the bed, doing his ritual as per usual to show his care, but this time it requires a wet rag which he had to wash Jaskier off regardless of their inability to keep their hands to themselves. He comes back and lets himself enjoy the view for just a few seconds. "Don't argue with me," Geralt murmurs before Jaskier can start. "I am not explaining to the healer when he returns why you look like this." The witcher would sincerely rather fight another ten vampires than have that conversation with a relative stranger. He very patiently and gently washes Jaskier's face off, and there's something almost soft in his golden eyes, admiring Jaskier's pretty features along the way.
Features that were slack in unconsciousness and then twisted in pain, because of Geralt's mistakes. His expression turns serious at the thought and he cleans off Jaskier's stomach where some of his own come was from earlier. He gently pulls his shirt that Jaskier's wearing back down over him. Geralt's quiet, setting the cloth to the side, and he doesn't look at his lover as his emotions wave through him. "I'm not ready to lose you," he says, a version of a silent prayer he said earlier in his mind but now voices out loud. He feels timid about it, it's such a damned sentimental thing to say. He isn't supposed to be this weak; loss is a part of his life. Loss and violence and isolation.
Golden eyes finally flick to Jaskier. "I want to train you in general self-defense." It will give him some small peace of mind. It wouldn't help him against the vampire, but perhaps in other ways it would keep him alive.
The hand on his head stills him but since having his head stroked is something Jaskier enjoys very much, it's not exactly encouraging him from stopping. He gets stupidly turned on by the way Geralt swears during sex, sue him, he couldn't resist getting his mouth on the man. The flat of his tongue presses in one last long strip from base to head before Geralt coaches him away from his cock.
"Dunno, feeling pretty sated right now..." Jaskier smiles at him, warm and teasing. He's glad when Geralt turns his back on him and misses the look of amused satisfaction the bard is sporting after seeing his lover walk around in somewhat unsteady legs. Good to know he isn't the only one with weak knees after a good round of sex. Feeling Geralt shiver under his hands is a different kind of pleasure, he can't get enough of it, but this is one of the moments he likes best, when they're calm and satisfied and the witcher is doting on him.
"You spoil me." The younger man announces, doing absolutely nothing to stop said spoiling. "Tell the man that blinding orgasms accelerate healing, he might believe it from a Witcher."
He practically purrs as he closes his eyes again and let's Geralt clean the evidence of their lovemaking from his skin. There's a rather obscene amount of come painting him and he doesn't regret it one bit. In turn, once his face is clean, Jaskier reaches out and runs his hand trough the silver-white strands, untangles any knots that he might have caused when tugging at Geralt's hair. It's intimate, like before but different, in a way that makes something flutter inside of him.
Body clean and mind at rest, Jaskier is wholly unprepared by the sudden onslaught of honesty that drops from Geralt's lips. He blinks, blue eyes wide for a long second, and then cups the Witcher's chin to turn his face gently and leans in to kiss him on the mouth. It's no more than a press of lips but reassuring and firm.
"I'm not ready to leave you either. Not today, or next year, or ever. I can't, I wouldn't." Not on purpose or willingly. Death will have to tear them apart kicking and screaming.
"You know I'm not good with weapons." Jaskier would like to keep anything with a pointy end very, very far away from his person, even if he's the one holding the sword. He isn't saying no, though, catching on Geralt's serious look. If doing this will make the Witcher feel more at ease then so be it, Jaskier's only worry is that it will end in an embarrassing disaster. He doesn't want Geralt thinking about how much of a useless travel companion he makes but it's going to be inevitable. "Don't complain if I keep dropping them or I stab my own foot."
The bard looks down at himself, the shirt reeks of sex, of them both, and it makes him grin. He wants to lie down and press his body properly against Geralt, though, and after a pondering moment of doubt, the shirt is pulled over his head. He folds it carefully and then places it on the floor by the bed, he will take care of it later.
"Come 'ere before you get cold." The next moment, his arms are reaching out to Geralt, trying to get him to lie down next to him so Jaskier can curl on his chest and run his hand through the white hair, massaging the scalp.
If they weren't so compatible in bed this might have ended peacefully enough long ago, or awkwardly but overall peacefully, but damned if they weren't alarmingly in sync with sexual desires. Geralt hasn't had to communicate his favorite things; Jaskier seems to know. He's perfectly submissive and playful and surrenders beautifully. But he can be rough, biting and scratching and slapping, and it's as if someone created the perfect bedmate for him in an annoying and precious package. It's always good between them. Better than good.
"He wouldn't believe it. And also scold me for straining you." Geralt has no excuse outside of look at him. He understands now why so many people along their journey had trouble saying no to the bard. He is properly whipped at this point, not that he'd ever admit as much. He doesn't reply to the spoiling comment because it might please him to hear that. He likes spoiling Jaskier, if that's what he's doing.
Geralt is reluctant to look toward Jaskier when he touches his chin, but the kiss settles him. He reaches over to pull the bard into another kiss after his reassurance, this time stronger, almost a little desperate. There is no 'ever' for them. Eventually, Jaskier can and will, if Geralt doesn't push him away intentionally by then. It's just too early for it. They haven't had enough time; most of Jaskier's life, yes, but as his companion, not as his partner.
"Don't make promises," he says quietly. They couldn't keep them. He can't keep them. Jaskier is alive for today and he will stay out of harm for a time, until Geralt's paranoia is less present. He isn't used to being so honest about his fears, but he's been making progress with his bard. Trying. He wonders what Vesemir would say about all of this, if he knew. Geralt thinks he'd warn him just as Yennefer did, but understand it wouldn't change his prized pupil's stubbornness.
Geralt snorts, amused. "I know you're not good with weapons." He's seen Jaskier's rare attempt at handling them or himself, and it's always been bad. It won't be easy and he has to train new muscles, but it's the bare minimum. He can do that. He wipes his hands off on the cloth too; they're still a mess but a fixable mess. "The purpose will be to buy you a little time if I am not ten feet away when you get in trouble. I'm not making you a warrior." He likes his soft bard exactly as he is and coming to his rescue apparently was a kink he wasn't aware he had until he saw it for what it was. If teaching Jaskier how to punch or avoid being punched will spare him some trouble, it'll be worth it.
He's satisfied in body and now in mind that he's gotten his way and he raises an eyebrow when Jaskier takes the shirt off. He smiles, indulgently, warmly, and willingly gets pulled into an embrace. "You keep using being cold as an excuse for this." Geralt sees right through it but he settles the blanket nicely over them, especially tucking it around his partner. "Do you want us to have more sex like that in the future?" He runs his fingers along Jaskier's side. He doesn't have an opinion really, he's far more curious about the bard's. He seemed to like the tenderness a great deal.
This kind of match isn't something Jaskier has experienced often. It turns out that spending half your life with someone, even if it hasn't been anything sexual back then, does give some insight on what to expect, what to hope for, and how to make your partner comfortable. Jaskier submits to Geralt with enthusiasm, pliant and playful, because Geralt has earned his submission. He has given him enough trust him, to put his life, his body and his heart in his hands. The last option is the most dangerous one and might end in pain int he future but that's that. The future.
He laughes at the idea of the healer making an attempt to scold the big bad witcher to keep his patient safe. How sweet. Very few people had wanted to take care of Jaskier in his life, much less unprompted, and Geralt doing that for him fills and emptiness he hadn't even realized was there in the first place. He doesn't consider the other man to be whipped, or wrapped around his little finger. They're good for each other and Jaskier believes that their relationship works with mutual respect, no matter what outsiders like the healer might think.
Before Jaskier's brain can focus, Geralt's mouth is fit over his. It's firm and deep, making his knees buckle hard, the kiss saying all the things they can't voice. Jaskier moans softly into it, his body pressed flush against a much bigger one. He relaxes into Geralt's desperate embrace, giving himself to it, to him. Geralt's voice makes something ache in his bones, none of them is used to see the Witcher's feelings and fear on display and Jaskier regrets it had taken a scare to bring them into the light. He doesn't say any more promises, doesn't say that he won't make them in the future either, but kisses him one last time, still soft like the brush of butterfly wings over the man's lips.
"I don't have the stomach for fights that involve me, that's why running was invented. It's always much more pleasant to watch you in action. So strong and brave." Jaskier rubs his cheek against Geralt's chest and if he's purposely stroking the mans' ego a bit, it's well deserved. He does like to watch Geralt fight even if the outcome worries him more now than it did a decade ago. He's learned that Witchers aren't invincible, just like that they do have feelings. But if Geralt has a savior kink, Jaskier returns it, enoying his role as the one who needs rescue.
"You're also setting yourself up to an unholy amount of swords pun and innuendos, I warn you in advance." Jaskier runs his free hand gently over Geralt's ribs and scars as though he is trying to count them.
"Hush, you. " How dare Geralt to call him out on it, as if the cold excuse didn't work for both of them. If the Witcher wanted to sleep in his own bed, or rather try to catch some hours of rest, the gods' know that Jaskier wouldn't be able to stop. Being together is a much pleasant deal and the bard hums, pleased, when a hand slides up and down his flank and he settles on Geralt's chest, carefully as to not jostle his bruised ribs.
"I always want us to have more sex as a general wish, not like we don't have plenty. But...ah, maybe? If you take pleasure in it too?"
He looks up at Geralt's face, voice soft and only carrying a hint of uncertainty. The bard enjoys sex of all kinds but, from time to time, fucking in a way that doesn't leave him stumbling the next morning has its advantages.
Gentle sex is sweeter in a way he can't put in words. He always feels cherished by Geralt but when they go slow in brings a different kind of fulfillment. The way Geralt had rolled his hips, grinding down against him in slow but powerful ways, making him see stars, losing themselves in one another. It had felt...like love. But what he wants doesn't matter if Geralt's heart isn't into it, if it makes him uneasy.
Geralt's never truly had this before; he and Yennefer are very different and their relationship has layers upon layers, the way two ageless monsters with a lot of baggage can. Jaskier is a safe haven, a cool drink of water after nearly dying of thirst. He accepts Geralt, supports him, sees him in ways the witcher himself never can. He balks against too much positivity, as if he wants to shake the bard and demand he see what a ruin he truly is. But instead he accepts this balm to his injured soul for as long as he has it. Before he inevitably destroys it, whether his excuse is to protect Jaskier or truthfully to protect himself. But they have time. There has to be enough time before that.
If Jaskier wasn't injured Geralt might have pulled him up on top of him, ravished his body with his mouth and his hands until the bard was gasping all over again. Instead he stays tender and allows himself the ability to get comfort from his embrace and not sex. Geralt keeps him close, only saying Hmmmm in response to that comment about him in action. He doesn't think of himself as pleasant looking at all when he's in the middle of violence, even if he feels at his most honest when he is. When everything else is shucked off him outside of the need for blood and chaos, letting his senses and instincts take full control. Being a person is more difficult than being a killer.
"You won't always be able to run. I will give you minimal reasons to accidentally stab yourself." Geralt rumbles contently when Jaskier rubs his cheek against his chest. His own heartbeat is very slow underneath Jaskier's ear and his skin is rough when it's not torn and scarred. He is typically asked about his scars, but they're with one-off lovers who don't know all his stories. Jaskier knows more of them than most, but the oldest and most ugly are from before his time. "You don't need excuses for innuendo."
Geralt hasn't slept in a separate bed since they made this official, and rarely separate before that too. He never thought himself a snuggler and he would coldly deny it if it was brought up. But he likes feeling Jaskier breathe next to him. He likes when the bard trails those soft fingers of his over his skin. He's amused at the implication they aren't already having more than enough sex, but he gets smug about it too. It's a new feeling, being wanted like this, and he is hungry for it. That might be truly what his constant hunger for Jaskier is about; it's not always about desiring him, sometimes it's only about being desired.
"Mmm?" He can hear the uncertainty in Jaskier's voice in the answer and he glances down, catching blue eyes with curious gold. Geralt lifts his hand to run fingers through Jaskier's hair. He's never had this much either, the aftermath, the level of comfort that comes from relationships. But not enough comfort, apparently, and he frowns. "If I didn't enjoy it, you would know." The lack of staying hard or coming all over him would be a pretty blatant clue. He taps a finger under Jaskier's chin, keeping his face tilted up toward him. He still smells like his come. If Geralt leaned down and licked his skin, he would taste it, no matter how thoroughly he tried to wipe him.
"You can ask me for anything you want in bed, just as I do." Although it is less asking in Geralt's case and more demanding, but he has no qualms with telling Jaskier what he wants. Usually Jaskier only asks for things when Geralt asks him directly, and he assumed that was out of natural submission. But now he wonders if the bard thinks he can't or doesn't want to risk a rejection, which is fair. He slides his finger in a caress along Jaskier's soft cheek. "Try it out." Geralt's mouth curves at one edge as his finger moves over Jaskier's lower lip. "Tell me you want me to fuck you gently more often."
He would be honored if he knew that Geralt held him in such high regard. Jaskier might have a list of past lovers longer than his arm but he hasn't followed them across the continent for years and they sure didn't pay him all that much attention beyond uncomplicated affairs. Even the Countess de Stael got bored of him and Jaskier had been longing for something more meaningful since then, even if he didn't think he would have the chance.
He's a lowly bard, with a real name attached to nobility that doesn't mean much of anything and does't represent him, and generally gets as much as respect as a flat-chested barmaid. Despite being a viscount he isn't exactly swimming in coin and he can't offer Geralt much in terms of combat support. Okay, anything, he can't offer anything in terms of combat support. Just some insight during battles, and Geralt generally doesn't approve of it. They both are waiting for the inevitable, The Witcher think it will be death that will separate them, Jaskier fears it will be something far more mundane. Geralt will get tired of him, angry with him, and cast him away. As it's always has been.
The night is still young and Jaskier is far from done with his wolf. He wants some rest now to ease the pain in his muscles but chances are that he would try to coach Geralt into another round or wake him up with Jaskier's mouth wrapped around the man's cock. Sure, his ribs will protest but on the other side, blinding orgasms can't be bad for the health, as he had already told Geralt.
"You'll be a great teacher, I'm sure. Maybe I could handle some sort of dagger? A sword might be too heavy for me and I can't carry it along with my lute, it ruins the whole charming bard look."
Lying next to his lover brings a different kind of satisfaction than sex, an even deeper one if Jaskier is honest with himself, and a cat-like smile spreads on his face at hearing Geralt rumble. The bard has always found the slower heartbeat to be soothing rather than weird, and often tries to match the rhythm of his breath with it. Jaskier likes to touch the scars, not because he's indifferent to how often and how deeply Geralt had been hurt in the past, but because they're part of who Geralt is and he isn't disgusted by them. He doesn't need to ask how they came to be either.
Geralt buries his face on Geralt's chest and huffs a laugh against the skin when the other man mentions innuendo. "Guilty as charged. Should I start waxing poetic about your long, hard, silver sword? Maybe mention my skills at polishing it? Or about being your scabbard?"
Delicate lips place a kiss on Geralt's chest, over his heart, and only then Jaskier stops being a little shit. The Witcher can deny being a cuddler until his dying day, instead of bringing it up Jaskier will find excuses to get all over Geralt's space and curl around his big, warm body. The comforting hand on his hair makes Jaskier lean into it and then look up at Geralt with soft eyes after the light tap to his chin. A year ago would have been impossible for him to believe they would be having this kind of conversation, he would have laughed bitterly at the idea of it, it would have seemed like an impossible dream that only existed to taunt him.
And yet here they are.
In truth, he's scared to ask, to say something that will ruin things because turning his life into a shitstorm is what Jaskier does best. He had asked Geralt once to sit on his lap looking at his face and the man had refused. It wasn't a level of intimacy Geralt felt comfortable with. The bard understood it then and he still respects it now but he's been wary about being the one asking for anything ever since. But Geralt is offering the chance...
"I...like it when you fuck me viciously." Jaskier breath hitches a little but he soldiers on, the voice is low but if anybody won't ever have problems hear him, that is Geralt. "And I'd love it if you could take me slowly every now and then as well. Break me apart piece by piece and then put me back together."
There, he's done it. Jaskier stares back at the beautiful golden eyes and smiles.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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Jaskier shuts his mouth quickly, almost on cue after Geralt snaps at him, and follows his orders without complaining and only minimal wincing. His back is killing him but he supposes is better than the alternative, which is being dead for real under a ton of rubble. He still wants to say and ask a lot of things but moving alone is such a chore that it needs all his focus and he's left a bit dizzy even with Geralt's help. As soon as Geralt's hand is withing reach, Jaskier reaches out for it and gives it a squeeze, the need to comfort back his partner more important than the water. He does drink a moment later, because he's really thirsty and he doesn't want to piss off Geralt more.
"You're lying. That cut could get infected." It's probably an irrational worry, Witcher healing an all that, but since Jaskier feels like his brain is about to start leaking out of his ears, he thinks he's allowed to be a bit dramatic in his worry. Geralt might not care for himself, used as he got to be told his own well being doesn't matter, but Jaskier can care enough for the both of them.
"It wasn't your choice, I insisted. I'm a bard, I need to be where the action is, see it first hard." His eyes stay on Geralt as the man undresses and gets rid of the dusty armor, if a bit unfocused, and wished he could help clean the visible cuts.
At the kind request to keep his mouth shut, Jaskier gives a nod and listens. He's very much not happy with what he hears but is mature enough to understand it comes from a place of worry. He's aware enough to know he would only slow down Geralt or put him in danger. Shoulder slumping and a pout on his face, Jaskier looks down at his bruised hands.
"Would you tell me how things went once you get back?" Is his way of agreeing, of letting Geralt know he does care about his opinion even if the bard's reckless tendencies aren't easy to subdue.
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He shoots Jaskier an annoyed look; of course it won't get infected. He knows when something might get infected. Geralt knows his body and its capabilities well. He knows Jaskier is just trying to find a reason to be worried too. "Healer looked at it." By that he means that the healer saw it on Geralt's face and the witcher growled to focus on Jaskier instead. But he did see it with his eyes, so that's enough.
"You're lucky I'm not forbidding you from missions entirely," Geralt grumbles. If Jaskier was any worse injured, he might have gotten to that point of panic. This isn't as bad as the djinn, for example. His armor and boots off, Geralt finally sits next to Jaskier, facing him, golden eyes watchful on his face. As if the simple reassurance of looking at him is helpful, and it is.
He reaches out to touch Jaskier's knee, a gentle warm pressure of a rough hand. "Yes. I will attempt to give you details." Geralt usually grunts 'it's dead' as his summary, but since Jaskier is giving into his anxiety with minimal complaint, he will try to be better about. He reaches out to take the hand without the water in it and brings it to his face, pressing Jaskier's palm to his own cheek. It is a very intimate and sweet gesture, requesting some type of affection that Geralt rarely does. If the others saw Geralt doing this instead of being a cold and stoic guardian, they'd understand why the witcher hovered so aggressively, but these moments are only for them. For Jaskier.
Geralt turns his head and kisses Jaskier's palm. "It will take time before you are on your feet again. We collapsed a ceiling on you." Geralt says it matter-of-factly but there is guilt there, deep underneath his deadpan tone. He blames himself. Who else can he blame? The vampire is dead and it's his partner injured. "You will take it slow and heal." That is slightly imperious in tone, but they both know he is bossy, and he could be worse.
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"A healer." Hah, as if Geralt is going to let a healer near him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows and then attempts to narrow his eyes at him but the messy look of his hair and the slight red-rimmed eyes undermine the impression. He looks as threatening as an annoyed puppy.
"You wouldn't dare." The voice sounds a bit alarmed, Jaskier knows Geralt would absolutely dare and he's both indignant and terrified at the possibility. The touch to his knee is grounding, not enough because he wants more of Geralt touching him, but it helps to calm him down.
"Thank you." He adds, aware that in all the years he's known Geralt the man has never been prone to retell his adventures with anything resembling details, interest, or sentiment. Fighting is fighting to him and Jaskier had to pull his skills to use and give the stories a spin, turn them into memorable songs. His eyes soften and he cradles Geralt's face gentle, the thumb softly moving over a defined cheekbone. Something inside him melts a little at the kiss and the smile he gives the other man is loving and kind, knowing that he wounded the Witcher by making him worry for his safety.
"It was an old mansion, more rot than wood. A harsh sneeze on its direction would have collapsed it." He says, hoping Geralt hears 'It was an accident so stop blaming yourself, you big oaf' without actually having to spell it out to him. Chances are the Geralt will understand and keep blaming himself regardless.
"I think I can deal with being lazy and letting you pamper me for a few days." Jaskier leans in with all the intent to kiss Geralt. His bruised ribs protest mid-movement and he hisses, then looks annoyed at himself. He is absolutely not pouting when he looks at Geralt with pleading eyes.
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It is still isolating and Jaskier was the first human who treated him like a person. He was always doomed to start to care for the bard, sooner or later. The threatening look is pathetic and Geralt simply gives him a returned glare. His scratches are fine. They will be gone. He has poultices of his own, often better than the average healer, for his own needs. It is a distraction from the true problem which is Jaskier's injury.
"I would." He will die in your arms, Yennefer warned him. It's haunted him since. He held him earlier, when he dragged him out of the rubble, listening for his heartbeat. "I want you to die of old age many decades from now." It meant they would part but they already discussed that and acknowledged it was inevitable. But it is the only option in Geralt's eyes. If his human must die, it will take a long time. Not because Geralt was sloppy in a fight or couldn't get to him in time. He will never believe this incident was because of rotted wood or anything other than his own negligence.
Geralt scowls at him. "Stop that." Stop moving, basically. The witcher gives in though and moves fully onto the bed, curling onto his side next to Jaskier. This way he can do the kissing instead, it's easy to lean over and press his lips gently against Jaskier's. His fingers run through his hair tenderly. He is reminded how easily he could lose his bard, how easily this would all stop and he'd never be able to kiss him again. His hand, usually rough and heavy, can move with light grace as it moves over Jaskier's body as if reassuring himself over and over again he is compact. He is here. His hand falls on Jaskier's chest, feeling his heartbeat as well as hearing it.
"I have a salve that will help with your bruises." As if he forgot, and perhaps he had, so focused on Jaskier surviving. He kisses him again and gets off the bed to go to his pack. He has many potions and draughts, all lovingly created through his knowledge of herbs and other healing properties. Geralt returns a few moments later and back onto the bed, setting the salve to the side for now. It has a very intense smell, not a bad one, just a strong one. "I need you to move just a little so we can get your shirt off." He insisted on them putting it back on after being examined, anxious the bard would get cold, but he is there to keep him warm.
His hands are so careful on Jaskier as he helps him. He is worlds away from the brute he appears as to others.
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Once Jaskier learns that the townsfolk have been so generous to them and he's able to stand without dizziness overtaking him, he will sing some songs for them for free. Probably while sitting instead of dancing around, the bard doesn't think his ribs would be able to stand it otherwise. Since he's stuck resting, he will focus his energy on new songs, flesh out some that are already buzzing in his head and write one about the brave Witcher and his fight against a bloodthirsty vampire terrorizing the land. Jaskier knows that Geralt likes the tunes more than the singing, so he could play something quieter for him later.
Jaskier ignores the new glare with ease, for too used to getting them directed at him. Deep down he knows that Geralt has gone through much worse but usually Jaskier helps him clean the bruises and cuts and get some relief in doing so, caring about him. Now he can't even offer that, it's frustrating.
"Art can't be restrained, Geralt." It comes out dramatic, as Jaskier intended but there's a sort of resignation that accompanies his tone of voice. As if Jaskier is arguing for the sake of his pride but he's well aware it's a lost battle. "I won't try to follow you until I feel better, you have my humble and valuable word."
He said he would stay put and behave, so he will. There's a different kind of tension in the way Geralt is holding himself when he looks at him, and Jaskier doesn't like it one bit. He doesn't like that he caused it and doesn't know how to fix it. Geralt's wish about him dying of old age it's a shared one but something tells Jaskier that the man isn't including himself in that picture.
"I agree with the sentiment. We could go to the coast after you retire, the sea air would do us wonders." He doesn't say anything else, his head hurting too much to have a proper conversation about that but he does manage to give Geralt a meaningful look. He's not getting rid of him so easily, not even when he grows old.
The future is a dark, complicated thing and Geralt's embrace is warm and inviting, one thing can't compare to the other. He practically melts against Geralt when he settles alongside him in the bless, surprisingly big enough for both of them. The kiss, and Geralt touchings the brunette's hair earns him a pleased purr. The bard is blessedly distracted from the pain in his body for a little while and he marvels at how gentle a man with Geralt's strength could be if it's necessary. Who would have thought Witchers were such mother hens. Witnessing this, and knowing how many other times in the past Geralt has worried for his well being, he feels foolish for ever doubting if he meant anything to the witcher.
"Be quick or I might decide to leave before you are back with your witchery magic oils." Comes the soft murmur as Jaskier feels the bed dip under him when Geralt goes to fetch the salve. Not his best joke but it's hard to be witty when his head is pounding. He keeps his eyes closed and while Geralt is back in a few seconds, it enough to make the bard half sleep. The Witcher's words barely register but the salve's herbal scent makes him crack open an eye and shift as requested.
"Hmmm..." It's only a hum like those Geralt is so fond of, but Jaskier is both trying to convey 'I'm sleepy' and 'Your big hands feel very nice'. He's not sure if he nails the second one. What he does is obey and he rests a hand on Geralt's thigh. Not so much as to start anything but as a show of gratitude and appreciation for Geralt gentleness.
"You make for a wonderful nurse, love." It slips out naturally. Jaskier obviously doesn't realize he's said anything noteworthy or out of the ordinary. His eyes are half-lidded again, his breathing calm and the touches Geralt keeps giving him are making him even more sleepy.
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Geralt is methodical when he places the salve on Jaskier's bruises, riding that fine line between applying too much and not enough pressure to rub it into the injuries. It will help with the pain at least, essentially numbing or at least soothing his body into relaxing better. It's a strong smell but it's also the type of thing easy to put someone to bed, which is what Geralt wants. By the time he's done, Jaskier is drowsy enough that it's only a matter of time before he drifts off. Geralt doesn't display any reaction to the pet name, not does he think he needs to.
Healing does take time, and Geralt may not be patient in some areas (when people annoy him, in the middle of a fight, in sex), but in this he seems calm. He keeps water and food coming to Jaskier and helps him bathe when he's still too beaten up to do much. The healer checks on them and it really is just a waiting game now as Jaskier's body knits itself back together. Geralt keeps with the salve on Jaskier's body and brings him his lute, although tells him to save his voice, a fool's hope.
He checks on Roach who is doing great having some extra downtime of her own. He leaves once while Jaskier slept to find herbs to replace the ones he's been using and to make more of the salve for Jaskier and for when he'll need it another time. He doesn't often stop long enough to resupply this well, so it seems like a wise thing to do in the meantime. He is always back in the room by the time Jaskier wakes up, as if he never left.
He spends the time cleaning his armor, he rarely takes the time so this is worth doing, letting Jaskier speak at him all he wants although he only sometimes responds. He listens, he still isn't very talkative. He is currently sharpening his knives, having already done that with his swords the night before while Jaskier slept. Geralt sits nearby, focused entirely on his task. He finds a great deal of peace in the boring tasks of being a warrior, cleaning his clothes or keeping up with his variety of weapons.
"Mmmm?" Geralt murmurs, glancing up from his short blade. He had been mostly zoning out of whatever Jaskier was going on about, but he thinks there was a question there that he missed, and he focuses on the bard. "Repeat." His common command when he is openly admitting that he wasn't listening but is ready to listen now that he is.
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Only Geralt or the healer checking on him rouse him from sleep a couple of times, aside from those occasions Jaskier is pretty much a hibernating bear the few first days. He doesn't remember ever sleeping so much in his whole life, but no other ceilings had fallen over his head before, so he thinks it's justified. He tries to sing the moment Geralt brings him his lute and after thanking the Witcher profusely, he imagines that it wasn't a choice Geralt made lightly. His voice still sounds a bit croaky and Jaskier decides to only play the melodies instead, plucking at the strings quietly while Geralt works on his potions or cleans his knives. He chooses quiet, soothing tones that he thinks might please his companion.
His body still hurts just not to the point where it feels like someone's hitting the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer. Bathing turns out to be an uncomfortable and embarrassing experience for no other reason than he feels clumsy and awkward. Jaskier absolutely refused to spend another day lying on his own filth. The bed gets changed too and it feels glorious to be lying on fresh sheets. Watching Geralt do his thing is calming but now that Jaskier is clean, relaxed and lying face down with his arms curled around a pillow, he also feels utterly bored.
It's clear that Geralt had tuned him out for the past 15 minutes, nothing new or worthy of getting annoyed about. Jaskier has been saying all sorts of absurd things to him, from pointing out how pretty the light looks reflected on his white hair to asking if he knows when Roach's b-day is, and only now does he gets a hum in response.
"Blowjob." Jaskier repeats, as if that explains anything. He reaches out to lazily move his hand up from Geralt's knee to the high curve of his thigh. He keeps his index and middle finger straight, making it so they look like a little man walking up the Witcher's leg. "Your thick cock in my mouth. I was saying that you still look tense. Would it help if I blew you?"
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He truly stops listening sometimes, he can't even try to go back over what he was zoning out since he didn't hear a word of it. Geralt raises an eyebrow, unsure if Jaskier is messing with him and that he said something else and only replaced blowjob when Geralt's attention went on him. He watches Jaskier's fingers, feeling the warm touch of them up his thigh, and flicks the tempting hand away.
"You're injured. You know how I am." Geralt isn't entirely certain he would be able to stop himself from fucking Jaskier's mouth raw if given the option, and that is not appropriate for the healing process. His thigh is still warm from the touch and he tells his body to calm down. He's gone months without having sex, half a year one time, and he could do it again. It's not his fault that he now travels with his full-time lover who never seems to get enough of it.
Geralt gives him a speculative look. "I could give you one." There's much less chance of trouble that way. Geralt can hold down Jaskier's hips so he doesn't hurt himself thrusting and give him something to feel good about. It's not a terrible idea. He'd like to make Jaskier feel some bliss since he still holds himself responsible for his pain in the first place. He sets his blade down and leans over, stroking Jaskier's hair affectionately. "Move onto your back." It's a credit to how worried Geralt is about Jaskier's injuries that he doesn't even attempt to manhandle him. He's been careful all this time letting Jaskier go his own speed.
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Big blue eyes blink at him calmly, not at all reacting to the raised eyebrows. Jaskier doesn't joke about sex so he isn't pulling his leg today (today!) but he retreats his hand when Geralt paws at him.
"My tongue isn't injured and you could just come on my face." Another casual statement before Jaskier gives him a small, mischievous smile. Geralt does have a point, though, he had a tendency to lose himself when they were intimate. Usually, it brought Jaskier a sense of pride and happiness. Today, given the state of his body and the fact that his ribs still ache if he bents down to put on socks, maybe it would be...unwise.
"And I'd love it but that kind of defeats the purpose of me helping you relax." Touching his hair gently is a low tactic because Jaskier is a sucker for it, and it absolutely works. He lets out a happy hum and shuffles on the bed with minimal fuss. In a matter of seconds, he's resting on the mattress with his back propped up slightly against the big feathered pillow he had been holding to keep himself warm.
Jaskier is only wearing a very long shirt that reaches his mid-thigh, so in that sense his lover has an easy access. It's one of Geralt's that he put on one day and absolutely refused to return, claiming it as his own. The only times he gives it back, it's because it no longer smells like Geralt and Jaskier wants the Witcher to wear it so he can steal it again the next day. He never says it out loud but it's obvious enough.
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Geralt is dressed in loose pants and a shirt, not something he often does get comfortable in since he prefers his travel gear, but he has been sitting too much lately and tight leather did get a little uncomfortable in a stifling situation. "You're the one who said I was tense." He easily moves the shirt - his shirt, he loves that - up to Jaskier's chest and takes a look at the bruises. They are looking better and he gently kisses Jaskier's hip, moving between his legs. He doesn't need to put any of his blocky weight on him when he stays down there.
"I was feeling very calm." He decides to take his time, nosing at the base of Jaskier's cock, smelling him. "And then you distracted me." Geralt licks his balls, playing with one with his tongue while his fingers rub at the other. He doesn't often play around first but it seems wiser when Jaskier's body needs careful handling. He is not being a tease so much as keeping a watch on Jaskier to be certain he can handle this type of stimulation, kissing and licking Jaskier's cock until he's hard enough to suck on. Just the tip and still gentle. He's let Jaskier made him into a pervert, unable to keep his hands or his mouth to himself for too long when his beautiful bard is stretched out in front of him and wanting.
One hand keeps massaging his balls while the other reaches up to find Jaskier's hand. He brings it right now into his own hair; it's not a secret he's trying to keep now that he likes Jaskier's fingers in it. Especially when he's enjoying himself. He pulls off Jaskier's cock for a moment so he can use his hand to take some of the precome and spit and stroke him into something more comfortably slick. "You'll tell me if it hurts." There is no question mark because Geralt doesn't ask questions, he makes demanding statements. He doubts Jaskier will actually say anything if he's enjoying himself, but Geralt can read his body well, so he'll know.
The message given he gets to work, taking Jaskier into his hot mouth slowly, inch by inch until he's swallowed all of it with minimal trouble. Geralt can do a great many things, most of them lethal; deep throating is hardly much in comparison, but he can do that too. Since he puts a hand on Jaskier's hip to keep him from thrusting up and hurting himself, it's all Geralt now, lifting his head and bringing it back down to please his annoyingly gorgeous human.
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"I've done nothing but praise your cock for the last five minutes and you weren't listening! Pity, some of my ideas about what you could to do to me with it were very creative. Innovative, I must add, certainly not for the faint of heart."
Certainly not for him right now either. He still can't sit up properly or walk for more than a few steps for fear of disturbing his healing back and ribs. The bruises still hurt like a bitch, but now it's more of a dull ache than absolute agony and the salve Geralt has been religiously applying on him has done wonders. He's only regretful of the way they paint his skin a disgusting range of colors, from purple to greenish yellow, and that's why he wants to keep on the shirt to spare Geralt the view. The bard tells himself that he will be back to his normal self in a few more days, back to the singing that Geralt adores, and to their monster-hunting adventures.
The impossibility to do their usual activities in bed leaves him with a growing frustration. It's less because he enjoys the sex - contrary to popular belief he can go without it just fine it's only that he prefers not to - and more because he really wants to fuck the stress out of Geralt and prove the man he doesn't have to worry anymore about his well being. It's nice to know that somebody cares, though, Jaskier wasn't used to it.
This bull of a man, with the features of a carved statue of a god, hard edge and hands that could be surprisingly gentler than a mother's touch chooses to stay with him instead of considering him a lost case. Jaskier's insistence might have had something to do with it at the beginning but Geralt could have left. Could have punched him again, could have ridden Roach too fast for the bard to follow him on foot, could have yelled at him to leave. Jaskier was especially used to the later. But Geralt didn't.
And Geralt is still here, with feather-like fingers checking his ugly bruises, with a too warm mouth kissing his skin. Jaskier looks down at him with lidded eyes, his heart beating in such a way that no Witcher senses are needed to hear it thumping. He knows he's in love but this is ridiculous.
"I will." Any other times he would have said something sarcastic or witty but this is the situation where he doesn't feel like it. Geralt is honestly worried and Jaskier appreciates it so much that he doesn't want the man to think he's being mocked.
His eyelids flutter shut and his mouth goes slack when Geralt noses at his cock. In return touches the parts of the Witcher he can reach, presses a hand to the curve his cheekbone, brushes the pad of this thumb over his eyebrow and grabs a handful of the white hair to give it a tug. Bard doesn't know how to be quiet and he knows Geralt doesn't dislike it when he runs his mouth during sex, so he starts praising the Witcher.
Jaskier chants his name in between wet gasps, tells him how good his mouth feel and how gorgeous Geralt looks between his legs. He goes on and on about his dexterous hands and fingers, how Geralt's weigh feel especially good when he's holding Jaskier down in place. He praises his body, from ragged scars to the sharper theeth and the piercing golden eyes. All the things that make Geralt so different and to him more special. Jaskier even mentions his pale skin and pitch black eyes after a potion was needed to defeat a particularly nasty monster, because that was absolutely fucking hot rather than terrifying. There might be something not quite right with the way Jaskeir thinks and his kinks but he shouldn't be expecting to offer well though conversation when his cock is halfway Geralt's throat. His chest is heaving and he wants to drape one of his leg over the man's shoulders but Geralt's hand on his hip is effectively stopping him from doing exactly that.
Jaskier keens. The muscles of his stomach tense, Geralt's mouth is impossibly hot and wonderful, worthy of a million sonnets, and he tethers his lower lips between his teeth to stop a hiss from scaping. It feels so good, filling his head with static and leaving him wanting more. But his body tensing up makes the bruises ache painfully too. He moans instead, urging Geralt on, tights trembling and hips rocking up before he can catch himself and realize it's probably not a good idea.
"G...Geralt. Please. You need to...ahh, I need you in me. Do you want me to beg further? I could."
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"You can tell me your ideas again when you're capable of doing them." Geralt has trouble accepting Jaskier's constant praise. He often mutters at him that he doesn't need flattery or compliments, and it's because he doesn't know what to say or do about it. There's a part of him that enjoys it, especially during sex, but it's not how he sees himself. He has never been good at giving the bard compliments outside of when he's in him. He thinks them, to himself. He likes his soft skin, his tousled hair, his blue eyes, his curling lips, his delicate hands. He wants to say them, but it never feels easy to him.
Jaskier's words have a special ability to spur him on. He gets more enthusiastic whenever he speaks, bobbing his head quicker as a reward, letting the words sink into him. He wants to suck him harder and holds himself back. Golden eyes dart up to Jaskier when he mentions liking his pitch black eyes, heat instantly lighting them up. The fact that Jaskier still finds him attractive at his most inhuman means something to him, but he also doubts it. Saying it is one thing, but Geralt generally doesn't like being around Jaskier - or anyone - when he looks like that. His senses get intense and his aggression is at an all-time high, so he prefers solitude until it wears off. But the way Jaskier says it succeeds in arousing him. All of it is sexy.
Geralt firmly presses his hand against Jaskier's hip when he feels him try to rock them. If he wasn't being careful of his injuries, he would have been more forceful about it. He's getting hard himself thanks to Jaskier's filthy mouth and he has every intention of sucking him dry. Maybe he'll get himself off after and let Jaskier watch. That's in his mind until the words penetrate him and he frowns. He pulls off his cock for a second and considers, stroking Jaskier instead to keep the stimulation coming.
"You know how I am." Geralt's left Jaskier with bruises and an ache walking every time they've had sex, and now he's already injured. It wouldn't help his condition. "I'll fuck you with my fingers instead." He moves off for just enough time to lean over and get the oil they need - he's resupplied them of that over this time in particular. Geralt wants to be inside of him, honestly he always wants to be inside of him, but he's uncertain of how safe that would be.
He slicks up his fingers and his touch is just as gentle here, taking it slow, going back to lathering Jaskier's cock with his tongue and month as he loosens him up. Geralt would love to be where his fingers are, his cock hard and wanting it, but he is trying to decide if he can take the chance. If he can trust himself to be gentle enough with Jaskier; the last thing he wants is to hurt him in bed. The pain they give one another is mostly sting and roughness and all in passion. He would truly hurt him in this situation.It's possible some begging could put him over the edge.
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It's true that the bard doesn't always think clearly in these kinds of situations but by now Geralt should be aware that he's also shit at lying unless it's through songs. Jaskier can't, and thus doesn't usually bother, to come up with lies when his mind is clear, much less now that the flat of Geralt's tongue is pressing against his dick. He means every word he says, even about his attraction to Geralt when his power is fully unleashed during a fight, pale like a ghost and stronger than any creature who walks the earth. He's learned to keep his distance, though, for Geralt's comfort more than his own safety. The one time Jaskier saw the Witcher like that was an accident, and it felt like intruding even if he couldn't get the image out of his head for weeks. Or out of his fantasies too, if he's honest.
"I do, and I love it. But Geralt, we still could...." He's slow, too slow in his movements now that his body is still sore and Jaskier wants to curse himself from it.
The other man is already moving and the slick pressure between his cheeks makes Jaskier let out a low, drawn-out whine of pleasure. He bits the inside of his cheek, growls softly in frustration every time Geralt stills the rocking of his hips, gently but firmly. The movements of the fingers in him it's slow and perfect, it makes his face flush bright and his chest rises with his panting. And yet...it's not enough. Jaskier likes sex a whole lot but he doesn't want it to be one sided, it feels too selfish that way. Wrong. Geralt's fingers are the start of a delicious breach but it's nowhere near sufficient, to be really satisfied Jaskier wants the other man to enjoy himself too.
"Are you implying that my ass isn't worth giving it a try? That you don't want to get your thick, fat cock buried into me? I don't believe you."
Despise the challenge in the words, the younger man sounds as if he's pleading. It's really taking all of his willpower to keep himself under control and not come under the glorious friction that is Geralt mouth and hands combined. His focus is only marginally better now that he has an objective in mind.
When his hand tugs at Geralt's hair again, it is to get the man to look up at him in the eyes, to please listen. His voice is a bit unsteady but honest and filled with "Geralt. I trust you with my life. Why wouldn't I trust you with my body too? Always? It might come as news to you but we don't have to break the bed to have sex."
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Geralt is enjoying getting those whines and moans, he loves the pink in Jaskier's cheeks when he's flushed, but there he is trying to tempt him again. He growls around Jaskier's cock; yes he wants to get his thick, fat cock buried inside of him. Obviously. He has no intention of it though, knowing if he applies enough pressure and keeps deep throating and fucking Jaskier with his fingers, his bard will be unable to stop himself from coming. That's when the hair tug succeeds in getting his attention though and his eyes meet Jaskier's from below.
It is a very effective plea and the desire in his gaze is unmistakable. Geralt knows that Jaskier trusts him in bed and that is why he is so hesitant to test his abilities. But he will never know unless he tries, and at least his fear of hurting Jaskier may give him the focus required not to lose control. He pulls off Jaskier cock and clearly the bard's won; the bard always fucking wins eventually. "We can try, but if I can't control myself, we're stopping and I'll get you off another way." That seems like a reasonable boundary to make.
Geralt has to pull his fingers out of Jaskier too since he's still wearing clothes and that isn't going to help. "Lie on your side, whichever one is most comfortable." Geralt is far too heavy to think it best for him to try to be on top, and Jaskier doesn't have the agility right then to be on top. It'll be the easiest way to keep them both contained. Geralt strips his clothes off and comes back to the bed, waiting until Jaskier's settled comfortably.
He moves up behind Jaskier and snuggles the front of his body along Jaskier's back, running his slick fingers over the bard's body before moving back between his legs and continuing his slow stretching. He puts his leg between Jaskier's to encourage him to rest his top leg on top of Geralt's thick thigh and to relax. He can put himself in Geralt's hands, they both have to believe that now. Geralt kisses Jaskier's cheek and then his neck, nuzzling it but no bites now. Only soft kisses and little licks. There's something very intimate and sweet about the way he envelopes Jaskier with his bigger body, holding the bard as best as he can.
Geralt usually feels better about being vulnerable when he doesn't have to look at Jaskier's eyes, giving himself the freedom to be open. He sucks on Jaskier's ear and opens him to three fingers. "I like your eyes." Quietly murmured into his ear. Jaskier says fantastically sexy and complimentary things to Geralt all the time, so this is him awkwardly attempting the same. "And your smile." He moves his hips forward so Jaskier can feel his hard cock nearby. "I like your filthy mouth and being inside of you."
Geralt pulls his fingers out to slick up his cock. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, feeling the power and want thrumming through his veins, the need to fuck, and pushes it away. Instead he buries his nose into Jaskier's neck and fills his nose with his scent to remind him what he's doing, nudging Jaskier's entrance with his cock and moving as slowly as he can into him. Usually he snaps forward as quickly as he can. This time it is excruciatingly slow and he groans into Jaskier's skin, the movement of his hips so gentle as he goes inch by inch until he's fully inside of him.
Geralt takes a moment then to remember to breathe, an arm around Jaskier, holding him instead of moving.
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The sort of agreeing-sort-of-annoyed grunt he gets out of Geralt is the first sign that he might actually win this argument. And hell if the vibrations aren't sending little shocks of pleasure up Jaskier's cock. Geralt grunting while he has him in his mouth is downright illegal. When the man finally gives in, something eases on Jackie's stomach, like a knot of nerves is finally unraveling. They can do this and he can prove Geralt he has to worry no more, he's fine, wonderful, the bruising and paints bearable. But of course, Geralt has to still be contrary about his own release.
"If we have to stop, then we get each other off some other way. I'm not about to leave you with blue balls." Geralt can call it performer's pride if he so wishes, Jaskier still doesn't like the idea that his pleasure has to be somehow more significant than his partner's.
The abrd gets a bit distracted watching Geralt undress but once he snaps out of it, he moves as requested, considering his own body and its current limitations. His shirt is still on for no other reason that he doesn't want Geralt to see the rest of his bruises and feel worse or change his mind. Jaskier is holding up the bunched fabric of the front in a way that shows his bellybutton and hips, loose enough that Geralt can sneak a hand under it to touch him once Jaskier lies down on his left side.
The shirt is tailored to fit Geralt's frame, not for a much slender one, and the wide collar leaves the curve of Jaskier's neck and shoulder uncovered. Perfect for the kisses and licks, and the bard is enjoying those very much if the little soft noises he's making in return is any indication. Geralt seems to be more comfortable showing affection when Jaskier can't see his face properly and he has come to understand that, focusing only on appreciating the safety and comfort that his lover offers.
He purrs and arches like a cat at the solid warmth against his back that is Geralt, grinding his ass against the man's front and ignoring the little prickles of pain in his stomach as he does so. It's hardly unbearable and much more rewarding now that Geralt is oh so sweetly complying with his wishes. He shifts his leg and its' surprisingly comfortable to rest it against Geralt's strong thigh, even if it makes a brief blush creep up his cheekbones at how exposed it makes him feel.
The praise is s unexpected that Jaskier trembles and gasps, body clenching around Geralt's fingers inside of him. It might not sounds all that impressive to others, simple statements about his eyes and body. but to Jaskier they're sweeter than any kind of embellished poetry. Geralt is trying and sure as hell succeeding, and Jaskier's brain is a mess of endorphines and pleasant thoughts.
"Geralt..." He tries to hide the faint tremor in his voice, the touched look on his blue eyes that betray how much this means to him. He doesn't do a very good job. Geralt's hardness pressing between his cheeks makes him chuckle, the tension in his body easing. "Then get your cock in me, you beautiful bastard."
He doesn't babble this time, doesn't start talking filth because he knows the reaction it gets him from Geralt and, since they're trying to take things slow, getting him even more hot and bothered would torture rather than pleasant. Jaskier shows his appreciation in other ways, reaching back to scratch Geralt's thigh with his nails, moaning and arching his neck to expose his nape and invite the Witcher to mark him. Strong bites might be uncomfortable but Jaskier would never say no to hickeys, it's the kind of bruise he likes to have.
"Fuck, aah...you feel so good." The brunette's breath hitches as Geralt presses into him in slow movements. The Witcher is being so careful that his mind doesn't know what to do about it, whole body singing in delight. After Geralt bottoms out, Jaskier's hand slides over his own, lacing their fingers together. It's not conducive to the other man touching him more, but it's mean to help ground Geralt and Jaskier likes having an excuse to hold hands. It's his guilty pleasure.
After a few long seconds, Jaskier rocks his hips back, slowly, trying not to add more pressure to his strained muscles but wanting to bring his partner some pleasure as well. He whimpers softly, letting his body twitch and rock into the full length of Geralt's girth, feeling so stretched full and complete he could cry. It's not the best position to do it but the younger man turns his face to nuzzle Geralt under the jawline and brushes his lips against the tempting mouth.
SORRY CUT OFF lol.
Geralt snorts when Jaskier seems indignant about making certain they both enjoy it. "I was going to come on you after, no blue balls were happening." He had a very nice picture in his mind of blowing Jaskier's mind and looking at his flushed and blissed out face as he touched himself. It was also a good option, but he cannot deny that being inside of Jaskier is much, much better. It's nearly an addiction for him, some type of magnetic pull.
Jaskier's purr is music in itself and Geralt finds that he likes this. He can feel every part of Jaskier touching him, cradled in Geralt's arms. He is slightly less comfortable with people attempting to hold him, he ends up feeling boxed in. He smiles at that small blush of his, chuckling low near Jaskier's ear. "I like that you blush despite us fucking all the damn time." He doesn't know why it happens but it makes something warm in him each time. He knows that Jaskier is completely at his mercy, exposed and vulnerable, and that is a turn on for him. He's glad Jaskier trusts him.
It's appreciated that he doesn't tempt or taunt Geralt the way he usually does, as much as the witcher loves hearing it, because he is going to be struggling already. Every time Jaskier talks like that it makes Geralt want to make him scream, so this is for the best. He hisses when Jaskier's nails touch his thigh and he contains himself enough to take that offer and bite the exposed neck. He wants to go hard but nibbles instead, sucking a nice hickey in the place of where teeth marks typically are.
"Yes," Geralt agrees, swallowing hard. He feels good. They both feel good. He thinks he would probably be content to stay inside Jaskier like this for hours if either of them were capable of it, but he'd never be able to hold out. He always wants more out of his bard. Jaskier is hot and tight but it's in a strangely comforting way at the moment, not feeling his urgent need to break him. Yet. He blinks at the hand holding his, which is not helpful, but he gives Jaskier's fingers a gentle squeeze so he acknowledges what is meant by it. He unlaces their hands though as he needs his arm free for this.
One reason is to put his hand on his hip warningly. "Careful." Geralt's body loves it, moaning from Jaskier's movements, but his mind is trying to keep them both in check. "Patience." That's for them both. Finally Geralt moves, his hips slow as he slides out of Jaskier and back in, finding something very graceful in the motion between them. Jaskier is slick and welcoming and he keeps his thrusts long and thorough, so that every one of them has Geralt's full long length going in and out. This is love making, not sex, although he doesn't know what the term really means so he wouldn't use it. Geralt can feel the strain in his limbs now, in his arms, his senses full of Jaskier and his lust.
He lifts and tilts his head to make it easier for them to kiss although it isn't that comfortable, but Geralt puts his hunger into his kiss since he's containing it everywhere else. His tongue plunges into Jaskier's mouth, demanding and aggressive, a contrast to the pliant sweetness of the rest of him. It takes the edge off. Geralt groans out of it to breathe and moves his arm around Jaskier's middle, holding him tight and close. He moves them in a steady rock as old as time. "Fuck, I always want to be in you, Jaskier." He bites his earlobe. "Every time I look at you I want you," softly rasped into his ear.
It's ok! /kicks DW
So, of course, he's going to be indignant about keeping things fair and pleasant for everyone. Geralt words placate him enough and he's distracted by the shared touches, worry dissipating quickly into something far more sweeter. Geralt's breath close to his ear makes him shudder, a small tremor starting at the base of his neck and running down his spine, making him feel a little like prey. He loves it.
"It's not blushing! I'm just f...feeling a bit hot. It's all." Of course, mentioning it only makes a darker shade of pink bloom on Jaskier's cheekbones.
He can't tell why it happens either, gods know they had done plenty of filthier things. He thinks this new kind of self-consciousness might have started after they talked things out. Because once they finally admitted that they were feelings mixed with spectacular good sex, suddenly Jaskier worried about what Geralt might think about his experiences and reputation due to his formers flings. He knows Geralt, he has to remind himself of that. And the man he knows wouldn't care about his reputation, his past, or his many flaws. Not here, not now.
Jaskier lets out an impatient breathy whine when Geralt latches onto his neck to leave a pretty mark there, making it clear that having to go slow isn't easy for him either. His hand grips the sheets when Geralt let's go of his hand to steady him, Jaskier knows that otherwise he would try to claw at him again and that might break the threshold they're both trying not to cross. The bard is about to tell him to forget patience because he’s painfully hard thanks to Geralt's hands and mouth, despite having spent the past days being spent in miserable pain, and he's really at his limit already. He bites his lower lip instead, trying not to complain and sound as embarrassingly needy as he feels when Geralt finally starts moving.
Pleasure sparks up through his body in hot bursts and Jaskier’s brain sort of fizzles spectacularly. It’s good, and then Geralt picks a rhythm and it’s better. It has Jaskier groaning in seconds, long, low and deep, his thigh trembling with a tension that only eases when Geralt drives into him. He’s leaking steadily in unto the sheets, letting out punched out little gasps every time Geralt pulls in slowly and then withdraws to repeat the movement, pressure building in his belly.
Geralt kisses him fiercely, possessively, mouth hot like a brand, and the insistent press of tongue is debilitating. The Witcher bites his ear and says such lovely, raw and honest things that Jaskier can only whimper softly back, submissive, pressing himself into his body. If he tries to speak he will be foolish enough to tell Geralt that he loves him. There will be bruises into the side of Jaskier’s neck and reddened skin from the scrape of Geralt's stubble against his pale skin, and he just moans breathless, welcoming every evidence that makes him feel like be belong to the other man.
Jaskier tries to hold himself back, really tries. He hasn't even sneaked a hand between his legs to paw at his cock for that very reason but the pleasure coursing through him and the tiredness of his body makes it a lost battle. He doesn't quite realize it's happening at first, it's like leaning over the edge of a cliff and then suddenly toppling over. Jaskier comes almost silently, shuddering all over, heat all the way down to his toes. His mouth falls open around a gasp, as though the air has been punched out of him as his toes flex and curl and his muscles clench impossibly thigh around Geralt's cock like a vice-grip.
The pleasure feels different too: slow, steady and unrelenting. Not like the fast, building up tempo he's come to associate with Geralt plowing into him until they're both gasping for air. It feels like he's being unraveled at the seams. Jaskier is sure this is the quickest Geralt has made him come. It would be terribly embarrassing if it didn't feel so damn good. He goes utterly boneless against him, his own pulse very loud in his ears. His voice is a low, a satisfied rumble, but there's still a desperate edge to it.
"Don't stop, please...don't...." There’s something nakedly honest in the way he pleads like he's not sure what he's asking for but it needs to be said. Jaskier gazes at Geralt over his shoulder from underneath long, dark lashes. He clenches helplessly around him and the over-stimulation is bordering on painful but it's also so good. His body can't decide what it wants, first pushing back against Geralt's cock and seeking the pressure, then twitching away as though it’s too much. He doesn't want this to be over. He wants to keep Geralt in him forever. To come again. He wants for things to never end, maybe.
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If he knew Jaskier was concerned about his reputation and Geralt's opinion of it, he'd probably laugh. While Geralt got frustrated in the past, before they were lovers, that Jaskier got into so much trouble from his dick, it didn't change his opinion of him. Who is he to judge anyone else on decisions like that? Besides, Jaskier's only his now. No one else gets to have him, at least as long as this goes on.
Jaskier's very into this and that makes Geralt into it. He is doing better with his control and coming to enjoy the sweet and slow rock of their bodies together. It feels nice. It feels important, for some reason. Geralt isn't entirely certain despite that he can come. He's so used to his style of sex that requires Jaskier to be completely submissive and at his mercy, or the stimulus of Jaskier inside of him doing the same thing. But there is submission in this too and release and trust. He is surprised when he feels the bard rising to the peak so quickly but not at all sorry for it. It's a credit to his skill ... and also a question mark about whether he wants this more often. Whether Geralt's style of wild fucking is the answer to every question between them. A thought for a time he needs to think.
Instead he sucks in a breath when Jaskier tightens around him and he growls. "That's it. I like when you let go." See, he is telling him all kinds of details about what he likes at the moment. Geralt truly is trying. He does almost stop though out of concern for Jaskier's over-stimulation. His body does not want him to stop, hates the very concept of stopping. Not when Jaskier is hot and willing. He wants to put him on his knees, on his back, but he stays restrained. He thinks of Jaskier nearly dying. He thinks of how much he cannot deal with that. He is grateful for the bard in his arms, wanting him, needing him.
"It's too much, I promise, another time." He says it through gritted teeth. It's not as if Geralt wants to get out of him; he wants to own his ass so thoroughly he'll need Geralt's salve for another reason. But Jaskier knows how Geralt feels about giving pain in the bedroom, at least true pain. Geralt's body screams at him when he slips out of Jaskier and gently pulls him onto his back, looking down at him. Geralt sits back on his thighs and golden eyes stay firmly on his bard's face. "Look at me," he rasps. He usually gets hesitant about eye contact, but not when they're in the middle of passion instead of vulnerability.
Geralt puts his hand on his thick cock, taking in every part of Jaskier's blissful face. There is no doubt in the way he sees him, in how intense his hand starts moving on himself, that he is enjoying this. Just like sex doesn't always have to be rough between them, it also doesn't need to end with him coming in Jaskier. Geralt is putting himself on display. His broad chest, his ridiculous muscles, his silver hair tousled and slightly sweaty from their sex. He looks powerful as he thrusts into his hand, moving to still Jaskier before he can try to lend a hand. This is what he wants. Jaskier to see him, to admire him. Know that his scarred and strong body is his.
It's erotic to him as he jerks himself off fiercely and fast, lust flooding his gaze, breath catching a little. "You said I could come on your pretty face. I'm going to." It seems like a fair warning and he moves up on the bed, straddling Jaskier's body to get closer. He'll warn him again, before, but now he rocks his hips into his hand, making a little bit of a show of it which is something he is only starting now to tentatively try. He will clean Jaskier off after, as he always does, but for now he lets himself just be caught in pleasure, eyes heavy-lidded.
"Close your eyes." He wants him to look at him, definitely, but he doesn't want to blind him. Seeing Jaskier's face covered in him will be more than good enough. Geralt can't hold back anymore and lets the tension release in him, gripping his cock and aiming true onto Geralt's flushed face. He groans through it, spurting more than usual, unable to stop from watching. It's erotic for him in a new way. He's marking Jaskier so completely in this moment. Coating him in his claim. Geralt tingles all over.
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He's impressed with Geralt's patience, how the touches are just as meaningful as ever -if no more- but never too demanding. Never strong enough to stress out Jaskier's battered body. It's no wonder if leaves him so blissed out. His constant demands for attention are but a thin veil to mask that what Jaskier really craves with desperation is this kind of faithful affection. He knows he finished too soon for the other man, who's stamina can rival a god, and hot embarrassment sits on his belly and colors his high cheekbones. But then Geralt’s reassuring him in that absurdly hot growly voice of his, and it’s sort of perfect, and at that moment Jaskier could marry him.
"It's not fair that you're so stupidly charming in top of being such a great fuck." It's bold, and fucking isn't the right way to describe what they did, but Jaskier's veiled compliment is raw with honesty, his tone full of warmth.
When the other man gently shifts them and slides off of him, it prompts a whimper from Jaskier that sounds like a miserable plea. It's a request, begging Geralt to stay even if he knows it's useless. The Witcher is too considerate, often knows what's better for him even when the bard doesn't. Jaskier loves him all the more for it, for that side of Geralt that reprimands or denies him for his well being.
He follows the demand with eagerness, blue eyes staring into golden ones. Jaskier looks wrecked, red bitten lips and mouth parted in a gasp, eyes still glassy with pleasure and hair in disarray. Geralt is no less of a wonderful sight either. His fist wrapped around his cock, energy barely contained, muscles on display...if Jaskier had any strength left he would be climbing him, eating him whole, letting himself be devoured in turn in all sort of ways. His fingers itch, dying to reach out and touch but he stays put as Geralt wants him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You're gorgeous, I told you before, didn't I? Marred skin and stubble that leaves me with beard burn and everything. I often ask myself how I got to lucky." Something that can only be described as love kindles in Jaskier's gaze.
His spent cock gives a twitch, his blood runs hotter, and Jaskier has to stop himself from nodding frantically at the last order. He just moans in encouragement and then swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, before lifting his chin and closing his eyes. Jaskier's wet lips parts and he waits obediently, submissive, his face tilted toward Geralt and his throat on display. All that he cares about right now is Geralt getting himself off.
He catches the first shot on his tongue. Thick, white stripes land on his cheeks, dribble down his jawline, speckle his neck, and some end all the way up into the locks of his hair. Once it's over, Geralt's cum pools on Jaskier's tongue and the young man sweeps a finger over the mess on his cheek to bring more into his mouth before visibly swallowing. After a shuddering breath, Jaskier scoots forward and takes the generous length into his mouth. His ribs protest at the movement yet he pays them no mind and hums around the cockhead, then moves downward, licking Geralt clean.
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Geralt knows they will have other chances to fuck ahead of them, so his instinct to protect Jaskier from himself is also giving him something he wants. Such a vision. Jaskier looks fucking delectable like that. Geralt's nostrils flare and he breathes in the scent of his bard's come and bliss. He could absolutely get off solely on staring at Jaskier's face this way. He is typically not someone who shows off, it doesn't come naturally to him. He doesn't put himself on display like this ever. Only Jaskier makes him feel this attractive and sexual, after decades of being seen as other.
He feels a strange sort of flutter in his heart at the compliment, stroking himself a little faster to display that he enjoyed it. His mind wants to remind Jaskier that he is far from lucky considering he is in this bed because of his mistake, but his heart and body react positively and needy. Geralt sees something in Jaskier's eyes that he doesn't recognize; no one's looked at him with love before. He assumes it's a more affectionate type of lust. Close enough.
"Fuck," Geralt murmurs when Jaskier lifts his face, closes his eyes. "Look at you. So fucking eager." It may be one of the sexiest things he has ever seen, flat out. The bard truly wants it, and that feral part of him snarls in pleasure. That newest red mark he made it very fresh on Jaskier's throat and if he wasn't already about to reach his peak, all of those details would have done it immediately. He groans through it, swearing several more times when Jaskier purposely puts more of him in his mouth. The bard is a damned incubus. A creature of sex and temptation.
He only proves that when he moves forward and Geralt isn't fast enough to stop him, too slow and heavy with his orgasm to warn him, and he scrambles with a startled hand into Jaskier's hair. Geralt doesn't react that much to overstimulation; he feels it but as someone who likes the sting, it is fine for him. Still! "Jaskier," he rumbles, a mixture of warning and pleasure from it, as he's licked clean and he shivers. But he uses his grip in Jaskier's hair to push him back after a few seconds, his mind coming back to him. "Lie back. You're insatiable."
Geralt is slightly unsteady as he pulls back and moves off the bed, doing his ritual as per usual to show his care, but this time it requires a wet rag which he had to wash Jaskier off regardless of their inability to keep their hands to themselves. He comes back and lets himself enjoy the view for just a few seconds. "Don't argue with me," Geralt murmurs before Jaskier can start. "I am not explaining to the healer when he returns why you look like this." The witcher would sincerely rather fight another ten vampires than have that conversation with a relative stranger. He very patiently and gently washes Jaskier's face off, and there's something almost soft in his golden eyes, admiring Jaskier's pretty features along the way.
Features that were slack in unconsciousness and then twisted in pain, because of Geralt's mistakes. His expression turns serious at the thought and he cleans off Jaskier's stomach where some of his own come was from earlier. He gently pulls his shirt that Jaskier's wearing back down over him. Geralt's quiet, setting the cloth to the side, and he doesn't look at his lover as his emotions wave through him. "I'm not ready to lose you," he says, a version of a silent prayer he said earlier in his mind but now voices out loud. He feels timid about it, it's such a damned sentimental thing to say. He isn't supposed to be this weak; loss is a part of his life. Loss and violence and isolation.
Golden eyes finally flick to Jaskier. "I want to train you in general self-defense." It will give him some small peace of mind. It wouldn't help him against the vampire, but perhaps in other ways it would keep him alive.
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"Dunno, feeling pretty sated right now..." Jaskier smiles at him, warm and teasing. He's glad when Geralt turns his back on him and misses the look of amused satisfaction the bard is sporting after seeing his lover walk around in somewhat unsteady legs. Good to know he isn't the only one with weak knees after a good round of sex. Feeling Geralt shiver under his hands is a different kind of pleasure, he can't get enough of it, but this is one of the moments he likes best, when they're calm and satisfied and the witcher is doting on him.
"You spoil me." The younger man announces, doing absolutely nothing to stop said spoiling. "Tell the man that blinding orgasms accelerate healing, he might believe it from a Witcher."
He practically purrs as he closes his eyes again and let's Geralt clean the evidence of their lovemaking from his skin. There's a rather obscene amount of come painting him and he doesn't regret it one bit. In turn, once his face is clean, Jaskier reaches out and runs his hand trough the silver-white strands, untangles any knots that he might have caused when tugging at Geralt's hair. It's intimate, like before but different, in a way that makes something flutter inside of him.
Body clean and mind at rest, Jaskier is wholly unprepared by the sudden onslaught of honesty that drops from Geralt's lips. He blinks, blue eyes wide for a long second, and then cups the Witcher's chin to turn his face gently and leans in to kiss him on the mouth. It's no more than a press of lips but reassuring and firm.
"I'm not ready to leave you either. Not today, or next year, or ever. I can't, I wouldn't." Not on purpose or willingly. Death will have to tear them apart kicking and screaming.
"You know I'm not good with weapons." Jaskier would like to keep anything with a pointy end very, very far away from his person, even if he's the one holding the sword. He isn't saying no, though, catching on Geralt's serious look. If doing this will make the Witcher feel more at ease then so be it, Jaskier's only worry is that it will end in an embarrassing disaster. He doesn't want Geralt thinking about how much of a useless travel companion he makes but it's going to be inevitable. "Don't complain if I keep dropping them or I stab my own foot."
The bard looks down at himself, the shirt reeks of sex, of them both, and it makes him grin. He wants to lie down and press his body properly against Geralt, though, and after a pondering moment of doubt, the shirt is pulled over his head. He folds it carefully and then places it on the floor by the bed, he will take care of it later.
"Come 'ere before you get cold." The next moment, his arms are reaching out to Geralt, trying to get him to lie down next to him so Jaskier can curl on his chest and run his hand through the white hair, massaging the scalp.
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"He wouldn't believe it. And also scold me for straining you." Geralt has no excuse outside of look at him. He understands now why so many people along their journey had trouble saying no to the bard. He is properly whipped at this point, not that he'd ever admit as much. He doesn't reply to the spoiling comment because it might please him to hear that. He likes spoiling Jaskier, if that's what he's doing.
Geralt is reluctant to look toward Jaskier when he touches his chin, but the kiss settles him. He reaches over to pull the bard into another kiss after his reassurance, this time stronger, almost a little desperate. There is no 'ever' for them. Eventually, Jaskier can and will, if Geralt doesn't push him away intentionally by then. It's just too early for it. They haven't had enough time; most of Jaskier's life, yes, but as his companion, not as his partner.
"Don't make promises," he says quietly. They couldn't keep them. He can't keep them. Jaskier is alive for today and he will stay out of harm for a time, until Geralt's paranoia is less present. He isn't used to being so honest about his fears, but he's been making progress with his bard. Trying. He wonders what Vesemir would say about all of this, if he knew. Geralt thinks he'd warn him just as Yennefer did, but understand it wouldn't change his prized pupil's stubbornness.
Geralt snorts, amused. "I know you're not good with weapons." He's seen Jaskier's rare attempt at handling them or himself, and it's always been bad. It won't be easy and he has to train new muscles, but it's the bare minimum. He can do that. He wipes his hands off on the cloth too; they're still a mess but a fixable mess. "The purpose will be to buy you a little time if I am not ten feet away when you get in trouble. I'm not making you a warrior." He likes his soft bard exactly as he is and coming to his rescue apparently was a kink he wasn't aware he had until he saw it for what it was. If teaching Jaskier how to punch or avoid being punched will spare him some trouble, it'll be worth it.
He's satisfied in body and now in mind that he's gotten his way and he raises an eyebrow when Jaskier takes the shirt off. He smiles, indulgently, warmly, and willingly gets pulled into an embrace. "You keep using being cold as an excuse for this." Geralt sees right through it but he settles the blanket nicely over them, especially tucking it around his partner. "Do you want us to have more sex like that in the future?" He runs his fingers along Jaskier's side. He doesn't have an opinion really, he's far more curious about the bard's. He seemed to like the tenderness a great deal.
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He laughes at the idea of the healer making an attempt to scold the big bad witcher to keep his patient safe. How sweet. Very few people had wanted to take care of Jaskier in his life, much less unprompted, and Geralt doing that for him fills and emptiness he hadn't even realized was there in the first place. He doesn't consider the other man to be whipped, or wrapped around his little finger. They're good for each other and Jaskier believes that their relationship works with mutual respect, no matter what outsiders like the healer might think.
Before Jaskier's brain can focus, Geralt's mouth is fit over his. It's firm and deep, making his knees buckle hard, the kiss saying all the things they can't voice. Jaskier moans softly into it, his body pressed flush against a much bigger one. He relaxes into Geralt's desperate embrace, giving himself to it, to him. Geralt's voice makes something ache in his bones, none of them is used to see the Witcher's feelings and fear on display and Jaskier regrets it had taken a scare to bring them into the light. He doesn't say any more promises, doesn't say that he won't make them in the future either, but kisses him one last time, still soft like the brush of butterfly wings over the man's lips.
"I don't have the stomach for fights that involve me, that's why running was invented. It's always much more pleasant to watch you in action. So strong and brave." Jaskier rubs his cheek against Geralt's chest and if he's purposely stroking the mans' ego a bit, it's well deserved. He does like to watch Geralt fight even if the outcome worries him more now than it did a decade ago. He's learned that Witchers aren't invincible, just like that they do have feelings. But if Geralt has a savior kink, Jaskier returns it, enoying his role as the one who needs rescue.
"You're also setting yourself up to an unholy amount of swords pun and innuendos, I warn you in advance." Jaskier runs his free hand gently over Geralt's ribs and scars as though he is trying to count them.
"Hush, you. " How dare Geralt to call him out on it, as if the cold excuse didn't work for both of them. If the Witcher wanted to sleep in his own bed, or rather try to catch some hours of rest, the gods' know that Jaskier wouldn't be able to stop. Being together is a much pleasant deal and the bard hums, pleased, when a hand slides up and down his flank and he settles on Geralt's chest, carefully as to not jostle his bruised ribs.
"I always want us to have more sex as a general wish, not like we don't have plenty. But...ah, maybe? If you take pleasure in it too?"
He looks up at Geralt's face, voice soft and only carrying a hint of uncertainty. The bard enjoys sex of all kinds but, from time to time, fucking in a way that doesn't leave him stumbling the next morning has its advantages.
Gentle sex is sweeter in a way he can't put in words. He always feels cherished by Geralt but when they go slow in brings a different kind of fulfillment. The way Geralt had rolled his hips, grinding down against him in slow but powerful ways, making him see stars, losing themselves in one another. It had felt...like love. But what he wants doesn't matter if Geralt's heart isn't into it, if it makes him uneasy.
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If Jaskier wasn't injured Geralt might have pulled him up on top of him, ravished his body with his mouth and his hands until the bard was gasping all over again. Instead he stays tender and allows himself the ability to get comfort from his embrace and not sex. Geralt keeps him close, only saying Hmmmm in response to that comment about him in action. He doesn't think of himself as pleasant looking at all when he's in the middle of violence, even if he feels at his most honest when he is. When everything else is shucked off him outside of the need for blood and chaos, letting his senses and instincts take full control. Being a person is more difficult than being a killer.
"You won't always be able to run. I will give you minimal reasons to accidentally stab yourself." Geralt rumbles contently when Jaskier rubs his cheek against his chest. His own heartbeat is very slow underneath Jaskier's ear and his skin is rough when it's not torn and scarred. He is typically asked about his scars, but they're with one-off lovers who don't know all his stories. Jaskier knows more of them than most, but the oldest and most ugly are from before his time. "You don't need excuses for innuendo."
Geralt hasn't slept in a separate bed since they made this official, and rarely separate before that too. He never thought himself a snuggler and he would coldly deny it if it was brought up. But he likes feeling Jaskier breathe next to him. He likes when the bard trails those soft fingers of his over his skin. He's amused at the implication they aren't already having more than enough sex, but he gets smug about it too. It's a new feeling, being wanted like this, and he is hungry for it. That might be truly what his constant hunger for Jaskier is about; it's not always about desiring him, sometimes it's only about being desired.
"Mmm?" He can hear the uncertainty in Jaskier's voice in the answer and he glances down, catching blue eyes with curious gold. Geralt lifts his hand to run fingers through Jaskier's hair. He's never had this much either, the aftermath, the level of comfort that comes from relationships. But not enough comfort, apparently, and he frowns. "If I didn't enjoy it, you would know." The lack of staying hard or coming all over him would be a pretty blatant clue. He taps a finger under Jaskier's chin, keeping his face tilted up toward him. He still smells like his come. If Geralt leaned down and licked his skin, he would taste it, no matter how thoroughly he tried to wipe him.
"You can ask me for anything you want in bed, just as I do." Although it is less asking in Geralt's case and more demanding, but he has no qualms with telling Jaskier what he wants. Usually Jaskier only asks for things when Geralt asks him directly, and he assumed that was out of natural submission. But now he wonders if the bard thinks he can't or doesn't want to risk a rejection, which is fair. He slides his finger in a caress along Jaskier's soft cheek. "Try it out." Geralt's mouth curves at one edge as his finger moves over Jaskier's lower lip. "Tell me you want me to fuck you gently more often."
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He's a lowly bard, with a real name attached to nobility that doesn't mean much of anything and does't represent him, and generally gets as much as respect as a flat-chested barmaid. Despite being a viscount he isn't exactly swimming in coin and he can't offer Geralt much in terms of combat support. Okay, anything, he can't offer anything in terms of combat support. Just some insight during battles, and Geralt generally doesn't approve of it. They both are waiting for the inevitable, The Witcher think it will be death that will separate them, Jaskier fears it will be something far more mundane. Geralt will get tired of him, angry with him, and cast him away. As it's always has been.
The night is still young and Jaskier is far from done with his wolf. He wants some rest now to ease the pain in his muscles but chances are that he would try to coach Geralt into another round or wake him up with Jaskier's mouth wrapped around the man's cock. Sure, his ribs will protest but on the other side, blinding orgasms can't be bad for the health, as he had already told Geralt.
"You'll be a great teacher, I'm sure. Maybe I could handle some sort of dagger? A sword might be too heavy for me and I can't carry it along with my lute, it ruins the whole charming bard look."
Lying next to his lover brings a different kind of satisfaction than sex, an even deeper one if Jaskier is honest with himself, and a cat-like smile spreads on his face at hearing Geralt rumble. The bard has always found the slower heartbeat to be soothing rather than weird, and often tries to match the rhythm of his breath with it. Jaskier likes to touch the scars, not because he's indifferent to how often and how deeply Geralt had been hurt in the past, but because they're part of who Geralt is and he isn't disgusted by them. He doesn't need to ask how they came to be either.
Geralt buries his face on Geralt's chest and huffs a laugh against the skin when the other man mentions innuendo. "Guilty as charged. Should I start waxing poetic about your long, hard, silver sword? Maybe mention my skills at polishing it? Or about being your scabbard?"
Delicate lips place a kiss on Geralt's chest, over his heart, and only then Jaskier stops being a little shit. The Witcher can deny being a cuddler until his dying day, instead of bringing it up Jaskier will find excuses to get all over Geralt's space and curl around his big, warm body. The comforting hand on his hair makes Jaskier lean into it and then look up at Geralt with soft eyes after the light tap to his chin. A year ago would have been impossible for him to believe they would be having this kind of conversation, he would have laughed bitterly at the idea of it, it would have seemed like an impossible dream that only existed to taunt him.
And yet here they are.
In truth, he's scared to ask, to say something that will ruin things because turning his life into a shitstorm is what Jaskier does best. He had asked Geralt once to sit on his lap looking at his face and the man had refused. It wasn't a level of intimacy Geralt felt comfortable with. The bard understood it then and he still respects it now but he's been wary about being the one asking for anything ever since. But Geralt is offering the chance...
"I...like it when you fuck me viciously." Jaskier breath hitches a little but he soldiers on, the voice is low but if anybody won't ever have problems hear him, that is Geralt. "And I'd love it if you could take me slowly every now and then as well. Break me apart piece by piece and then put me back together."
There, he's done it. Jaskier stares back at the beautiful golden eyes and smiles.
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