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.
Geralt can't imagine getting bored of Jaskier. They've been on the road together for a long time now, off and on, fully on after becoming lovers. Jaskier's always surprising, playful, amusing, and yes, irritating sometimes, but never boring. Geralt thinks he's boring in comparison. He is rigid and old. Set in his ways. Changing even slightly has taken time and effort, and it will never come easy to him. He balks at being pushed but on the whole Jaskier rarely does, and when he does, there are good reasons for it. Such as forcing the conversation after that debacle with Yennefer. Earlier in their relationship that would not have led anywhere good and led to a vicious fight between them, so sometimes it just takes time with the witcher.
He meant it when he said he always wants Jaskier, which is strange for him, to let something consume him that isn't violence or duty. It isn't difficult to rile him again. Geralt is content with some affection after sex, at his softest and most pliable when feeling good from an orgasm and good energy between them. He huff-chuckles. "I'm a decent teacher, but I am not nice." That should hardly be a surprise. He barely knows how to keep from being feral in the bedroom, fighting is a different story. Still, he leans down to kiss the top of Jaskier's head. "I will be less strict with you. A dagger is a good idea." Less strict does not mean nice.
Geralt smirks at Jaskier's attempts at innuendo, rolling his eyes. "You just did. Hopefully you got it out of your system." He knows that is not at all the case, but a man can dream. "Don't flirt with me while we're training. No distractions." It will already be difficult for him when his blood gets flowing and his energy spikes not to let that feeling mix with his active lust for Jaskier. He needs to train him! Not get distracted by the smell of his sweat and back him up against something. He sounds very serious when he says that.
A year ago they definitely would not have this conversation, but yes, here they are. Jaskier's eyes are so vivid in color, framed by eyelashes that Geralt would say were as pretty as any woman he'd ever met. His eyes are soft and it makes Geralt a little nervous on the inside, being looked at with such adoration. His own gaze is warm but not soft; it's not a comment on lacking the same feelings, more that he is made of stone. This is as sweet as he gets, for now. Still, he doesn't break their gaze.
Geralt nods at Jaskier's words: see, not that difficult after all. "I gladly will, once you are healed." They both enjoyed the sex they both have, but it will be easier when Geralt isn't concerned with every movement he could harm him too much. He wasn't so certain he could be as gentle as he just was, and now he knows he can be. It will make it easier for him to do that for Jaskier again. It means constant control over his strength and aggression, but it is worth it. They both will get let loose in their own ways at other times, an equal partnership.
He frowns and keeps caressing Jaskier's soft lips, tracing them. "When I told you no, it was not a forever no." Geralt doesn't like the idea that his one rejection for Jaskier made him uncertain of asking for anything else. He hesitated from saying no partly for that reason. So he is reiterating that it was not a flat refusal, although they both had permission for those, if need be. "I've never been fucked in that position before, it takes an adjustment." That is more than he typically explains or admits to, although he does not define his reasons for that. That should be enough. And it also means Jaskier will be his first when it happens.
He's grown used to always being temporary in people's lives, to be pushed away and forgotten in favor of someone better. Being wanted is so new that part of him is still afraid of screwing it up by being himself. But when stripped of all the outer problems, like invading armies or witches, maybe this is why they work. Opposite attract.
Jaskier can't stay still and Geralt helps to calm him down, make him focus, makes him feel wanted. In return, he tries to make Geralt's life at least a little happier. He also makes it a whole lot more complicated but some troubles are more fun than terrible to deal with. Or so the bard likes to believe.
"I never expected you to be, I know how seriously you take combat. I fight dirty too, remember."
Something Geralt probably knows as well. Jaskier considers pointing that out a fair warning. When he gets frightened and the fight or flight response kicks in, he usually picks flight. If he's really panicked, though, he might react by kicking his attacker in their soft parts before running. Jaskier doesn't want Geralt to kill him because the bard accidentally kicked him in the dick. He doesn't want to ruin Geralt's dick, for what matters, because they both make use of it.
"I'll try to get enough coin for a decent dagger the next time I perform. Uh...when I can actually perform properly." He's been feeling rather frustrated that his injuries make holding the lute and moving around a chore rather than bringing him the usual enjoyment. Only a few more days, he tells himself.
"I got it out of my system...for now." Geralt can keep dreaming but Jaskier being Jaskier, loves his sex jokes. And sex songs. And sex in general. He narrows his eyes at Geralt, his smile turning mischievous at that serious tone. "Flirt? Me? As a tactic to distract you from kicking my ass during training? I'd never! Frankly, I'm offended you ever suggest I'd do such thing Geralt."
It hadn't really occurred to him until the other man brought it up. It was good to have a backup plan. Jaskier can't say he's never been fucked against a tree by an overenthusiastic Witcher but there should be a first time for everything in life. He will remember to buy some more oil in town and carry small vials with him for convenience. If anybody asks, he will say those are for his lute maintenance.
"It's a deal then." He keeps looking back at Geralt but his eyes soon loose their sharp mischief, once again being affectionate and pleased. He knows Geralt is trying, that he did try and succeeded already, and it means the world to him. Jaskier purses his lips to press a kiss to the pad of Geralt's fingers. When the man speaks again, it brings a small flush of embarrassment to the bard's face. Yes, he had been thinking bout that day in particular and it's ridiculous how easily Geralt could tell.
"Are you sure that mind-reading isn't another of those Witchery powers of yours?" Jaskier wouldn't put it past them. It seems more like a Yenenfer thing to do, though, witch related. "You don't have to explain yourself to me but I appreciate it. I know it's not easy to be in that kind of vulnerable position."
He's been in similar ones often enough and has gotten hurt. Not just not only in a physical sense, it's more personal. Jaskier hand reaches out, brush over Geralt's side and gives it a small squeeze. He would be honored to be Geralt's first, it's not something he ever expected. "We will figure things out as we go. Do you feel sleepy? Think you can catch some rest?"
Geralt doesn't fear Jaskier leaving him in the sense of choice. He thinks it very likely that will have to be his choice, in the end, to walk away when he knows it's time. He said he would and promised nothing to the contrary. But he can't imagine the bard actively choosing to walk away from him, there is too much certainty in his presence, in his loyalty. Unfortunately those are the roles they have: the person who leaves and the person who gets left. But not yet. He will stay as long as he can and try to keep his temper and fear from breaking them apart early.
"It's smart to fight dirty. Whatever keeps you alive." Geralt is irritatingly honorable, yes, and he is far more careful with his human opponents than the monsters he slaughters. In life or death situation though, of course he would fight dirty to keep breathing. And he absolutely wants Jaskier to do the same. He isn't going to impose his sense of odd and unexplained honor on anyone else. Whatever keeps his bard coming back to him.
Geralt kisses his hair again; it's such a simple gesture and he likes that. He keeps his nose in the strands. They'll need a bath in the morning, he can smell the come in Jaskier's hair. Only a bit, but enough. "You can have one of my daggers." He has several blades outside of his swords, all smaller and for different types of use. In a fight who knows what he'll need to use. It is not as easy a thing as it sounds, to give Jaskier one of his. They are all well made and lethal, and a witcher giving someone a weapon of his truly is the same thing as offering a heart or something deeply romantic. He says it like it's nothing.
Geralt growls playfully at him. "No flirting," he warns again, knowing full well there will be flirting and sudden sex, but it won't stop him from fulfilling his promise of making Jaskier at least slightly more formidable. He will still always come running to rescue him and be glad for it, but whatever little things he can change to make himself less afraid of the bard getting injured are necessary.
He looks forward to fucking Jaskier that way now; it will be particularly satisfying coming in him after proving he can do it. Geralt brushes his fingers on those warm cheeks. Blushing. Adorable, truly. "Mmm, no mind-reading. I wondered why you were hesitant to ask for it, questioned whether I gave you reason to, remembered the one time I've rejected your request." He says very little much of the time, but he thinks a great deal. His mind curled around those facts, making conclusions, and yet again he's explaining himself more for Jaskier than he does for anyone else. It is pure logic in this case.
It isn't easy in particular for a witcher who is very dominant in sex and very closed off emotionally on top of that. He grunts in agreement, grateful that Jaskier understands, and gives him a compliment as a reward. "You were good at fucking me. You'll have another chance." It won't be as frequent as the other way around, but he enjoyed it. Jaskier was fiercer than he expected and Geralt still remembers the sensation of his tongue inside of him.
A memory for another time. For now he puts his long arm underneath Jaskier and keeps him close, tilting his head down to kiss him gently. "Perhaps. You rest." He hasn't slept since before the fight, unable to rest with Jaskier still injured, but perhaps here with the bard's reassuring heartbeat in his ears he can.
It is very unlikely that Jaskier would be the first to leave. He doesn't think he could even if he tried, because his heart would not be in it and it would tear his soul apart. He once told Geralt that he smelled of heartbreak but never specified who would be suffering it.
"I'm pleased that you approve." He really is, the curve of Jaskier's mouth curls up at Geralt's being so practical. He has no illusions about his combat skills, is well aware they're nonexistent, but he's also not a big fan of getting injured or almost dying, no matter how often that seems to happen.
The bard's blue eyes close and he hums is contentment at the touches and kisses to his hair. He loves it when Geralt does that, loves that side of him, and something so seemingly easy but openly affectionate has him rumbling like a cat. Bathing has been a chore with his injuries making all movements awkward but Jaskier will insist that they share the tub. He plans on behaving this time, he just wants to work on untangling Geralt's hair and massaging his scalp, the tense shoulders, dotting on him for a change.
"You need those more than I do!" Jaskier's head is snapping back up almost in alarm when Geralt suggest he takes one of the daggers. "What if I drop it by accident? If I lose it? I wouldn't forgive myself."
There are very few objects Jaskier loves in the way he cherishes his lute. He can understand that Geralt has a similar symbiotic relationship with his weapons and potions, he understands the offering for what it is. A meaningful gift. Important, even if Geralt's tone doesn't show it. Jaskier likes to think he knows him better than that. The playful growl has the effect of calming him and Jaskier scrunches up his nose rather cutesy, smiling back, and gives a small growling back.
"All right, all right...gosh, so demanding. The things I do for you." If training will give Geralt some peace of mind, and maybe help Jaskier in the future, he will endure the Witcher's harsh teachings...with minimal flirting. Minimal but no nonexistent, you can't ask that much from a bard when his lover is swinging a big sword in front of him, looking edible. Not like the amount of flirting would affect the result, he's looking forwards the exercise as well.
Head tilting, Jaskier leans into the hand caressing his cheek and then moves so he can place a kiss on Geralt's palm. He was joking about the mind-reading but Geralt is truly the most perceptive man he's ever met and with an impressive memory. It's no wonder he can read him so well. The words make Jaskier laugh softly, pride swelling on his chest, body melting further into the other's embrace.
"I wanted you to feel good, I'm glad you did. And any other chance will be welcome." If it happens. If Geralt changes his mind, that's fine with Jaskier as well. He accepts the kiss with another happy sound and his arm wrap around Geralt a little tighter.
"Not going anywhere." The brunette says in the end, hoping that Geralt can actually catch a break for real, even as he feels his eyelids drooping already. "I only really feel safe with you."
Geralt doesn't know where he learned such sweet and comforting gestures from. Certainly not from anything else in his life; his training, his brief moments with whores, his relationship with Yennefer, affection is not something he's been taught. Perhaps it is built into him, somehow. Or he got addicted to the way it felt when Jaskier would do it to him, running fingers through his hair, cupping his cheek, caring so damned much with every touch. He started to mirror it and now it came to him easily enough.
He frowns at the response to his knife offer. "I can get another one." He can, technically, but yes, his blades are special. And meaningful. Geralt scoffs and tugs lightly on Jaskier's hair. "It's not as if I am giving you my swords." Which he would never, ever do unless there was no other choice. Those are sacred. It is good that Jaskier understands that the offer means something though, it will mean he will be more careful with it.
"You are my ...." He actually doesn't know a word for it. He gestures to the two of them and their current nudity. That's a summary enough. Sex. Monogamous sex. With perhaps some emotions. SOME. "My knives are better than others, and you will carry one." It does not sound like he's asking, because Geralt rarely asks, he demands. The point being made is that because of their arrangement, he considers it only natural that Jaskier get to use his property. They've shared their bodies and lives together, what is one blade?
Geralt is old. He hasn't aged truly in a long time, but he is old, and he's always been very perceptive on top of that. He is adept at being in denial about himself, but in general, he sees situations very clearly. Jaskier is not difficult to read on top of that. He wears his emotions on his sleeves. Geralt can usually tell what he's thinking or feeling from a distance away, from only the posture of his back. He rolls his eyes about Jaskier's pride, knowing that he deserves a little smugness for his conquest of his white wolf.
"You are safe," he says quietly, closing his eyes as he listens to Jaskier's steady heartbeat. "Sleep." The command is gentle and it is only seconds after Jaskier drifts to sleep that Geralt does as well.
Some things, the good things, stay with the person even if sometimes they get buried under the pain and hardships. Jaskier believes that the world could use more kindness and compassion, and sometimes it's only a matter of giving people a chance, a reason to show it. And then, you reap what you sow.
He makes a small sound at the tug, not at all unhappy, then scoffs back at Geralt and settles down comfortably.
"I already play with your sword in a different way. Never heard a complaint before." He nuzzles Geralt's chess, kisses it softly, and closes his eyes again.
"Partner." Jaskier offers in a soothing voice, almost just a hum, even if he was thinking of a different word. Partner seemed fitting enough, personal but harmless enough. He really didn't need a word to define them better or expected Geralt to find one that suited the Witcher's sensibilities.
"I'll be careful with the dagger, thank you." And he really prays he never has to use it. Even on the off chance he manages to swing it around without stabbing himself, having to hold a dagger means he's being attacked or that someone will, inevitably, end covered in blood. None of those options are ideal. he will worry about it when the situation comes, and not sooner. Jaskier definitely humus at Geralt reassurance that he's safe, they both are for the time being. Being this contented and satisfied, falling sleep on Geralt's arms is easy.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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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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He meant it when he said he always wants Jaskier, which is strange for him, to let something consume him that isn't violence or duty. It isn't difficult to rile him again. Geralt is content with some affection after sex, at his softest and most pliable when feeling good from an orgasm and good energy between them. He huff-chuckles. "I'm a decent teacher, but I am not nice." That should hardly be a surprise. He barely knows how to keep from being feral in the bedroom, fighting is a different story. Still, he leans down to kiss the top of Jaskier's head. "I will be less strict with you. A dagger is a good idea." Less strict does not mean nice.
Geralt smirks at Jaskier's attempts at innuendo, rolling his eyes. "You just did. Hopefully you got it out of your system." He knows that is not at all the case, but a man can dream. "Don't flirt with me while we're training. No distractions." It will already be difficult for him when his blood gets flowing and his energy spikes not to let that feeling mix with his active lust for Jaskier. He needs to train him! Not get distracted by the smell of his sweat and back him up against something. He sounds very serious when he says that.
A year ago they definitely would not have this conversation, but yes, here they are. Jaskier's eyes are so vivid in color, framed by eyelashes that Geralt would say were as pretty as any woman he'd ever met. His eyes are soft and it makes Geralt a little nervous on the inside, being looked at with such adoration. His own gaze is warm but not soft; it's not a comment on lacking the same feelings, more that he is made of stone. This is as sweet as he gets, for now. Still, he doesn't break their gaze.
Geralt nods at Jaskier's words: see, not that difficult after all. "I gladly will, once you are healed." They both enjoyed the sex they both have, but it will be easier when Geralt isn't concerned with every movement he could harm him too much. He wasn't so certain he could be as gentle as he just was, and now he knows he can be. It will make it easier for him to do that for Jaskier again. It means constant control over his strength and aggression, but it is worth it. They both will get let loose in their own ways at other times, an equal partnership.
He frowns and keeps caressing Jaskier's soft lips, tracing them. "When I told you no, it was not a forever no." Geralt doesn't like the idea that his one rejection for Jaskier made him uncertain of asking for anything else. He hesitated from saying no partly for that reason. So he is reiterating that it was not a flat refusal, although they both had permission for those, if need be. "I've never been fucked in that position before, it takes an adjustment." That is more than he typically explains or admits to, although he does not define his reasons for that. That should be enough. And it also means Jaskier will be his first when it happens.
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Jaskier can't stay still and Geralt helps to calm him down, make him focus, makes him feel wanted. In return, he tries to make Geralt's life at least a little happier. He also makes it a whole lot more complicated but some troubles are more fun than terrible to deal with. Or so the bard likes to believe.
"I never expected you to be, I know how seriously you take combat. I fight dirty too, remember."
Something Geralt probably knows as well. Jaskier considers pointing that out a fair warning. When he gets frightened and the fight or flight response kicks in, he usually picks flight. If he's really panicked, though, he might react by kicking his attacker in their soft parts before running. Jaskier doesn't want Geralt to kill him because the bard accidentally kicked him in the dick. He doesn't want to ruin Geralt's dick, for what matters, because they both make use of it.
"I'll try to get enough coin for a decent dagger the next time I perform. Uh...when I can actually perform properly." He's been feeling rather frustrated that his injuries make holding the lute and moving around a chore rather than bringing him the usual enjoyment. Only a few more days, he tells himself.
"I got it out of my system...for now." Geralt can keep dreaming but Jaskier being Jaskier, loves his sex jokes. And sex songs. And sex in general. He narrows his eyes at Geralt, his smile turning mischievous at that serious tone. "Flirt? Me? As a tactic to distract you from kicking my ass during training? I'd never! Frankly, I'm offended you ever suggest I'd do such thing Geralt."
It hadn't really occurred to him until the other man brought it up. It was good to have a backup plan. Jaskier can't say he's never been fucked against a tree by an overenthusiastic Witcher but there should be a first time for everything in life. He will remember to buy some more oil in town and carry small vials with him for convenience. If anybody asks, he will say those are for his lute maintenance.
"It's a deal then." He keeps looking back at Geralt but his eyes soon loose their sharp mischief, once again being affectionate and pleased. He knows Geralt is trying, that he did try and succeeded already, and it means the world to him. Jaskier purses his lips to press a kiss to the pad of Geralt's fingers. When the man speaks again, it brings a small flush of embarrassment to the bard's face. Yes, he had been thinking bout that day in particular and it's ridiculous how easily Geralt could tell.
"Are you sure that mind-reading isn't another of those Witchery powers of yours?" Jaskier wouldn't put it past them. It seems more like a Yenenfer thing to do, though, witch related. "You don't have to explain yourself to me but I appreciate it. I know it's not easy to be in that kind of vulnerable position."
He's been in similar ones often enough and has gotten hurt. Not just not only in a physical sense, it's more personal. Jaskier hand reaches out, brush over Geralt's side and gives it a small squeeze. He would be honored to be Geralt's first, it's not something he ever expected. "We will figure things out as we go. Do you feel sleepy? Think you can catch some rest?"
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"It's smart to fight dirty. Whatever keeps you alive." Geralt is irritatingly honorable, yes, and he is far more careful with his human opponents than the monsters he slaughters. In life or death situation though, of course he would fight dirty to keep breathing. And he absolutely wants Jaskier to do the same. He isn't going to impose his sense of odd and unexplained honor on anyone else. Whatever keeps his bard coming back to him.
Geralt kisses his hair again; it's such a simple gesture and he likes that. He keeps his nose in the strands. They'll need a bath in the morning, he can smell the come in Jaskier's hair. Only a bit, but enough. "You can have one of my daggers." He has several blades outside of his swords, all smaller and for different types of use. In a fight who knows what he'll need to use. It is not as easy a thing as it sounds, to give Jaskier one of his. They are all well made and lethal, and a witcher giving someone a weapon of his truly is the same thing as offering a heart or something deeply romantic. He says it like it's nothing.
Geralt growls playfully at him. "No flirting," he warns again, knowing full well there will be flirting and sudden sex, but it won't stop him from fulfilling his promise of making Jaskier at least slightly more formidable. He will still always come running to rescue him and be glad for it, but whatever little things he can change to make himself less afraid of the bard getting injured are necessary.
He looks forward to fucking Jaskier that way now; it will be particularly satisfying coming in him after proving he can do it. Geralt brushes his fingers on those warm cheeks. Blushing. Adorable, truly. "Mmm, no mind-reading. I wondered why you were hesitant to ask for it, questioned whether I gave you reason to, remembered the one time I've rejected your request." He says very little much of the time, but he thinks a great deal. His mind curled around those facts, making conclusions, and yet again he's explaining himself more for Jaskier than he does for anyone else. It is pure logic in this case.
It isn't easy in particular for a witcher who is very dominant in sex and very closed off emotionally on top of that. He grunts in agreement, grateful that Jaskier understands, and gives him a compliment as a reward. "You were good at fucking me. You'll have another chance." It won't be as frequent as the other way around, but he enjoyed it. Jaskier was fiercer than he expected and Geralt still remembers the sensation of his tongue inside of him.
A memory for another time. For now he puts his long arm underneath Jaskier and keeps him close, tilting his head down to kiss him gently. "Perhaps. You rest." He hasn't slept since before the fight, unable to rest with Jaskier still injured, but perhaps here with the bard's reassuring heartbeat in his ears he can.
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"I'm pleased that you approve." He really is, the curve of Jaskier's mouth curls up at Geralt's being so practical. He has no illusions about his combat skills, is well aware they're nonexistent, but he's also not a big fan of getting injured or almost dying, no matter how often that seems to happen.
The bard's blue eyes close and he hums is contentment at the touches and kisses to his hair. He loves it when Geralt does that, loves that side of him, and something so seemingly easy but openly affectionate has him rumbling like a cat. Bathing has been a chore with his injuries making all movements awkward but Jaskier will insist that they share the tub. He plans on behaving this time, he just wants to work on untangling Geralt's hair and massaging his scalp, the tense shoulders, dotting on him for a change.
"You need those more than I do!" Jaskier's head is snapping back up almost in alarm when Geralt suggest he takes one of the daggers. "What if I drop it by accident? If I lose it? I wouldn't forgive myself."
There are very few objects Jaskier loves in the way he cherishes his lute. He can understand that Geralt has a similar symbiotic relationship with his weapons and potions, he understands the offering for what it is. A meaningful gift. Important, even if Geralt's tone doesn't show it. Jaskier likes to think he knows him better than that. The playful growl has the effect of calming him and Jaskier scrunches up his nose rather cutesy, smiling back, and gives a small growling back.
"All right, all right...gosh, so demanding. The things I do for you." If training will give Geralt some peace of mind, and maybe help Jaskier in the future, he will endure the Witcher's harsh teachings...with minimal flirting. Minimal but no nonexistent, you can't ask that much from a bard when his lover is swinging a big sword in front of him, looking edible. Not like the amount of flirting would affect the result, he's looking forwards the exercise as well.
Head tilting, Jaskier leans into the hand caressing his cheek and then moves so he can place a kiss on Geralt's palm. He was joking about the mind-reading but Geralt is truly the most perceptive man he's ever met and with an impressive memory. It's no wonder he can read him so well. The words make Jaskier laugh softly, pride swelling on his chest, body melting further into the other's embrace.
"I wanted you to feel good, I'm glad you did. And any other chance will be welcome." If it happens. If Geralt changes his mind, that's fine with Jaskier as well. He accepts the kiss with another happy sound and his arm wrap around Geralt a little tighter.
"Not going anywhere." The brunette says in the end, hoping that Geralt can actually catch a break for real, even as he feels his eyelids drooping already. "I only really feel safe with you."
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He frowns at the response to his knife offer. "I can get another one." He can, technically, but yes, his blades are special. And meaningful. Geralt scoffs and tugs lightly on Jaskier's hair. "It's not as if I am giving you my swords." Which he would never, ever do unless there was no other choice. Those are sacred. It is good that Jaskier understands that the offer means something though, it will mean he will be more careful with it.
"You are my ...." He actually doesn't know a word for it. He gestures to the two of them and their current nudity. That's a summary enough. Sex. Monogamous sex. With perhaps some emotions. SOME. "My knives are better than others, and you will carry one." It does not sound like he's asking, because Geralt rarely asks, he demands. The point being made is that because of their arrangement, he considers it only natural that Jaskier get to use his property. They've shared their bodies and lives together, what is one blade?
Geralt is old. He hasn't aged truly in a long time, but he is old, and he's always been very perceptive on top of that. He is adept at being in denial about himself, but in general, he sees situations very clearly. Jaskier is not difficult to read on top of that. He wears his emotions on his sleeves. Geralt can usually tell what he's thinking or feeling from a distance away, from only the posture of his back. He rolls his eyes about Jaskier's pride, knowing that he deserves a little smugness for his conquest of his white wolf.
"You are safe," he says quietly, closing his eyes as he listens to Jaskier's steady heartbeat. "Sleep." The command is gentle and it is only seconds after Jaskier drifts to sleep that Geralt does as well.
[Sparring thread???]
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He makes a small sound at the tug, not at all unhappy, then scoffs back at Geralt and settles down comfortably.
"I already play with your sword in a different way. Never heard a complaint before." He nuzzles Geralt's chess, kisses it softly, and closes his eyes again.
"Partner." Jaskier offers in a soothing voice, almost just a hum, even if he was thinking of a different word. Partner seemed fitting enough, personal but harmless enough. He really didn't need a word to define them better or expected Geralt to find one that suited the Witcher's sensibilities.
"I'll be careful with the dagger, thank you." And he really prays he never has to use it. Even on the off chance he manages to swing it around without stabbing himself, having to hold a dagger means he's being attacked or that someone will, inevitably, end covered in blood. None of those options are ideal. he will worry about it when the situation comes, and not sooner. Jaskier definitely humus at Geralt reassurance that he's safe, they both are for the time being. Being this contented and satisfied, falling sleep on Geralt's arms is easy.
[Sparring thread! here you go :>]