It's funny how Destiny puts everything into place, no matter how much you try to fight it sometimes. Whatever must happen, will happen. Jaskier likes seeing destiny not as something inevitable but as some kind of comfort. It meant that no matter how much you fuck up along the way, if something is destined to happen then it will.
Witnessing Ciri and Geralt finally found each other made him teary eyed and gave the bard inspiration to write a dozen songs. He didn't, though, the risk of being caught by Nilfgaard was too high. They were still hot on their trail and no place in the Continent seemed safe enough. No place that Jaskier knew about, that's it. Geralt had a clear idea of where to go and what to expect, thanks the gods for resourceful Witchers.
It wasn't a quick trip and it gave them plenty of time to get themselves familiarized with the brave princess. Jaskier tried to cheer her up with songs when his singing didn't put them at risk of being caught by an enemy or a monster. And when being loud wasn't an option, he chatted softly as they walked, telling her all sorts of stories about their two decades together so she could get a better idea of the kind of man Geralt was. Much like Jaskier's songs, the stories were a bit embellished but he also didn't shy away from the embarrassing parts, like being swallowed by a monster, to make Ciri smile. He wanted her to realize that Witchers, despite what other people said about them, had more humanity than most. What Jaskier accomplished most of the time was to make obvious how smitten he was with Geralt. It was also very sweet to see the usually stoic and serious man bond with his child surprise, Geralt was clearly growing more and more protective of hr by the minute and Jaskier found it really sweet.
Also really hot.
Which was a problem.
It had been a while since Geralt and he had scared the forest animals or some poor maid in an inn with too thin walls. Every time they got something close to privacy, when Ciri sleep or they were able to set up two proper tends, Geralt refused to ravage him properly (or let himself be ravaged, for what mattered). It was terribly unfair. Jaskier even had been training! And getting better with small daggers, at that, he was proud that he didn't even stab himself once. Although there had been some small cuts in his hands on occasion.
Contrary to popular belief, the bard could go without sex for a long time if he wanted. Now, with Geralt looking like his handsome self and also taking care of his new daughter with that level of protectiveness, how could Jaskier not want to jump him at the first opportunity? They endured, though, until they made it to their safe place.
Good old Kaer Morhen, lost in the middle of the Blue mountains, with thick, stone walls. You could probably murder someone in a room and no scream would be heard outside. Come to think of it, Jaskier realized as he studied the place, that probably happened more than once. Meeting the other Witchers had been an experience. They were nothing like what Jaskier had been expecting, and judging by the looks he got from Eskel, and Lambert's comments, they were equally surprised to find a colorfully dressed bard in the middle of their forte. Eskel had heard of his songs and actually complimented them, which made Jaskier ecstatic. Lambert and him spent about 15 minutes throwing barbs at each other and then mocking some of Geralt's habits, so they were getting along somewhat by the end of the conversation.
Vesemir was...complicated. Jaskier wanted to like him because he was important for Geralt, a mentor, and probably like a father to him. But the bard couldn't stop thinking about how far Vesemir had been involved in the trials that mutated his lover. How many children never saw the light of a new day in this fortress, children like Ciri. Seeing Geralt's room provided a good distraction, though, and knowing that Ciri was safe in her own place brought them both peace of mind.
Now, the bashful look on Geralt's face makes Jaskier wants to kiss him. It only takes him a second to realize that now he can, so he puts a hand on the man's cheek and leans in for a quick kiss.
"Are you kidding? You have an actual roof over your head and a bed, it's more than I expected. Maybe it's because I expected you to have a space for Roach up here too."
Jaskier is joking, really. Well mostly joking. And talking about the bed, after kissing Geralt to move to lie down on it, making a happy sound as he stretches himself like a cat over the mattress. A moment later he's giving Geralt what he hopes is a proper sultry look. Jaskier is rather tired after the travel so it might as well look like he's sleepy. "What do you say we take a bath and then I help you work out all that stress out of your system?"
Being home was a strange experience, mostly because Geralt rarely calls it 'home' although that's the closest approximation to what it is. There is no where else he would go in a dangerous situation like this, for safety, for Ciri. Witchers are generally encouraged to leave, which is what he does, and his path is in the outside world. What none of them expected was that someone would manage to make witchers famous. Eskel brought that up to him once he figured out who Jaskier was, and Geralt shrugged in response. It's true; his bard really was the first one to actively try to change the narrative around them. Whether that was a good or a bad thing was still up to question for them.
Vesemir was not pleased about Jaskier being there. Ciri he could understand, her being Geralt's child surprise and a child with great power within her. But a bard in a place intentionally full of secrets made him wary. But he knew better than to push when Geralt put his foot down. Geralt of Rivia is particularly difficult and too serious, something his brothers and father figure know very well by now. Lambert is already trying to get a rise out of him. It's inevitable.
Geralt resists the urge to go check on Ciri again; he's never really felt this level of intense anxiety surrounding someone else. With Jaskier he is protective and possessive, so it's always been in him, this urge to wrap someone up in his safety and destroy anything that tries to touch them. But it's going to be a process, learning when to let her be free and not watched by him at all times. He'll get there. It's still new.
Stolen kisses are mostly all they've had lately so he enjoys it and watches very closely as Jaskier stretches himself over his bed. Their bed, technically, now. It is deeply appealing. Geralt moves so quickly when he wants to, one moment staring at him and the next on top of him. He pins Jaskier's arms down and hmms, ducking his head down to nuzzle at Jaskier's ear and then down to his neck, breathing in deeply to have Jaskier's scent surround him. It's a mix, having Jaskier's distinct smell wrapped in Geralt's bed, home, and he hasn't gotten to mark him in too long a time.
He runs his tongue along the curve of Jaskier's neck, tasting him, dirt and all. As if that matters to him. Geralt bites down firmly on where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking a red mark along with the teeth and that satisfies a part of his hunger for now. "Hmmm," he murmurs. "You do realize we're surrounded by witchers." Geralt lifts his head, amusement in glowing golden eyes, kissing him just enough to get Jaskier into it and then pulling back. "They'll hear you scream. They'll smell me on every inch of you."
The last part Geralt is very interested in pursuing. Jaskier doesn't smell enough like him. He straddles Jaskier's waist and lets go of his arms, moving to take off his brightly colored jerkin instead. "Just so you understand what fucking means here." Geralt is not against it; even if he was, he'd still probably be so needy and desperate that he would stop caring if it meant Jaskier's body under his. It still feels appropriate to warn him.
"You've been good," he rasps, running his fingers over Jaskier's bare chest after he pushes the clothes off them. "With her, with the dagger. I've been watching." And admiring. And adoring. Geralt slowly grinds his arse down into Jaskier's lap, eyes fixed on his face. "You should be rewarded."
Jaskier would be lying if he said that he isn't proud of how his songs had helped change people's views on Witchers. There's still a long way to go after two decades, many townfolks still believe the offensive and inaccurate depictions of them, but that only fuels the bard's determination. He's also started to teach Ciri some of his songs, probably much to Geralt's exasperation.
Perhaps if Vesemir sees Geralt and Jaskier together often enough, he might finally realize where the Bard's loyalties lay. There are many secrets around Kaer Morhen and Jaskier is going to have a hell of a good time trying to figure them out or prodding Geralt for more details about his childhood, yet he will keep that information to himself. The prodding, too, would be done more in an attempt to understand his partner better, the darkest parts of him, rather than trying to pester Geralt about his youth for the sake of it. Jaskier knows that non one had an easy life among these ancient ruins and that those who survived the trials carry with them the traumatic experiences that made them who they are. Sometimes, it keeps the bard awake at night even if he tries to hide it, knowing very well that Geralt rarely gets a good night of rest. When it happens, he curls tighter around the man, hugging and burying his face on the scarred chest, trying not to think.
None of those depressing thoughts comes to him now, far too busy admiring Geralt's quick reactions and being kissed senseless. He lets out a laugh when the other man nuzzles his neck, squirming under Geralt. Not to get away from the hold, it just feels funny and he enjoys it. His chin tilts back and he offers the column of his throat for Geralt to mark and bite, murmuring a soft yet easily audible for the close Witcher to heard 'Yesss'. It's been a long time, he's only human, and damn, does Geralt look good all over him.
"I do. If they get jealous, that's their problem for eavesdropping." Jaskier murmurs against the man's mouth, chasing it for another quick kiss. He almost wants to ask him just how loud Geralt wants him to be. The bard has never been shy in his life and he's not going to start now. "All that sounds like the opposite of a problem to me."
Ciri won't realize any of those things, sparing Geralt the embarrassment, so it's all good. Not like Jaskier doesn't suspect that she already knows what it's going on between them, she should have to be blind to miss it.
"I'm always good, ah you just don't notice most of the time." Jaskier hums at the touches and raises his arms to help to get rid of his doublet and shirt, then the rest of clothes. He's also pulling at Geralt's dark shirt to get it out of the way so he can do some exploring of his own. He pauses and groans at the grinding, his growing hard-on brought up to attention, and then smiles up at Geralt. His hand slides up the man's shoulder and grabs a fist of his hair, giving it a tug. "Oh? What do you have in mind, gorgeous?"
There will always be the majority of people who hate or fear them, and if it's mostly fear, that is just fine, witchers should inspire a little fear, otherwise people would cheat them more often. But there has been a shift that the others have noted when they left, so Jaskier is already known to them. It still isn't normal for him to be here, and they will be a little on guard, especially with Vesemir's noted displeasure. The man is not cruel, he is simply wary, and these are his boys, his proteges. It is up to him to keep these near-dead secrets. He will relax with time, and they will have time, as Geralt isn't leaving and therefore Jaskier isn't leaving. He made it clear they are a 'both or neither' option.
Geralt may give ground on the bard far more than he should, and he's reluctantly given up a few details over their decades together, but much of this place is still a mystery and a secret as it has to be. He trusts Jaskier like no other but it is a tightrope walk he's doing now. He doesn't regret it. Ciri is closer to being safe here and they can train her and decide what is next for her. He knows he might have to reach out to Yennefer, a subject to be brought up to both Jaskier and Vesemir, neither of whom will like it, but the girl has magic. He has to be the best guardian for him he can be.
But that is not important now, that is a future discussion, for now he wants to remember what it's like to have the bard's adoration and desire wrap him up as safely as this place does in its own way. Geralt doesn't want to think at all about anything outside of this room for the night; they deserve that at least. Gods he forgot just how open and eager his lover is, how quick he is to submit to teeth, to let Geralt strip him. He used to go months without thinking about sex or caring about it, but he's starved now for it. He got too spoiled.
Geralt kisses him in between words, lost in his taste, knowing by the time the others will hear them, he really won't care about anything outside of Jaskier's moans, so it suits him fine. He growls at the tug on his hair, golden eyes glowing with heat. He pauses, looking at his lover, continuing a very slow but sensual grind into his lap, and there's suggestion in it without question. This is still a mountain to climb and he wonders how easy it will be without the privacy he prefers, but he also doesn't care. He wants Jaskier to understand his level of trust, for them both to know it, even if Geralt will never be good at putting it into words.
Geralt moves off his lap but only so he can lower himself down to take advantage of Jaskier's bare chest, sucking little marks and licking his nipples. He uses the change in position to strip the rest of their clothes off. "You wanted something from me once," he rumbles, not looking up at Jaskier but instead taking his time to kiss his stomach and ribs. "I said no then, but I am saying yes now." Is he masking his mild nerves by distracting them both with his mouth finally finding its way to Jaskier's cock, licking it from top to bottom? Probably. "If you still want it."
Jaskier had learned with trial and error just how far he can prod at Geralt for information when a curt 'Hm' means 'Drop it' or when a look shows that Geralt's patience can still withstand a few more questions. He won't push too much with the subject of Kaher Morden and what happened in the past, knowing that the walls have ears adn the wounds are still fresh. Jaskier worries, it's all. Just as he worries about Cirilla, even if he's less willing to show it in front of her and his white-haired lover. That would only stress them both further.
The bard won't be too pleased with Yennefer making an appearance, he doesn't think he will ever be able to shake the fear that she might do or say the right thing to make Geralt come to his senses and left him. But for Ciri and Geralt's sake, he won't complain or rile her up, knowing that she might not be her favorite person in the world but she is a goddamn good witch. The best there is, probably, and Jaskier can appreciate talent. Not like he would ever admit it in the most causal of moments, not even now that his brain is being drowned in endorphins thanks to Geralt's expert hands and tongue.
These last weeks had been difficult, there was not a single day in which Jaskier didn't want to climb Geralt like a metaphorical tree. Being able to touch and explore to his heart content almost makes his hands shake. Or maybe he's just shuddering after the air cools down the wet trail Geralt left on his neck. Jaskier hums, pleased when the tug earns him a growl. His cock strains with interest and anticipation, and his voice comes out breathless and needy, totally shameless.
"God, I missed the sounds you make so, so much."
Not just the sounds, if the way Jaskeir arches against the other man's a body to get as much contact and friction as possible is any indication. He hears the words and their full meaning takes a few beats to register, too busy focussed on how there's finally no more offending clothes between them. He's wanted a lot of things from Geralt in the past, some even made little sense, but the only time a negative really mattered is still crystal clear in the bard's mind. Jaskier has a sudden flash of a vision, of Geralt riding his cock, hair framing his face, intense golden eyes looking at him, and he has to stop himself from almost coming on the spot.
Okay, focus.
Geralt isn't looking at him but Jaskier doesn't think he's misunderstanding the offer. He opens his mouth to reply and the witcher chooses that moment to run the flat of his hot tongue all over his shaft. Jaskier's cock throbs and Geralt gets as a reply a muffled sob from the back of his throat.
Easier said than done.
The brunette closes his right hand into a fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand, and the little pain helps him to center himself.
"You could ask me to throw myself down a volcano and I'd say yes." Jaskier says shakily with a smile, this mind whirling with memories of what that mouth can do. "After we're done, that's it."
It is not just the promise of more amazing sex that has him shaking. They've done plenty of that already but this is something more, a step further, something Geralt wasn't ready to try before. The fact that he trusts him wants to put himself on Jaskier's hands is practically a love confession. Lifting his back from the mattress, he reaches down to run his hands through Geralt's hair to try and get the man to look at him.
"If you are sure, then nothing would make me happier. I want to make you feel so good you forget your own name."
Now that they are in a place of safety, Geralt looks forward to spending more time with Ciri that is less dogged at every step by fear for her. He was on high alert the entire trip there, although he tried to soften as much as possible so she did not come to fear his coldness. If he had any doubts about destiny and how it guides him, she finished that argument. He knows he will not be father of the year, but she did have a good father figure with her grandfather, so he will be given a little leeway to find his own approach that doesn't discomfort either of them.
Yennefer is wrapped up in all this destiny too, he sees that as well. He will ask her there and see if he is correct, and Ciri will get a skilled teacher. It will not be comfortable for anyone, but Geralt is unconcerned about Yennefer being there in regard to himself or their issues. He is concerned solely for Vesemir's displeasure and Jaskier's jealousy (rational or not). But that can be handled and it will, when the time comes.
They both have much better things to focus on like the reminder of how sensitive Jaskier is to every little thing Geralt does. He used to roll his eyes at the bard's lustful ways, but he really knows now that the man was made for sex, or perhaps for the erotic. It's in how much he lives in every breath, how quick he is to moan, to react to the smallest touches of someone against him. He is free and not self-conscious in the least, at home in his body and what he enjoys from it, and Geralt truly admires that about him. Now that he's on the receiving end, obviously.
Geralt knows the answer would be yes, and this is a test for him, on a variety of levels. This is a love confession for him. He is giving everything to Jaskier that he possibly can in actions, the true language Geralt speaks. He hesitates only a moment before meeting Jaskier's gaze and it's guarded, for now. They've met eyes while having sex many times, but it is always when it's Geralt in control, and he remembers all too well how good it felt when Jaskier took over. How easy it ended up coming to him, submitting to his bard's embrace and desire. He's just not well in practice at it.
He smiles faintly and runs his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip. "Let's see if you can." It's a tease more than a challenge and he grips Jaskier at the back of the neck, pulling him in for one of his much more heated and wild kisses. This at least he knows well, it burns within him, the power of the frenzy. He is hard and wanting and while the idea of pushing Jaskier on his hands and knees is appealing, for once he really is craving something else.
Geralt gets lost in the heat of their kiss until he's barely breathing and he had thought ahead to have oils waiting for them. Listen, they both knew they'd missed having sex and were miserable holding back. He had every intention of them getting re-acquainted once alone. His body is screaming at him now in hopes he can just take and have, and he hands the bottle to Jaskier.
"...how do you want me?" The question is asked in a throaty, deep voice full of want, and he runs his fingers through Jaskier's dark hair. "Tell me what you want me to do." That he wants for certain, because if there is one thing he's learned since this relationship began, it's that Jaskier can say anything to him in bed and it works for him. And while Geralt is an aggressive person, it was Jaskier being aggressive and pushy that first time he let him fuck him that gave the want to him.
If there's one thing that doesn't worry Jaskier, that's how things will go between Geralt and Ciri. He's known the man for a long time, and from day one Jaskier could tell that the grumpy exterior hid a good heart and a caring nature. Sure, Geralt is terrible at communication on a good day but he's clearly making an effort for Ciri. And she already trusts him, she wouldn't have sought him out if that wasn't true. In time, things can only improve.
Jaskier can't promise that he will be able to keep his jealousy in check, he cares about Geralt and is too afraid of losing him to think rationally sometimes but he will...try. Geralt, of course, can roll his eyes or laugh at his antics. Speaking of eyes, it takes the Witcher a second to meet his lover's but Jaskeir is patient. It would be hard to describe the look on the bard's face without using the words lovestruck and fondness and Geralt is lucky that Jaskier is too focused on the prospect of fucking too start waxing poetic about Geralt's many qualities. He knows what it all means beyond the physical and it makes his heart beat faster and his cheekbones flush a deeper red.
A moan is stifled against Geralt's mouth when their lips meet and Jaskier let his hands run down the other man's sides. He is hyper-aware of all the places where they’re touching and he needs more of everything. He can't get enough of the warmth of Geralt's skin, the calloused fingers, the feel of the steel-strong muscles under his hands. He only pauses to take the oil bottle, such a practiced movement by now that he doesn't need to look down to know what he's holding, and quickly uncorks it to pour some of it on his right hand. After that, it's back to mapping skin, down a scarred stomach and hard abs, until fingers brush the trail of short hair leading to Geralt's crotch. Jaskier is acutely aware of the hard line of the Witcher's cock against his palm when he runs his hand over it and then wraps his fingers around to give it an expert squeeze.
"I want you comfortable." Jaskier let's out in a breathy sigh, blue eyes dark with want. Geralt's voice always does things to him when it gets so deep. He needs to focus, though, because he remembers that Geralt likes him bossy when the man is going to be on the receiving end of things. Instead of answering further, he hums for a few seconds as if he's mulling over the Witcher's questions while in reality, he's just taking the chance to tease him by slowly circling the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb. God, he wants that dick in his mouth, and he wants to leave Geralt undone, and also have the man ride him into the sunset. Thank god for Witchers stamina, they'll have time for everything.
Jaskier squeezes Geralt's cock again as he leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth then put his free hand on the man's chest to give him a push. He won't move him unless the other wants to be moved but the attempt is there. He needs to get Geralt relaxed and ready to take him but what he wants to do is what the shift of expression over the man's handsome face as he does so. it will also help him gauge if he's going too quickly and Geralt needs a break. "Lie back, handsome, and spread your legs. Don't make me tie you up."
Geralt did not have a traditional childhood, at least not one that he remembers. The life of a witcher is brutal from start to finish, and he refuses to see where that could be a tragedy. But perhaps it is telling that he would be very reluctant to put Ciri on the same path. She will have her own life ahead of her and she is a royal, after all. They will train her, Geralt and Yen, and while that may give them an appearance of a family unit to an outsider, Jaskier will be just as useful for Ciri. He is the only one of them with emotional intelligence, with the ability to understand and sympathize with the emotions of a teenager. The other two are hopeless causes, terrible at feelings and too gruff. She already adores him.
He is well aware of how Jaskier can go on and on about him. He has waxed poetic about nearly every part of Geralt's body in great detail, and occasionally he may have rolled his eyes and sighed, but he keeps every one of them internally close to his heart. It is complex, to see his body as a weapon and nothing else, and to have someone else see it otherwise. He likes the way Jaskier looks at him; a time ago he did not like it so much outside of sex, but now his gaze warms him.
He tries to give that same affection and appreciation back, although not in as easy words as the bard finds. He shows he wants him. The way Geralt touches him and desires him is his own version of poetry. He could spend an hour driving Jaskier mad with his mouth and there is no denying the way he looks at Jaskier. If anything, Yennefer will roll her eyes and be irritated at the two of them giving calf eyes at one another. He stopped pretending that bothered him.
His lover is lithe and muscled nicely but mostly thin and soft, and that has always been Geralt's preference. Jaskier's shameless about his noises and he snarls softly, rocking his body a little more aggressively into Jaskier's feeling, the slide of their chests against one another. Geralt makes a strangled sound when Jaskier's hand is on him and his eyes flutter shut, swallowing a moan. It is so easy for him to be weak to Jaskier's touch. It is why he falls back without complaint, color flooding his face from arousal and adjustment to the shyness found shockingly deep within in.
He obeys and spreads his legs, his cock hard already, but he is all for the slow experience of this. When he's riled he gets pushy. "I would let you," he says in that same deep rumble. It would be difficult, giving over so much of his power, but perhaps that would be the point. Geralt reaches out to touch Jaskier's cheek and then down his chest, drawing circles on his skin. "You fucked me well." He runs a finger along the line of Jaskier's cock but not more than that. "I know how well you can use this. Just do not take too long. We both want you inside of me."
It's hard to think of anything better when a hard life it's all you've had but Jaskier will be happy to discover that the Witcher plans on handling Cirila in a different way, even if not exactly an easier one. It's not his place to give opinions, Ciri and Geralt are each other's destiny and Jaskier has nothing to do about it -even if Geralt blamed him for it once- but he's glad that he's allowed to stay with them here. He genuinely likes the little girl and not only because of her relationships with Geralt. it's like a small family of sorts, he couldn't ask for more.
He hums in delight at the touches Geralt is giving him in return, appreciating the man's own language to express himself. Jaskier has always been very tactile and never before has he been so well-matched, never before has he been wanted back like this. Life has taught him that he's a very easy person to leave, yet aside from some really unfortunate occasion on top of a mountain that is now forgiven, Geralt keeps proving him wrong.
The way the Witcher reacts to his own ministrations is never short of delicious. The snarls, the moans, the grunts...it makes the bard smile almost predatory and reach out to bite his lover's lower lip as his hand tightens. He strokes Geralt the way he favors, firm, wonderfully indulgent with a twist at the end to circle the head before he lets go. Geralt spreading himself so nicely for him and the words that follow have Jaskier almost making a strangled noise.
"Oh gods...yes, we can try that one day." Not tonight, though, they've both been waiting for too long and Geralt looks positively edible. Not to mention that the Witcher's wandering hands tear drawn-out moan from him, quick and effectively convincing him not to waste time. Jaskier whines, pressing himself closer, moving his hands up to tangle them in Geralt’s hair and give another tug and then pull him into a last heated kiss. When the need for air strikes and they finally part, panting, Jaskier bumps their foreheads together, smiling. "Be patient."
He makes a show of putting a noisy, wet kiss on Geralt's temple before laughing and moving back down, peppering the curve of his neck with small kisses. The brunette bites, licks and kisses Geralt's chest, his left coming up to play with the man's nipples, rolling and pinching the hardening bud between his fingers. Movign slightly back on the bed as he kisses a trail down Geralt's stomach, Jaskier grabs the small vial and pours some more oil on his fingers, waiting a few seconds for it to warm up.
His nose nuzzles the short hairs at this groin and takes a moment to breathe in deep, then tilts his head so his lips are touching the hot curve of Geralt's hard cock. A steady hand is massaging the strong muscles of Geralt's right thigh, the other plays with the man's balls, rolling and squeezing them a little before it moves further down. Jaskier's tongue slides up the hard cock and flicks over the slit as his index finger circles and gentle presses against Geralt's rim.
The fact that he's now taken two humans into his heart would have horrified Geralt of half a century ago. Before he met a troublesome bard on the road, although he would say Renfri somehow clawed in there, mixed with regret and telling him to keep that door closed. So Jaskier was a problem. The mountain was about many struggles all at once, since he stubbornly resisted destiny yet held it closely for Yennefer. Geralt wanted to destroy what he came to care for and go back to the cold indifference that kept him safe, and tearing the bard out of him was the best way he could see. Except he never lasted. He needs Jaskier. It makes him weak but it makes him happy too.
Geralt gets lost in that long kiss and nearly changes his mind, nearly rolls them and starts aggressively pursuing taking Jaskier in the away they both enjoy. This is part of the play that comes with letting Jaskier control him, struggling to stop from letting his animal instinct take over. He knows they both like it when he fucks Jaskier senseless and he is showing impressive restraint by letting Jaskier do what pleases him. He is not still but also muted, growling quietly in response to the be patient. He is not patient. He is mindlessly horny after time apart.
Still he sighs and tilts his head for Jaskier's mouth on his neck, sucking in a breath at the play on his sensitive hard nipples, murmuring Jaskier's name at the start of his lips past his stomach. Geralt drops his head back on the pillow when hot lips play with his cock and he rises his hips into it, careful not to gag him although a part of him wants to. He wants Jaskier to drool with want for him. Instead he focuses on the feeling, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax at the first intrusion into him.
Geralt is still not quick to relax, despite wanting this very much and his body coiled tight with desire. It takes very little time to get Jaskier warm and willing, his legs almost permanently spread for Geralt, but the witcher is slower to trust. His hand drops into the soft dark hair and he tightens his fingers with a little tug of their own. "This is still my favorite way to stop your talking," he whispers, playing with him. He looks down to watch Jaskier on his big cock.
"My pretty songbird." It's almost a croon and he can't help thrusting up, Geralt angling Jaskier's head back to look at him while still controlling him. He relaxes in Jaskier's grip and touch, opening up more to him, eagerness in the spread of his legs and cheeks. "I'm going to give you something no one has ever had before." Geralt has allowed men to fuck him in the past, fast and often brutal but what he wanted, never like this though. Never slow and submissive. "Oh yes, fuck." He tips his head back, pleasure twirling inside of him at the consistent torture of Jaskier's fingers.
A century ago is a long time but life can take a 180º turn in at any given time and it's amazing how much their lives changed in a year. Sometimes Jaskier also wonders if it's real, if he deserves what they have. And then, because that's how bards tend to be, he reminds himself not to worry too much and enjoy the present. Things are good now, special, and while they might not last forever,m they will still have these shared moments. He can't ask for more.
Jaskier had smiled against Geralt's lips when he returned the kiss. For all his talent at being stoic and keeping a cool head in dangerous situations, he was much easier to distract and rile up when there were very little clothes between them. And the brunette loved that fact a little too much but to be fair, Geralt was gorgeous in bed. And also while fighting. And with black eyes and pale as a ghost. Okay, perhaps Jaskier's opinion was a tiny bit biased. Just a smidge.
It's only that the Witcher responds so well to him, the skin so hot under his lips, smooth or scarred it didn't matter to the bard. He tries to find a way to get more sounds out of Geralt. As the man cants his hips up, Jaskier bows his head down almost by force of habit, taking the Witcher's cock further into his mouth. They both would get distracted by this all too easily and the bard has to remind himself of the bigger goal they have. He wants to make this night memorable for Geralt and he will.
It doesn't really come as a surprise that his lover is tense, Jaskier didn't have an easy experience the first time he dared to try this with someone. He always had been a quick learned when it came to playing between the sheets and it soon became one of his most enjoyed activities. His tongue presses up against the cock in his mouth, his lips wrapping tightly around it before he hums, tilting his head only a bit to look up at Geralt and attempt a smile. It is a way to keep him silent, for sure, and the compliment is deeply appreciated, making Jaskier answers him with another look of want rather than words, his blue eyes darkening.
The grip in his hair is just as the brunette likes it and he moans when Geralt thrusts up, letting the man do as he please for a little while. Maybe having a modicum of control helps the Witcher more than anything else. Jaskier's hands don't stay idle. After Geralt spreads his legs and offers more of his body, Jaskier slides a second slicked finger inside him all the way to the knuckle and keeps them there, letting his body acclimate to the intrusion.
That swear is all Jaskier needs to know that the burn of the stretch is fading into fizzy pressure-pleasure that spreads up Geralt's spine. He enjoys hearing the Witcher but staying quiet for long is against Jaskier's own nature. After bobbing his head, Geralt's hardness slides from his mouth and he runs his tongue up the underside, from the base to the top, following the vein there.
"How sensitive are you, darling?" He didn't want his teeth near any sensitive part of Geralt's anatomy in case the man bucks suddenly when his longer finger pushes in deeper, wriggling a little to stretch him, grazing ever-so-gently over his prostate before giving a stronger push.
Geralt typically only worries about their inevitable end if Jaskier is injured or if someone else brings it up. Maybe it's his mind still being very skilled at protecting himself from thinking about things that will upset him. It is easy to be stoic when you intentionally do not think about things. It does not matter how terrified he gets for Jaskier's safety or agonized over the concept of life after him, because he has not been able to walk away. He didn't intend to have anyone as a life partner, the very idea inconceivable, but this bothersome bard of his just had to bully his way into his life and heart. (And he is very content with that.)
Jaskier is so damn good at taking, no matter where or what he's doing, and Geralt is glad he didn't give in to his mouth on the road. Because he's proving right now that although Jaskier gets louder than he does, he still lets quiet moans loose, since Jaskier is expertly talented at this. Geralt could happily fuck his mouth for an hour, in theory, except he gets riled up and demanding. For now it's the perfect amount of suction and hot wetness for him to be distracted from Jaskier opening him up. He does warm up to the feeling, remembering all too well how incredibly good Jaskier fucking him was the last time.
The second finger is easier than the first as he's now more readily adjusting and welcoming him, impatient as always. If he could convince Jaskier to be as quick and rough as possible, he would try, but his bard enjoys this far too much. Geralt will have his chance to take back over, when he's in Jaskier's lap, and for now he grumbles when Jaskier licks him instead. If he's going to open his mouth he might as well spread his filthy words everywhere, although those do get Geralt lustful so fast.
The answer to that question is shown by how his head dips back and his breath is sharply sucked in when Jaskier that sweet spot, his fingers clutching in the dark hair for a moment. Sensitive, yes, because this is rare for him. Geralt rocks down toward Jaskier's finger a second later, silently demanding more of it. "Jaskier." Geralt looks down at him with hazy golden eyes. Here at least he doesn't seem to mind eye contact. "I'm going to ride you until you black out." He is not usually the one good with words but he does try, sometimes. "I want your cock."
This is a little about him psyching himself up too, because sex they are very good at, and he does want this. Carnally it's all he want now. His fingers keep running through Jaskier's hair and his other hand comes down to grip his chin, tilting it up toward him forcefully. His thumb caresses Jaskier's lush bottom lip. "If you don't go faster, I'm going to tie you up and take it."
Geralt has stopped lying to himself about what they mean to each other, and Jaskier can't ask more from him. The future is uncertain, it won't possibly be kind, but he can joke that his songs would outlive them all. That the White Wolf's tale will live on in some way even when they both are nothing more but dust and bones, feeding the soil of the flowers growing on their graves.
Pity that other sounds can't be immortalized with the same ease. The groans and moans dropping from Geralt's like are Jaskier's favorite melody. He could get his mouth on Geralt and be happy to not do anything else the whole night but suck him off and reduce him to low growls and later a sated mess. They have bigger plans for tonight and they will happen at the right time, despite the brute's insistence.
The exposed white column of Geralt's neck distracts him, it makes Jaskier want to sink his teeth on it and leave a possessive mark, even knowing it will fade in a matter of hours. The hand gripping at his hair with more force tears a low moan from the bard's wet, pink lips. He's hardly unaffected by their activities, his own cock hard and straining against his lower belly, pulsing with every rabbit-fast beat of his heart.
"My dick, my rules." Jaskier says rather breathless, his free hand lowering to the base of Geralt's cock to circle it with his fingers and give a squeeze. He doesn't want to wait more than the Witcher does but they're going to do this right, damn it. Hearing Geralt so bluntly admit that he wants him, though...god, it does things to him. Jaskier relents a bit because his stubbornness can only get him so far when Geralt is staring and saying lovely lewd things to tempt him into complying. "Just a little bit more, promise. And then you can ride me until I cry."
Anticipating a complaint, he speeds the movement of his fingers, drawing them out almost completely to then push them in with a force he hadn't used before, jabbing Geralt's prostate again. Jaskier tries and fails to hide a smile, leans in until his lips are touching the hot curve of Geralt's cock, lacing a kiss on it. He repeats the action for a little while, shifting the fingers inside him, plunging in and out, rubbing at his prostate with perfect aim. While it's barely two minutes it feels like so much longer and Jaskier doesn't have enough force of will to keep teasing his lover, he wants to fuck him until he’s shaking.
"Fuck, Geralt, you don't know how you look like now. I could eat you whole." Jaskier drags his finger out slowly, reaching around blindingly for the oil bottle. He hisses through clenched teeth as he pours a generous amount over his oversensitive cock and then leans back to sit on the bed. His fingers drag over Geralt's thigh, nails scratching the inner skin to leave red marks because he knows the other man enjoys the sting. He's almost tempted to pat his lap. "Come here."
Geralt would have been skeptical that his tales lived so long, but now he's seen that they do, they reach farther than he knows how to deal with. He isn't so certain how he feels about that, because he still does not see himself as the legend Jaskier made him, and fame does make a headache or two happen with people thinking they can talk to him like a person. He is a striking figure, always, and Jaskier's flowery descriptions of him - a surefire giveaway of how infatuated he is - stick in people's minds. He hopes it does get less strange with time, it will be easier.
His quiet sounds are loud in spirit for someone slightly more subdued and he does think about the others as his lips part into a gasp when Jaskier keeps opening him. He does not know if it comes from an odd place of embarrassment or his deep desire for privacy. But they've fooled around before in this castle, with one another, so it is not fully new. Just filled with the much more loud and satisfied sounds that tumble out of Jaskier's mouth like music.
Geralt snarls at him when he says his rules, a typical response from him for not getting what he wants, but then Jaskier's touching his cock and he gives up, closing his eyes briefly and feeling the hot ripple of pleasure through him. "I am not going to break," he reminds him on a rasp. He is not delicate. He is a little tight, but he doesn't mind that, he wants the sensation of Jaskier splitting him open. He knows trying to push more will not help so he focuses on the feelings. He focuses on rocking his body into Jaskier's fingers and swearing every time he hits the prostate, his hand dropping from Jaskier's chin to cling to the sheets below him instead. It feels like eternity and he's begging with his body, trying to fuck himself harder on Jaskier's fingers. Gods he needs it.
He does make a picture. His silver hair spread out on the pillow behind him, his face flushed, his eyes half-open like slants as his lips part from needing to breathe. Geralt is so happy about Jaskier slicking himself up, the anticipation burning between them, that he is on top of the bard barely a second after he positions himself there. He does not need any encouragement. He is a big man, his biceps nearly as huge as Jaskier's head, and his thighs equally thick. He is heavy too which he tries to alleviate by putting his knees down on either side of Jaskier's body to crush him less down.
"You're mine now," he growls, gripping Jaskier's cock with his hand to steady it. He's never done this before but he understands the concept, and he positions his lover. He can feel him huge and hot at his entrance and it's already perfect teasing, giving in to what he wants and sitting down on Jaskier's cock. He does not take his time, as that is never his way, he does not worry about adjusting slowly, his body will open and relax in its own time. He likes how Geralt is burning him, how he feels full of him and he's sheathed entirely in just a few seconds. He sits there, not realizing he literally gave a long groan from the second he started to let Jaskier in to right now. Still groaning. Still spinning.
His eyes were closed through this. Due to the sensation and focusing on being filled right, but also because of his issues, which he finally forces once he bottoms out. Breathing in deeply and out, Geralt's eyes snap open and his gaze finds Jaskier's. It becomes clear instantly what Geralt's been afraid of all this time. Their eyes meet and there is no hiding the depth of his feelings. He has not put a name on it, but it is obvious. The warmth and vulnerability and want all mix together and he longs for him, he adores him. He loves him, although he puts no word to it out loud, but it's there.
He cups Jaaskier's face with his palm, actually shaking although he would throw that on the new feeling of being fucked. This man has had him in every possible way now. He maintains eye contact although his gaze does flicker away here and there, but golden eyes do fine blue when he rises into the air and slides back down on top of Jaskier, Geralt is fully quiet now, only a caught breath, focused on Jaskier and nothing else as he starts a steady rhythm.
People treating Geralt like a person, and by proxy, the other witchers, has always been Jaskier deepest wish. It's what the wanted to accomplish with his songs, not just make him famous. While Geralt might find it annoying, it brings the bard relief to see the common folks interacting with him under a positive light.
Geralt has never been a man of a lot of words but Jaskier had learned tor read a different language in his body. The way his breath hitches or his brow furrows as the brunette scissors him or pushed his fingers in deeper is like more than enough. It's giving Jaskier plenty of sounds to commit to memory, little groans and gasps that will keep him warm in the (rare) lonely nights where Geralt might be absent, busy with some contract.
His lover is so gorgeous, spread open and wanting, that it makes Jaskier's chest feel tight and his cock twitch in need. Its been barely a heartbeat since he has spoken and Geralt is already climbing over him with eagerness, making him laugh softly against the man's collarbone.
He is heavy and Jaskier appreciates the attempt at not crushing him but he also loves the bulk of the man in top of him from head to toe and won't mind too much of Geralt grinding down on him. The white-haired man speaks in a way that makes Jaskier's breath hitch, so sure of himself and so determined. It's such a big change from their first time together in that bath, so, so different than the first time the Witcher allowed the brunette to inside him that for a few seconds he's completely speechless. It's a rare state for a bard so it doesn't last.
"I always have been yours." It comes out followed by a moan as Geralt wraps his big hand around his hardness but the honesty can't be missed. He is tempted to scold him for rushing things, Jaskier is still concerned about hurting Geralt, but he knows it will be of no use. His partner seems to enjoy the burnt of the stretch and who is Jaskier to deny him anything?
He gasps, as much in surprise to Geralt bottoming out so quickly as in reaction to the feeling of his tight heat all around his cock. He fails to muffle a groan and some colorful curses against Geralt's neck, hot breath panting against the skin. Since his mouth is already there, Jaskier leans in another fraction and sinks his teeth on the curve of the man's shoulder, not enough to break the skin or cause any damage but to cause a sting. It serves both to berate Geralt for rushing things and also to fulfill Jaskier's wish to mark the man as his own as well.
Looking up, blue eyes stare into gold ones when Geralt finally meets his gaze and Jaskier gives a soft, loving smile. It's a lot, everything, not only for Geralt but also for him. All the words unsaid, the veiled love confession, and their weakness, on display. His hands roam, stroking along the skin of Geralt's strong thighs until his warm palms are covering the man's bum and he briefly massages the muscle with his fingers. When Geralt holds his face thought shaking fingers, Jaskier feels like they're both being undone, breaking down to be put back together into something new, stronger.
A shiver runs down Jaskier's spine as Geralt starts rocking his hips and he rearranges his hands. One slides up the scarred back, burying itself into the long white strands to give them a tug. The other stays on Geralt's hip, not to still his movements but to anchor himself, thumb drawing small circles over the curve and crease of the bone. Words fail him but Jaskier doesn't need them now. Leaning in, he captures Geralt's mouth into a kiss, biting his bottom lip and then lapping at the stung flesh, tongue pressing inside to get a better taste.
Geralt is the type of thirsty that usually Jaskier is the one excelling at, but he has no shame in it. In the past he was reluctant to want anything this much, especially with how destructive wanting Yen ended up being. But he and Jaskier always work. They complement one another. He wants to give Jaskier every part of himself because he knows Jaskier will never use it to hurt him. It is not in the bard's nature to be cruel, like witchers and witches. He is good. He is so very good.
He says things like I have always been yours and means it, and Geralt believes him. He knows Jaskier's been devoted to him for much longer than he deserves. Geralt enjoys the heat that shudders through his body when Jaskier's inside of him, feeling like he may actually be starting to deserve it. He loses his breath when Jaskier bites him, the blissful sting of it with the sweet agony of being split open just the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.
Jaskier smiles as if he's not surprised at all with what Geralt is showing him, and he smiles back, finding safety in what he sees. This does not seem so unnerving after all. When Jaskier kisses him it's consuming, the way he usually drowns out anything but passion between them, and Geralt opens his mouth, letting the bard take what he wants from him. Now that he's in control he knows he can ride them both into oblivion as fast and aggressively as he usually prefers, but instead he's letting them both feel it first.
His powerful legs make it easy for him to raise up with each movement, almost letting Jaskier out but then sitting back down so that every time he's taking him long and thorough. He is broken from his slow fucking when Jaskier's cock hits him in just the right way and he gasps out of the kiss, cursing. It sends a jolt of aggression through him and his hands shoot to the bed frame, holding on. He rides him with a little more heat, seeking that same need, and it is a struggle not to go feral on him. Geralt wants to snap Jaskier's head back, bite him until he begs, take everything he wants fiercely.
He instead leans in close to Jaskier's ear, sucking on the lobe, whispering harshly to him. This is too soft for anyone to hear unless they were right next door, between them. "Make me yours. Claim me. I want to smell like you, taste like you." Geralt could ride Jaskier for hours with his stamina, but this isn't about being fucked. He wants Jaskier's mark, he wants to be owned by him. He wants his lover to know they are equals, that Jaskier can demand anything from him too. There's a desperate edge to his movements now and he grips Jaskier's arms, pulling his hands off where they are currently and firmly putting them on Geralt's arse. Jaskier can direct him this way, make his wants known.
Jaskier can drink up praise like a desperate man thirsty for water but if he knew that Geralt thinks so highly of him he would actually get a little flustered. He has many flaws, he can be vengeful and petty, especially when it comes to matters of the arts and other bards, as Geralt witnessed in the past. But the fact that his lover wants him still is baffling to him. He will do anything in his power to make the Witcher happy and he would never forgive himself if he caused Geralt the same kind of pain he went through with Yennefer.
Geralt's look could peel him to the bone and he's never felt more naked before, more loved too. The man responds so beautiful to bites and scratches that Jaskier would do it all the time if he has got so distracted by those piercing golden eyes, on the look of Geralt's face now that this is a possibility. The Witcher smiles back at him and this is a greater gift than he could have ever expected.
He can’t help the way his thighs tense and release until they’re shaking, or the moan that escapes, when Geralt lifts himself up on powerful legs, only to slide back down leisurely. He does with more ease than expected, the handsome bastard, and Jaskier bites his tongue to stop himself from pointing out how Geralt is a natural at this. This should be illegal, Fucking god, but trust Geralt to be talented at everything he does once he puts his mind to it. Or his ass.
The gentle pacing sends a rush down the bard's spine that has him thickening up even more, if such a thing is possible. Geralt cursing and the change of peace has him shuddering from head to toe but he smiles, hips bucking up. The body on top of him is heavy, all strong muscles and power, and Jaskier adores it, doing his best to angle the roll of his hips so he can hit Geralt's sweet spot again every time their bodies meet. He doesn't care if they're loud or if they will get odd looks from the other witchers tomorrow, he's damn proud of what they're doing and it's a dream come true. He knows Geralt well enough and the telltale signs of the man's body to see that he is holding back a little but it's immediately distracted by the hot breath in his ear and the warm body pressing against his chest.
The words are maddening. Geralt might not be a poet but he knows how to make an impact and leave his audience breathless. Jaskier's reply is a strangled snarl followed by a moan as his brain short circuits a little. He sharply turns his head to capture's Geralt's mouth in a bitting kiss, his nails digging on the flesh of his ass.
"Mine." He growls against red bitten lips, his own curving into a mischievous smile Geralt might be familiar with. The blue eyes still betray him, full of heat and love when he stares at Geralt's gorgeous face. The bard's nails dig deeper. "Mine and no one else's."
He bucks up sharply to make the Witcher gasp and everything goes bright hot and too much for a split second, Geralt's body squeezing his cock like a vice grip. It's not enough to make Jaskier lose focus, though, he has far too much experience with this and too much determination to make it memorable for his lover.
On of his hand starts guiding Geralt's movements, pressing down on his ass to make him roll his hips at the right angle, to make the hardness splitting him drag over sensitive walls. The other hand moves to the front of his body, leaving four red thin lines on its wake after scratching Geralt's back. Jaskier wastes no time and cups one of Geralt's pecs, rubbing circles on his nipple before pinching it.
Geralt thinks Jaskier's better than he is, for certain, better with people, full of life and kindness, not dour and difficult like the witcher he chose to love. They balance one another well, so he wouldn't really change it, but he doesn't take Jaskier for granted anymore. The man's traveled over the continent with him and put up minimal fuss along the way. It's very easy to love him, or it was after Geralt accepted he was not someone devoid of love and emotion. He felt things. He certainly felt this.
If Jaskier pointed out how good he was at this, it would probably get a low laugh out of Geralt, but he has a lot of practice being on the other end of this. It feels vastly different, of course, but he's been ridden by the best of them, Jaskier included, so he has simply been paying attention to the bard's sexual skills. It is exquisite burning from the inside like this. He feels surrounded by Jaskier, like there is no part of them that isn't touching or joined at the moment. The roll of Jaskier's hips up at him is perfect and his eyes partially close, taking it in.
But his words are meant to get a reaction out of Jaskier and it works, leaving him with a moment of a smug smirk before Jaskier wipes it off with a kiss. Geralt groans when Jaskier's fingers dig into his ass and it's perfect, the look in his golden eyes pure pleasure when Jaskier says mine like that. He is about to taunt him except Jaskier gets there first and the buck up into him is exactly what he wanted. He gasps and his hands scramble against the bed board. Holding on. It was a powerful thrust and hit him just right and Geralt nods eagerly.
"Yours, oh fuck yours." Geralt's need to take over is easily handed over instead to Jaskier's physical commands, rolling his hips with grace once he's showed how to do it right, swearing at how it fills him in a different angle. There are many sensations going through him and then Jaskier's scratching him. "Gods." He doesn't care they won't last. He'll feel them there. The pain sharpens his desire and like the first time, what Geralt wants is surrender. He wants to power and be powerless. He spreads his legs a little more, perched so perfectly over Jaskier, leaning forward with his hands moving from fingertips to full palms.
His intention is clear when he moves then only with Jaskier's hands, following his instructions entirely, his ass wide open and his weight more on his own arms so that he can stay in position. Geralt breathes raggedly and angles himself so that Jaskier can have full control over his body and fuck up into him as hard as he wants. "Fuck me," he whines instead of growls, nuzzling into Jaskier's ear from this position and smelling his sweat. "Please." Often when Geralt says please, it's a formality, he's being demanding. This time it is completely genuine, an honest beg.
He knows that Jaskier wants to see him, that's the entire point of this position, so he still keeps his arms in a lean but lifts his head, pressing their foreheads together. "Jaskier, I'm yours."
ffffksajdjkas AAAH, sorry I thought I had replied this!
Geralt has sure heard many, many times before Jaskier's songs about him. They were hopeless, badly veiled declaration of intention. Jaskier only barely managed to keep in check his passion for the witcher when he wrote and sung them. Now that they're in a relationship and he might catch more of the double meaning, Geralt only has to remember some of the lyrics to be reassured of Jaskier's true feelings if he ever doubts them. Geralt deserves all the love he can get and more, deserves praise and to be remembered in history. Jaskier knows it's only a matter of time until that happens.
Geralt might realize now why the brunette enjoys riding him so much. The position is one of the best to really help to feel your partner, gravity doing wonders to the rolling of the hips. He doesn't care if Geralt doesn't last, it's already been wonderful, and that would make him more proud than anything. Jaskier bits his bottom lip, hard enough he could taste the coppery tartness of blood, and whimpers under his breath as Geralt admits that they own one another. It has taken them a long way to get here, so the admission and it's true meaning pulls a smile out of him, honest and full of love.
All those years of wanting have been sharpened to a hot point of desire focused on where his hands direct and slide across Geralt's body. It feels like he might burst, like he might float away into the sky, and he doesn’t know what’s got him so dizzy. Jaskier is not normally like this, but they normally don't fuck this way either, so it feels justified to be out of his element, overjoyed.
With his heart racing in his chest, he laps at the over-stimulated nub, clamping his teeth down Geralt's nipple and pulling, aiming to draw out a groan from the Witcher's lips. He would grin if his mouth weren’t busy. One of his hands squeezes the base of the man's dick, stroking it intermittently as his tongue flutters over the sensitive skin at Geralt's chest. Jaskier keeps it to light, soft strokes with the pad of his fingers, enough to feel good and tease but not to finish him off.
Then his lips trail up the man's collarbone and neck, aim to sucks a red mark onto his throat. He looks up to meet Geralt's eyes again when the man asks something from him - not demand, ask-, looking so gorgeous that Jaskier's heart is melting. It's like Geralt was born to fit in there, born to lean in and whisper it in his ear, to grind down on his cock, and trape him with his thighs. And who is Jaskier to deny him anything? He's not that kind of fool.He presses his forehead back against the other man, too breathless for a kiss, and charmed by the affectionate gesture.
"Anything you want, love."
It's easier to comply immediately, snapping his hips up, fingers leaving finger-shaped bruises on Geralt’s skin. Every time the other man grunts or sinks his nail on the wood of the bedposts before moaning, Jaskier shudders with the realization that it is because of him. He loses track of how many times he thrusts, how many needy little gasps he fucks out of Geralt with the force of them. He moans too, loud and needy, when a wave of sickeningly sweet pleasure surged through his body and the hand that isn't directing Geralt's hips, the one wrapped around his cock, squeezes and jerks him in tandem with the thrusts.
He could feel the pressure in his groin building, as Geralt's movements brought him so close to climax to the point it was on the edge of painful, but he wanted his lover to
“Geralt,” Jaskier says in between pants, smiling up at him. "Let go."
no worries!!! just assumed you were busy it's allll good
Jaskier's songs have always been borderline suggestive when it came to the way he saw his muse. He spent far too much time detailing the gold of Geralt's eyes or his hair or his body. That's the type of thing people expect from a love song, so there's been a touch of that from the start. It used to confuse him, since frankly no one had openly lusted for Geralt like that before. Eventually Jaskier's want was so open and appealing that Geralt gave into him for it.
He didn't know that he wanted to be wanted so much. That the bard's adoration for him opened up something in his heart he didn't expect or even thought he desired. Jaskier saw his scars and his violence and his gruff impatience and bore all of it, loved all of him. Geralt isn't as free with his emotions so he's giving all of himself back this way. Jaskier's won him. His reward is getting ridden like a stallion.
He does groan at the harsh bite at his nipple paired together with stimulating strokes to his hungry cock. His plea is fulfilled immediately and all Geralt can do is hold on and enjoy it. And he does. His entire body feels like it's on fire with need, tensed up tight from an overabundance of pleasure, barely breathing in quick gasps whenever Jaskier thrusts up into him. He must have whispered harder at some point but he's uncertain, in a fog of feeling. His nails are digging into his own bed back board so at least he's the only one who has to worry about that. Or they both do, as it's their bed. He'll just smirk at the marks later. It's a compliment.
He is impressed by Jaskier's stamina but he might have saved up his strength for when Geralt let him have all of him. Geralt can feel him struggling and he nods, kissing him sloppily. It doesn't last since they have to breathe, but his hands abruptly move to cup Jaskier's face, tilting it up at him. He leans back just a little. "Look at me." No longer forehead to forehead since it's not easy to see there, instead he locks gold with blue again. "Come in me. Claim me."
Permission given, Geralt makes direct eye contact as he finally allows his strained and weeping body relief. He's avoided Jaskier's gaze before and now he's being brave, showing that he can, he can choose this, he can be in this moment with him. He comes all over Jaskier's chest and belly which is exactly what he means by claim, his scent covering him. His eyes go from dizzy to bliss and he whispers Jaskier's name over and over again like a quiet prayer.
That too, yes, because what is free time. Still, sorry and thanks for being so patient ♥
If asked, Jaskier would argue that giving details about Geralt's good looks was key. If people knew about his appearance beforehand, they would be less likely to freak out and more willing to approach him if they were in need of a Witcher's service. If that fact also gave the bard the perfect excuse to compliment the man to his heart content, it was a win.win situation.
He doesn't have to mask his intention with music and embellished lyrics anymore and it is so much more rewarding to be able to call Geralt endearments to his face without getting a grunt in response. Not like the grunts aren't sexy, more so in situations like these where clothes had long been forgotten, but they share a level of comfort and trust now that Jaskier had been longing for all his life.
His way of showing Geralt his admiration is to grab a fistful of his hair and tug just the right way with one hand while the other slides up his cock and rubs a thumb under the cockhead. Let it not be said that Jaskier isn't good at multitasking. He gets lost in their lovemaking too, the kiss, the shared breath and loud moans, along with the distance sounds of the bed shaking under their assault. If the other witchers had any doubts about the nature of their relationship, those must be answered now. Later, he will now doubt spots the marks on the bed and laugh, it will be enough to keep him grinning with pride all week.
Jaskier sucks in a breath when Geralt speaks, eyes lost in golden suns that are staring back at him, and he's at a loss for words. "Geralt." Jaskier isn't one who has strong spiritual belief but he mutters the Witcher's name in a way akin to a prayer, feels Geralt coming and shaking on tops of him as his own religious experience. He rocks his hips harder to help Geralt ride out his orgasm and it doesn't take Jaskier more than a couple of trusts to follow him, pushed over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm.
His hands has moved to hold onto scarred hips with such force he's leaving little crescent moon marks on Geralt's skin. Jaskier growls his name, it's hard to describe the sounds he makes in a different way, over and over and over between gasps and moans. When the white behind his eyelids retreats and that familiar coil tightening in his abdomen eases, Jaskier's half-lidded eyes regard Geralt and he leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. They're both too out of breath for proper kisses. His cheeks are flushed and his chest glistening from exertion as well as the stains of their lovemaking.
"You look utterly debauched." The bard teases with pride in his voice, knowing far too well that he doesn't look any better.
On the road, after their relationship truly began, there were moments where he would sit silently at the back of a tavern and simply listened to Jaskier's singing. And then there were times when he would get up and catch the bard's eyes, the two of them having a conversation through their gaze alone. He found it attractive to hear what Jaskier had to say about him, knowing he meant it and it wasn't empty pie filling. It was very real.
So is this. Jaskier's tug on his hair causes him to growl and bite Jaskier's lower lip. The witchers already knew about the two of them. It may be sometime since Geralt got to mark his scent, but Jaskier still smelled like him to a trained nose. Now he is satisfied to make it clearer. He is still not loud in bed the way Jaskier is but he loves those moans, the bed moving underneath them in a clear rock, and he plans on more of it. Gods he's missed this. He's missed Jaskier's taste under his tongue, the tight clench of his fingers in Geralt's sides, the way the bard simply let go.
He is lost in bliss for a few seconds, his eyes closing after they've both come and simply living in it. He makes a satisfied little hmmm as he memorizes the sounds of Jaskier growling his name, and Geralt is pleased with the ferocity his sweet bard showed. Geralt allows himself to linger in the embrace, Jaskier still deep in him and softening, and he smirks at Jaskier's words. He's feeling lazy and indulgent. His eyes open to look at his flushed lover. The shyness is gone. They stepped over that hurdle tonight. Jaskier saw to his heart. He is calmer than he expected for that.
"I see why you enjoy that position so much yourself." Jaskier does like riding Geralt too. Geralt can still feel the ache of being so perfectly full. His thumbs stay on Jaskier's face, running over his cheekbones affectionately. "You were good. You can fuck me any time you want." It seems like a generous and honest enough offer. Geralt may prefer pounding Jasker into a mattress, but he sees the value in this, and he is content with it too. He kisses him deeply, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting very lightly. After some reluctance, he gets up, this time the impulse because he worries about his weight on Jaskier for too long. They may be around the same height but Geralt is made of pure muscle, he's very heavy. Besides, this is his ritual.
His knees are shakier and that is a complete credit to Jaskier. He has to test them before standing, and while it looks like they aren't weak when he does, he feels the strain in them. He looks very pleased, gold eyes turning back to the bard. He stands there for a moment, smirking, intentionally letting his eyes slowly and hungrily take in the details of Jaskier who is absolutely debauched himself. His messy hair, pink skin, and the mark of Geralt's release on his chest. He has seen him naked countless times now and still desires him. "You look good in my bed," he rumbles, his eyes full of heat. It is their bed now, but this was his growing up.
He returns with a cloth and settles next to him on the bed, a meaty arm instantly put around his shoulders and a nibble to the side of his neck as he cleans his bard off. It's superficial to wipe off; he still smells intensely of him. He affectionately muzzles Jaskier's ear and sweaty hair. His body is still singing with pleasure, it's nice. "I never thought I would bring anyone home like this."
Jaskier lived for those little moments. He knew that telling the whole world what sort of bond existed between was impossible and dangerous for many reasons, so that was the next best thing. They didn't need the whole Continent to know, it was enough with the two of them. And after tonight, the two of them...and everyone in the vicinity with keen hearing.
The bard whole body is still tingling even after it's all over, blood thrumming with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. He's going to be a bit bruised tomorrow and after so many weeks without the chance to see those familiar marks in his skin, he's overjoyed with the idea. His hands are loose on Geralt's hips now but still ever-present, not willing to let the other man go just yet. Or to move at all. He's busy basking on the look on his lover's face, the unusual softness and the smirk. The brunette smiles back easily, mussed hair falling over his forehead.
"It's a very good position, trust an expert." One that Geralt knows very intimately. He doesn't have enough words to express how much it meant to him. Jaskier leans into the touch to his cheekbones and he places a hand on Geralt’s chest in return, enjoying the sound of the beating of his heart, aware that not a lot of things that can raise his heartbeat. "That offer goes both way, you know."
The night is long and his Witcher always had enough stamina to keep him distracted for hours, he's not concerned. When their lips meet, Jaskier keeps him close with a hand on the small of his back and makes an unhappy sound when they have to pull apart to breathe. He lets out a small protest when Geralt leaves the bed -I should be the one doing that tonight!- but he doesn't have enough energy to move much. And if he's honest with himself, this is one of the parts he enjoys the most about their post lovemaking. Geralt seems to like to take care of him, even if the Witcher's legs might be a bit more wobbly than usual.
The staring and smirking don't go unnoticed and Jaskier gives him an unashamed grin back before he leans on the mattress a stretches a little, as if to say 'like what you see?'.
"It's a good bed. Sturdy. I think I was made to stay here." His hand slides down Jaskier's chest, fingers getting coated on Geralt's spent before the bard brings them up to his lips to suck on the tip. His blue eyes never leave Geralt until he goes away and returns with a cloth to take care of the rest of the stickiness. He all but purrs when how lips nip and kiss his neck, pressing his body against the much more muscular one of his lover.
"It surprised us both, trust me. I like it here with you." One of Jaskier's hands is now trailing patters on Geralt's arm, sliding up and down the bicep, tracing the scars, caressing the inner skin of his forearm. "How are you feeling?"
Geralt already was nervous that enough people knew the bard was close to him. Lovers, not everyone guessed at, but it put Jaskier at potential risk too. Geralt had enemies, non-monster ones. But considering he is always at Jaskier's side now, there's no need to worry. They'd have to get through him. Not an easy feat. The other witchers knowing makes it simpler; they won't ask more questions about why the bard is there. He's their adopted brother's lover. That has been made clear.
"I already fuck you any time I want," Geralt points out at the both ways offer, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. Well, not any time, since Ciri's been with them, and they will have other things they need to do here than those sweet days and weeks they often got to fuck until neither of them could walk well. But they have a bed now, and the night is theirs. That will be enough. "Now you can do the same. I like you fierce." Fierce and strong. Geralt sometimes let himself be gentler and sweet with Jaskier, and Jaskier can be aggressive and ruthless with him. They're a good contrast that way.
He gives one of his raspy light laughs when Jaskier intentionally shows his wrecked body at him. And then he licks his fingers like that and Geralt's eyes are still heated. Fuck, he adores him. Geralt always has liked these little moments after sex, if he's being honest. He used to tolerate whores asking him questions about his scars as an excuse to stay, sometimes for a second round, but also because Geralt gets lonely. Not that he'd ever say as much, and he lived his solitary life without complaining before. But considering how he let Jaskier follow him around for years, and how close he let Yen get to him, the fact is he craves them. He likes when Jaskier snuggles up to him like now and the soft patterns his fingers make.
"About being fucked or about being here?" Geralt still doesn't like talking about his feelings, but he is pleasantly buzzed and Jaskier's warm and sweet. He nibbles on Jsakier's ear lobe, his voice so close only they can hear it. "Good about the first one." He is going to get very distracted if he keeps on Jaskier's neck so he simply rests his head against Jaskier's. He otherwise passively enjoys Jaskier's wandering hands, humming in thought.
"This is the safest place I know." It is why he brought Ciri there. He would fight an entire army by himself if he had, to but he is not so arrogant as to think that would work. No, she needs true protection. "But we are hard people. She may not like it here." That is his fear talking; Ciri seemed delighted to be there and there's no doubt she would win them all over quickly. But it still is not the type of place he would want a young girl to live in. She is soft. They are hard. She will have to learn how to fight and they are not kind. Geralt has been holding back and he will continue to. "I don't know what to do about her magic and neither does Vesemir."
Such cuties. Maybe we can star wrapping this one up, though? :3
Jaskier had amassed quite the long list of petty enemies in his life, and some less petty and more powerful associated with nobility. Most of them are smart enough not to mess with a Witcher but the point is that Geralt isn't free of danger thanks to his association with the bard. It's something they will both have to accept, Jaskier is never all that worried about it. Not even after getting stabbed in the leg, he will say that worrying too much gives him early wrinkles. The rest of the Witchers knowing about them will no doubt wring up a lot of either awkward or mock-worthy situations. Jaskier will deal with the issue once it happens.
"Always such romantic comebacks." The brunete pats his arm but it's obvious that he's trying not to laugh as well. It's been a while since he's been thoroughly debauched and he misses it but his limbs feel like jelly at the moment and being inside Geralt had been an experience. He's not in rush to do anything in the next several minutes. The night is long and his appetite insatiable.
"Do you, now?" The grin on Jaskier's face is predatory after that Fierce comment and he wraps an arm around Geralt's neck to pull him closer and bite down on his shoulder as soon as the man is within reach again. He looks all too proud of himself after that, happy to be pressed close and lazy against his lover. He enjoys these moments the most as well.
"Both." Jaskier comments without doubt or an ounce of shame. He was made to be by Geralt's side, let it be an old keep, the cold woods, or a too crowded tavern. He hums in delight at the nibbling, tilting his head to offer more skin for the Witcher to mark. When Geralt opts to rest his head against him, he can't even be mad about it. His hand lifts to the silver-white hair, treading through them and gently scratching the man's scalp.
"You are the safest place I know, Geralt. I would be happy anywhere as long as you're there and so will Ciri. You underestimate her, remember her bloodline." She is a princess and some part of her might be soft, that is true, but others had been forged in fire under the watch of her Grandmother. "Then we will contact someone who does. You know of Witches and Wizard, one might be able to help. But that's a worry for tomorrow, let her sleep one night."
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
♥!
Witnessing Ciri and Geralt finally found each other made him teary eyed and gave the bard inspiration to write a dozen songs. He didn't, though, the risk of being caught by Nilfgaard was too high. They were still hot on their trail and no place in the Continent seemed safe enough. No place that Jaskier knew about, that's it. Geralt had a clear idea of where to go and what to expect, thanks the gods for resourceful Witchers.
It wasn't a quick trip and it gave them plenty of time to get themselves familiarized with the brave princess. Jaskier tried to cheer her up with songs when his singing didn't put them at risk of being caught by an enemy or a monster. And when being loud wasn't an option, he chatted softly as they walked, telling her all sorts of stories about their two decades together so she could get a better idea of the kind of man Geralt was. Much like Jaskier's songs, the stories were a bit embellished but he also didn't shy away from the embarrassing parts, like being swallowed by a monster, to make Ciri smile. He wanted her to realize that Witchers, despite what other people said about them, had more humanity than most. What Jaskier accomplished most of the time was to make obvious how smitten he was with Geralt. It was also very sweet to see the usually stoic and serious man bond with his child surprise, Geralt was clearly growing more and more protective of hr by the minute and Jaskier found it really sweet.
Also really hot.
Which was a problem.
It had been a while since Geralt and he had scared the forest animals or some poor maid in an inn with too thin walls. Every time they got something close to privacy, when Ciri sleep or they were able to set up two proper tends, Geralt refused to ravage him properly (or let himself be ravaged, for what mattered). It was terribly unfair. Jaskier even had been training! And getting better with small daggers, at that, he was proud that he didn't even stab himself once. Although there had been some small cuts in his hands on occasion.
Contrary to popular belief, the bard could go without sex for a long time if he wanted. Now, with Geralt looking like his handsome self and also taking care of his new daughter with that level of protectiveness, how could Jaskier not want to jump him at the first opportunity? They endured, though, until they made it to their safe place.
Good old Kaer Morhen, lost in the middle of the Blue mountains, with thick, stone walls. You could probably murder someone in a room and no scream would be heard outside. Come to think of it, Jaskier realized as he studied the place, that probably happened more than once. Meeting the other Witchers had been an experience. They were nothing like what Jaskier had been expecting, and judging by the looks he got from Eskel, and Lambert's comments, they were equally surprised to find a colorfully dressed bard in the middle of their forte. Eskel had heard of his songs and actually complimented them, which made Jaskier ecstatic. Lambert and him spent about 15 minutes throwing barbs at each other and then mocking some of Geralt's habits, so they were getting along somewhat by the end of the conversation.
Vesemir was...complicated. Jaskier wanted to like him because he was important for Geralt, a mentor, and probably like a father to him. But the bard couldn't stop thinking about how far Vesemir had been involved in the trials that mutated his lover. How many children never saw the light of a new day in this fortress, children like Ciri. Seeing Geralt's room provided a good distraction, though, and knowing that Ciri was safe in her own place brought them both peace of mind.
Now, the bashful look on Geralt's face makes Jaskier wants to kiss him. It only takes him a second to realize that now he can, so he puts a hand on the man's cheek and leans in for a quick kiss.
"Are you kidding? You have an actual roof over your head and a bed, it's more than I expected. Maybe it's because I expected you to have a space for Roach up here too."
Jaskier is joking, really. Well mostly joking. And talking about the bed, after kissing Geralt to move to lie down on it, making a happy sound as he stretches himself like a cat over the mattress. A moment later he's giving Geralt what he hopes is a proper sultry look. Jaskier is rather tired after the travel so it might as well look like he's sleepy. "What do you say we take a bath and then I help you work out all that stress out of your system?"
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Vesemir was not pleased about Jaskier being there. Ciri he could understand, her being Geralt's child surprise and a child with great power within her. But a bard in a place intentionally full of secrets made him wary. But he knew better than to push when Geralt put his foot down. Geralt of Rivia is particularly difficult and too serious, something his brothers and father figure know very well by now. Lambert is already trying to get a rise out of him. It's inevitable.
Geralt resists the urge to go check on Ciri again; he's never really felt this level of intense anxiety surrounding someone else. With Jaskier he is protective and possessive, so it's always been in him, this urge to wrap someone up in his safety and destroy anything that tries to touch them. But it's going to be a process, learning when to let her be free and not watched by him at all times. He'll get there. It's still new.
Stolen kisses are mostly all they've had lately so he enjoys it and watches very closely as Jaskier stretches himself over his bed. Their bed, technically, now. It is deeply appealing. Geralt moves so quickly when he wants to, one moment staring at him and the next on top of him. He pins Jaskier's arms down and hmms, ducking his head down to nuzzle at Jaskier's ear and then down to his neck, breathing in deeply to have Jaskier's scent surround him. It's a mix, having Jaskier's distinct smell wrapped in Geralt's bed, home, and he hasn't gotten to mark him in too long a time.
He runs his tongue along the curve of Jaskier's neck, tasting him, dirt and all. As if that matters to him. Geralt bites down firmly on where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking a red mark along with the teeth and that satisfies a part of his hunger for now. "Hmmm," he murmurs. "You do realize we're surrounded by witchers." Geralt lifts his head, amusement in glowing golden eyes, kissing him just enough to get Jaskier into it and then pulling back. "They'll hear you scream. They'll smell me on every inch of you."
The last part Geralt is very interested in pursuing. Jaskier doesn't smell enough like him. He straddles Jaskier's waist and lets go of his arms, moving to take off his brightly colored jerkin instead. "Just so you understand what fucking means here." Geralt is not against it; even if he was, he'd still probably be so needy and desperate that he would stop caring if it meant Jaskier's body under his. It still feels appropriate to warn him.
"You've been good," he rasps, running his fingers over Jaskier's bare chest after he pushes the clothes off them. "With her, with the dagger. I've been watching." And admiring. And adoring. Geralt slowly grinds his arse down into Jaskier's lap, eyes fixed on his face. "You should be rewarded."
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Perhaps if Vesemir sees Geralt and Jaskier together often enough, he might finally realize where the Bard's loyalties lay. There are many secrets around Kaer Morhen and Jaskier is going to have a hell of a good time trying to figure them out or prodding Geralt for more details about his childhood, yet he will keep that information to himself. The prodding, too, would be done more in an attempt to understand his partner better, the darkest parts of him, rather than trying to pester Geralt about his youth for the sake of it. Jaskier knows that non one had an easy life among these ancient ruins and that those who survived the trials carry with them the traumatic experiences that made them who they are. Sometimes, it keeps the bard awake at night even if he tries to hide it, knowing very well that Geralt rarely gets a good night of rest. When it happens, he curls tighter around the man, hugging and burying his face on the scarred chest, trying not to think.
None of those depressing thoughts comes to him now, far too busy admiring Geralt's quick reactions and being kissed senseless. He lets out a laugh when the other man nuzzles his neck, squirming under Geralt. Not to get away from the hold, it just feels funny and he enjoys it. His chin tilts back and he offers the column of his throat for Geralt to mark and bite, murmuring a soft yet easily audible for the close Witcher to heard 'Yesss'. It's been a long time, he's only human, and damn, does Geralt look good all over him.
"I do. If they get jealous, that's their problem for eavesdropping." Jaskier murmurs against the man's mouth, chasing it for another quick kiss. He almost wants to ask him just how loud Geralt wants him to be. The bard has never been shy in his life and he's not going to start now. "All that sounds like the opposite of a problem to me."
Ciri won't realize any of those things, sparing Geralt the embarrassment, so it's all good. Not like Jaskier doesn't suspect that she already knows what it's going on between them, she should have to be blind to miss it.
"I'm always good, ah you just don't notice most of the time." Jaskier hums at the touches and raises his arms to help to get rid of his doublet and shirt, then the rest of clothes. He's also pulling at Geralt's dark shirt to get it out of the way so he can do some exploring of his own. He pauses and groans at the grinding, his growing hard-on brought up to attention, and then smiles up at Geralt. His hand slides up the man's shoulder and grabs a fist of his hair, giving it a tug. "Oh? What do you have in mind, gorgeous?"
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Geralt may give ground on the bard far more than he should, and he's reluctantly given up a few details over their decades together, but much of this place is still a mystery and a secret as it has to be. He trusts Jaskier like no other but it is a tightrope walk he's doing now. He doesn't regret it. Ciri is closer to being safe here and they can train her and decide what is next for her. He knows he might have to reach out to Yennefer, a subject to be brought up to both Jaskier and Vesemir, neither of whom will like it, but the girl has magic. He has to be the best guardian for him he can be.
But that is not important now, that is a future discussion, for now he wants to remember what it's like to have the bard's adoration and desire wrap him up as safely as this place does in its own way. Geralt doesn't want to think at all about anything outside of this room for the night; they deserve that at least. Gods he forgot just how open and eager his lover is, how quick he is to submit to teeth, to let Geralt strip him. He used to go months without thinking about sex or caring about it, but he's starved now for it. He got too spoiled.
Geralt kisses him in between words, lost in his taste, knowing by the time the others will hear them, he really won't care about anything outside of Jaskier's moans, so it suits him fine. He growls at the tug on his hair, golden eyes glowing with heat. He pauses, looking at his lover, continuing a very slow but sensual grind into his lap, and there's suggestion in it without question. This is still a mountain to climb and he wonders how easy it will be without the privacy he prefers, but he also doesn't care. He wants Jaskier to understand his level of trust, for them both to know it, even if Geralt will never be good at putting it into words.
Geralt moves off his lap but only so he can lower himself down to take advantage of Jaskier's bare chest, sucking little marks and licking his nipples. He uses the change in position to strip the rest of their clothes off. "You wanted something from me once," he rumbles, not looking up at Jaskier but instead taking his time to kiss his stomach and ribs. "I said no then, but I am saying yes now." Is he masking his mild nerves by distracting them both with his mouth finally finding its way to Jaskier's cock, licking it from top to bottom? Probably. "If you still want it."
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The bard won't be too pleased with Yennefer making an appearance, he doesn't think he will ever be able to shake the fear that she might do or say the right thing to make Geralt come to his senses and left him. But for Ciri and Geralt's sake, he won't complain or rile her up, knowing that she might not be her favorite person in the world but she is a goddamn good witch. The best there is, probably, and Jaskier can appreciate talent. Not like he would ever admit it in the most causal of moments, not even now that his brain is being drowned in endorphins thanks to Geralt's expert hands and tongue.
These last weeks had been difficult, there was not a single day in which Jaskier didn't want to climb Geralt like a metaphorical tree. Being able to touch and explore to his heart content almost makes his hands shake. Or maybe he's just shuddering after the air cools down the wet trail Geralt left on his neck. Jaskier hums, pleased when the tug earns him a growl. His cock strains with interest and anticipation, and his voice comes out breathless and needy, totally shameless.
"God, I missed the sounds you make so, so much."
Not just the sounds, if the way Jaskeir arches against the other man's a body to get as much contact and friction as possible is any indication. He hears the words and their full meaning takes a few beats to register, too busy focussed on how there's finally no more offending clothes between them. He's wanted a lot of things from Geralt in the past, some even made little sense, but the only time a negative really mattered is still crystal clear in the bard's mind. Jaskier has a sudden flash of a vision, of Geralt riding his cock, hair framing his face, intense golden eyes looking at him, and he has to stop himself from almost coming on the spot.
Okay, focus.
Geralt isn't looking at him but Jaskier doesn't think he's misunderstanding the offer. He opens his mouth to reply and the witcher chooses that moment to run the flat of his hot tongue all over his shaft. Jaskier's cock throbs and Geralt gets as a reply a muffled sob from the back of his throat.
Easier said than done.
The brunette closes his right hand into a fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand, and the little pain helps him to center himself.
"You could ask me to throw myself down a volcano and I'd say yes." Jaskier says shakily with a smile, this mind whirling with memories of what that mouth can do. "After we're done, that's it."
It is not just the promise of more amazing sex that has him shaking. They've done plenty of that already but this is something more, a step further, something Geralt wasn't ready to try before. The fact that he trusts him wants to put himself on Jaskier's hands is practically a love confession. Lifting his back from the mattress, he reaches down to run his hands through Geralt's hair to try and get the man to look at him.
"If you are sure, then nothing would make me happier. I want to make you feel so good you forget your own name."
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Yennefer is wrapped up in all this destiny too, he sees that as well. He will ask her there and see if he is correct, and Ciri will get a skilled teacher. It will not be comfortable for anyone, but Geralt is unconcerned about Yennefer being there in regard to himself or their issues. He is concerned solely for Vesemir's displeasure and Jaskier's jealousy (rational or not). But that can be handled and it will, when the time comes.
They both have much better things to focus on like the reminder of how sensitive Jaskier is to every little thing Geralt does. He used to roll his eyes at the bard's lustful ways, but he really knows now that the man was made for sex, or perhaps for the erotic. It's in how much he lives in every breath, how quick he is to moan, to react to the smallest touches of someone against him. He is free and not self-conscious in the least, at home in his body and what he enjoys from it, and Geralt truly admires that about him. Now that he's on the receiving end, obviously.
Geralt knows the answer would be yes, and this is a test for him, on a variety of levels. This is a love confession for him. He is giving everything to Jaskier that he possibly can in actions, the true language Geralt speaks. He hesitates only a moment before meeting Jaskier's gaze and it's guarded, for now. They've met eyes while having sex many times, but it is always when it's Geralt in control, and he remembers all too well how good it felt when Jaskier took over. How easy it ended up coming to him, submitting to his bard's embrace and desire. He's just not well in practice at it.
He smiles faintly and runs his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip. "Let's see if you can." It's a tease more than a challenge and he grips Jaskier at the back of the neck, pulling him in for one of his much more heated and wild kisses. This at least he knows well, it burns within him, the power of the frenzy. He is hard and wanting and while the idea of pushing Jaskier on his hands and knees is appealing, for once he really is craving something else.
Geralt gets lost in the heat of their kiss until he's barely breathing and he had thought ahead to have oils waiting for them. Listen, they both knew they'd missed having sex and were miserable holding back. He had every intention of them getting re-acquainted once alone. His body is screaming at him now in hopes he can just take and have, and he hands the bottle to Jaskier.
"...how do you want me?" The question is asked in a throaty, deep voice full of want, and he runs his fingers through Jaskier's dark hair. "Tell me what you want me to do." That he wants for certain, because if there is one thing he's learned since this relationship began, it's that Jaskier can say anything to him in bed and it works for him. And while Geralt is an aggressive person, it was Jaskier being aggressive and pushy that first time he let him fuck him that gave the want to him.
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Jaskier can't promise that he will be able to keep his jealousy in check, he cares about Geralt and is too afraid of losing him to think rationally sometimes but he will...try. Geralt, of course, can roll his eyes or laugh at his antics. Speaking of eyes, it takes the Witcher a second to meet his lover's but Jaskeir is patient. It would be hard to describe the look on the bard's face without using the words lovestruck and fondness and Geralt is lucky that Jaskier is too focused on the prospect of fucking too start waxing poetic about Geralt's many qualities. He knows what it all means beyond the physical and it makes his heart beat faster and his cheekbones flush a deeper red.
A moan is stifled against Geralt's mouth when their lips meet and Jaskier let his hands run down the other man's sides. He is hyper-aware of all the places where they’re touching and he needs more of everything. He can't get enough of the warmth of Geralt's skin, the calloused fingers, the feel of the steel-strong muscles under his hands. He only pauses to take the oil bottle, such a practiced movement by now that he doesn't need to look down to know what he's holding, and quickly uncorks it to pour some of it on his right hand. After that, it's back to mapping skin, down a scarred stomach and hard abs, until fingers brush the trail of short hair leading to Geralt's crotch. Jaskier is acutely aware of the hard line of the Witcher's cock against his palm when he runs his hand over it and then wraps his fingers around to give it an expert squeeze.
"I want you comfortable." Jaskier let's out in a breathy sigh, blue eyes dark with want. Geralt's voice always does things to him when it gets so deep. He needs to focus, though, because he remembers that Geralt likes him bossy when the man is going to be on the receiving end of things. Instead of answering further, he hums for a few seconds as if he's mulling over the Witcher's questions while in reality, he's just taking the chance to tease him by slowly circling the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb. God, he wants that dick in his mouth, and he wants to leave Geralt undone, and also have the man ride him into the sunset. Thank god for Witchers stamina, they'll have time for everything.
Jaskier squeezes Geralt's cock again as he leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth then put his free hand on the man's chest to give him a push. He won't move him unless the other wants to be moved but the attempt is there. He needs to get Geralt relaxed and ready to take him but what he wants to do is what the shift of expression over the man's handsome face as he does so. it will also help him gauge if he's going too quickly and Geralt needs a break. "Lie back, handsome, and spread your legs. Don't make me tie you up."
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He is well aware of how Jaskier can go on and on about him. He has waxed poetic about nearly every part of Geralt's body in great detail, and occasionally he may have rolled his eyes and sighed, but he keeps every one of them internally close to his heart. It is complex, to see his body as a weapon and nothing else, and to have someone else see it otherwise. He likes the way Jaskier looks at him; a time ago he did not like it so much outside of sex, but now his gaze warms him.
He tries to give that same affection and appreciation back, although not in as easy words as the bard finds. He shows he wants him. The way Geralt touches him and desires him is his own version of poetry. He could spend an hour driving Jaskier mad with his mouth and there is no denying the way he looks at Jaskier. If anything, Yennefer will roll her eyes and be irritated at the two of them giving calf eyes at one another. He stopped pretending that bothered him.
His lover is lithe and muscled nicely but mostly thin and soft, and that has always been Geralt's preference. Jaskier's shameless about his noises and he snarls softly, rocking his body a little more aggressively into Jaskier's feeling, the slide of their chests against one another. Geralt makes a strangled sound when Jaskier's hand is on him and his eyes flutter shut, swallowing a moan. It is so easy for him to be weak to Jaskier's touch. It is why he falls back without complaint, color flooding his face from arousal and adjustment to the shyness found shockingly deep within in.
He obeys and spreads his legs, his cock hard already, but he is all for the slow experience of this. When he's riled he gets pushy. "I would let you," he says in that same deep rumble. It would be difficult, giving over so much of his power, but perhaps that would be the point. Geralt reaches out to touch Jaskier's cheek and then down his chest, drawing circles on his skin. "You fucked me well." He runs a finger along the line of Jaskier's cock but not more than that. "I know how well you can use this. Just do not take too long. We both want you inside of me."
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He hums in delight at the touches Geralt is giving him in return, appreciating the man's own language to express himself. Jaskier has always been very tactile and never before has he been so well-matched, never before has he been wanted back like this. Life has taught him that he's a very easy person to leave, yet aside from some really unfortunate occasion on top of a mountain that is now forgiven, Geralt keeps proving him wrong.
The way the Witcher reacts to his own ministrations is never short of delicious. The snarls, the moans, the grunts...it makes the bard smile almost predatory and reach out to bite his lover's lower lip as his hand tightens. He strokes Geralt the way he favors, firm, wonderfully indulgent with a twist at the end to circle the head before he lets go. Geralt spreading himself so nicely for him and the words that follow have Jaskier almost making a strangled noise.
"Oh gods...yes, we can try that one day." Not tonight, though, they've both been waiting for too long and Geralt looks positively edible. Not to mention that the Witcher's wandering hands tear drawn-out moan from him, quick and effectively convincing him not to waste time. Jaskier whines, pressing himself closer, moving his hands up to tangle them in Geralt’s hair and give another tug and then pull him into a last heated kiss. When the need for air strikes and they finally part, panting, Jaskier bumps their foreheads together, smiling. "Be patient."
He makes a show of putting a noisy, wet kiss on Geralt's temple before laughing and moving back down, peppering the curve of his neck with small kisses. The brunette bites, licks and kisses Geralt's chest, his left coming up to play with the man's nipples, rolling and pinching the hardening bud between his fingers. Movign slightly back on the bed as he kisses a trail down Geralt's stomach, Jaskier grabs the small vial and pours some more oil on his fingers, waiting a few seconds for it to warm up.
His nose nuzzles the short hairs at this groin and takes a moment to breathe in deep, then tilts his head so his lips are touching the hot curve of Geralt's hard cock. A steady hand is massaging the strong muscles of Geralt's right thigh, the other plays with the man's balls, rolling and squeezing them a little before it moves further down. Jaskier's tongue slides up the hard cock and flicks over the slit as his index finger circles and gentle presses against Geralt's rim.
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Geralt gets lost in that long kiss and nearly changes his mind, nearly rolls them and starts aggressively pursuing taking Jaskier in the away they both enjoy. This is part of the play that comes with letting Jaskier control him, struggling to stop from letting his animal instinct take over. He knows they both like it when he fucks Jaskier senseless and he is showing impressive restraint by letting Jaskier do what pleases him. He is not still but also muted, growling quietly in response to the be patient. He is not patient. He is mindlessly horny after time apart.
Still he sighs and tilts his head for Jaskier's mouth on his neck, sucking in a breath at the play on his sensitive hard nipples, murmuring Jaskier's name at the start of his lips past his stomach. Geralt drops his head back on the pillow when hot lips play with his cock and he rises his hips into it, careful not to gag him although a part of him wants to. He wants Jaskier to drool with want for him. Instead he focuses on the feeling, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax at the first intrusion into him.
Geralt is still not quick to relax, despite wanting this very much and his body coiled tight with desire. It takes very little time to get Jaskier warm and willing, his legs almost permanently spread for Geralt, but the witcher is slower to trust. His hand drops into the soft dark hair and he tightens his fingers with a little tug of their own. "This is still my favorite way to stop your talking," he whispers, playing with him. He looks down to watch Jaskier on his big cock.
"My pretty songbird." It's almost a croon and he can't help thrusting up, Geralt angling Jaskier's head back to look at him while still controlling him. He relaxes in Jaskier's grip and touch, opening up more to him, eagerness in the spread of his legs and cheeks. "I'm going to give you something no one has ever had before." Geralt has allowed men to fuck him in the past, fast and often brutal but what he wanted, never like this though. Never slow and submissive. "Oh yes, fuck." He tips his head back, pleasure twirling inside of him at the consistent torture of Jaskier's fingers.
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Jaskier had smiled against Geralt's lips when he returned the kiss. For all his talent at being stoic and keeping a cool head in dangerous situations, he was much easier to distract and rile up when there were very little clothes between them. And the brunette loved that fact a little too much but to be fair, Geralt was gorgeous in bed. And also while fighting. And with black eyes and pale as a ghost. Okay, perhaps Jaskier's opinion was a tiny bit biased. Just a smidge.
It's only that the Witcher responds so well to him, the skin so hot under his lips, smooth or scarred it didn't matter to the bard. He tries to find a way to get more sounds out of Geralt. As the man cants his hips up, Jaskier bows his head down almost by force of habit, taking the Witcher's cock further into his mouth. They both would get distracted by this all too easily and the bard has to remind himself of the bigger goal they have. He wants to make this night memorable for Geralt and he will.
It doesn't really come as a surprise that his lover is tense, Jaskier didn't have an easy experience the first time he dared to try this with someone. He always had been a quick learned when it came to playing between the sheets and it soon became one of his most enjoyed activities. His tongue presses up against the cock in his mouth, his lips wrapping tightly around it before he hums, tilting his head only a bit to look up at Geralt and attempt a smile. It is a way to keep him silent, for sure, and the compliment is deeply appreciated, making Jaskier answers him with another look of want rather than words, his blue eyes darkening.
The grip in his hair is just as the brunette likes it and he moans when Geralt thrusts up, letting the man do as he please for a little while. Maybe having a modicum of control helps the Witcher more than anything else. Jaskier's hands don't stay idle. After Geralt spreads his legs and offers more of his body, Jaskier slides a second slicked finger inside him all the way to the knuckle and keeps them there, letting his body acclimate to the intrusion.
That swear is all Jaskier needs to know that the burn of the stretch is fading into fizzy pressure-pleasure that spreads up Geralt's spine. He enjoys hearing the Witcher but staying quiet for long is against Jaskier's own nature. After bobbing his head, Geralt's hardness slides from his mouth and he runs his tongue up the underside, from the base to the top, following the vein there.
"How sensitive are you, darling?" He didn't want his teeth near any sensitive part of Geralt's anatomy in case the man bucks suddenly when his longer finger pushes in deeper, wriggling a little to stretch him, grazing ever-so-gently over his prostate before giving a stronger push.
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Jaskier is so damn good at taking, no matter where or what he's doing, and Geralt is glad he didn't give in to his mouth on the road. Because he's proving right now that although Jaskier gets louder than he does, he still lets quiet moans loose, since Jaskier is expertly talented at this. Geralt could happily fuck his mouth for an hour, in theory, except he gets riled up and demanding. For now it's the perfect amount of suction and hot wetness for him to be distracted from Jaskier opening him up. He does warm up to the feeling, remembering all too well how incredibly good Jaskier fucking him was the last time.
The second finger is easier than the first as he's now more readily adjusting and welcoming him, impatient as always. If he could convince Jaskier to be as quick and rough as possible, he would try, but his bard enjoys this far too much. Geralt will have his chance to take back over, when he's in Jaskier's lap, and for now he grumbles when Jaskier licks him instead. If he's going to open his mouth he might as well spread his filthy words everywhere, although those do get Geralt lustful so fast.
The answer to that question is shown by how his head dips back and his breath is sharply sucked in when Jaskier that sweet spot, his fingers clutching in the dark hair for a moment. Sensitive, yes, because this is rare for him. Geralt rocks down toward Jaskier's finger a second later, silently demanding more of it. "Jaskier." Geralt looks down at him with hazy golden eyes. Here at least he doesn't seem to mind eye contact. "I'm going to ride you until you black out." He is not usually the one good with words but he does try, sometimes. "I want your cock."
This is a little about him psyching himself up too, because sex they are very good at, and he does want this. Carnally it's all he want now. His fingers keep running through Jaskier's hair and his other hand comes down to grip his chin, tilting it up toward him forcefully. His thumb caresses Jaskier's lush bottom lip. "If you don't go faster, I'm going to tie you up and take it."
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Pity that other sounds can't be immortalized with the same ease. The groans and moans dropping from Geralt's like are Jaskier's favorite melody. He could get his mouth on Geralt and be happy to not do anything else the whole night but suck him off and reduce him to low growls and later a sated mess. They have bigger plans for tonight and they will happen at the right time, despite the brute's insistence.
The exposed white column of Geralt's neck distracts him, it makes Jaskier want to sink his teeth on it and leave a possessive mark, even knowing it will fade in a matter of hours. The hand gripping at his hair with more force tears a low moan from the bard's wet, pink lips. He's hardly unaffected by their activities, his own cock hard and straining against his lower belly, pulsing with every rabbit-fast beat of his heart.
"My dick, my rules." Jaskier says rather breathless, his free hand lowering to the base of Geralt's cock to circle it with his fingers and give a squeeze. He doesn't want to wait more than the Witcher does but they're going to do this right, damn it. Hearing Geralt so bluntly admit that he wants him, though...god, it does things to him. Jaskier relents a bit because his stubbornness can only get him so far when Geralt is staring and saying lovely lewd things to tempt him into complying. "Just a little bit more, promise. And then you can ride me until I cry."
Anticipating a complaint, he speeds the movement of his fingers, drawing them out almost completely to then push them in with a force he hadn't used before, jabbing Geralt's prostate again. Jaskier tries and fails to hide a smile, leans in until his lips are touching the hot curve of Geralt's cock, lacing a kiss on it. He repeats the action for a little while, shifting the fingers inside him, plunging in and out, rubbing at his prostate with perfect aim. While it's barely two minutes it feels like so much longer and Jaskier doesn't have enough force of will to keep teasing his lover, he wants to fuck him until he’s shaking.
"Fuck, Geralt, you don't know how you look like now. I could eat you whole." Jaskier drags his finger out slowly, reaching around blindingly for the oil bottle. He hisses through clenched teeth as he pours a generous amount over his oversensitive cock and then leans back to sit on the bed. His fingers drag over Geralt's thigh, nails scratching the inner skin to leave red marks because he knows the other man enjoys the sting. He's almost tempted to pat his lap. "Come here."
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His quiet sounds are loud in spirit for someone slightly more subdued and he does think about the others as his lips part into a gasp when Jaskier keeps opening him. He does not know if it comes from an odd place of embarrassment or his deep desire for privacy. But they've fooled around before in this castle, with one another, so it is not fully new. Just filled with the much more loud and satisfied sounds that tumble out of Jaskier's mouth like music.
Geralt snarls at him when he says his rules, a typical response from him for not getting what he wants, but then Jaskier's touching his cock and he gives up, closing his eyes briefly and feeling the hot ripple of pleasure through him. "I am not going to break," he reminds him on a rasp. He is not delicate. He is a little tight, but he doesn't mind that, he wants the sensation of Jaskier splitting him open. He knows trying to push more will not help so he focuses on the feelings. He focuses on rocking his body into Jaskier's fingers and swearing every time he hits the prostate, his hand dropping from Jaskier's chin to cling to the sheets below him instead. It feels like eternity and he's begging with his body, trying to fuck himself harder on Jaskier's fingers. Gods he needs it.
He does make a picture. His silver hair spread out on the pillow behind him, his face flushed, his eyes half-open like slants as his lips part from needing to breathe. Geralt is so happy about Jaskier slicking himself up, the anticipation burning between them, that he is on top of the bard barely a second after he positions himself there. He does not need any encouragement. He is a big man, his biceps nearly as huge as Jaskier's head, and his thighs equally thick. He is heavy too which he tries to alleviate by putting his knees down on either side of Jaskier's body to crush him less down.
"You're mine now," he growls, gripping Jaskier's cock with his hand to steady it. He's never done this before but he understands the concept, and he positions his lover. He can feel him huge and hot at his entrance and it's already perfect teasing, giving in to what he wants and sitting down on Jaskier's cock. He does not take his time, as that is never his way, he does not worry about adjusting slowly, his body will open and relax in its own time. He likes how Geralt is burning him, how he feels full of him and he's sheathed entirely in just a few seconds. He sits there, not realizing he literally gave a long groan from the second he started to let Jaskier in to right now. Still groaning. Still spinning.
His eyes were closed through this. Due to the sensation and focusing on being filled right, but also because of his issues, which he finally forces once he bottoms out. Breathing in deeply and out, Geralt's eyes snap open and his gaze finds Jaskier's. It becomes clear instantly what Geralt's been afraid of all this time. Their eyes meet and there is no hiding the depth of his feelings. He has not put a name on it, but it is obvious. The warmth and vulnerability and want all mix together and he longs for him, he adores him. He loves him, although he puts no word to it out loud, but it's there.
He cups Jaaskier's face with his palm, actually shaking although he would throw that on the new feeling of being fucked. This man has had him in every possible way now. He maintains eye contact although his gaze does flicker away here and there, but golden eyes do fine blue when he rises into the air and slides back down on top of Jaskier, Geralt is fully quiet now, only a caught breath, focused on Jaskier and nothing else as he starts a steady rhythm.
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Geralt has never been a man of a lot of words but Jaskier had learned tor read a different language in his body. The way his breath hitches or his brow furrows as the brunette scissors him or pushed his fingers in deeper is like more than enough. It's giving Jaskier plenty of sounds to commit to memory, little groans and gasps that will keep him warm in the (rare) lonely nights where Geralt might be absent, busy with some contract.
His lover is so gorgeous, spread open and wanting, that it makes Jaskier's chest feel tight and his cock twitch in need. Its been barely a heartbeat since he has spoken and Geralt is already climbing over him with eagerness, making him laugh softly against the man's collarbone.
He is heavy and Jaskier appreciates the attempt at not crushing him but he also loves the bulk of the man in top of him from head to toe and won't mind too much of Geralt grinding down on him. The white-haired man speaks in a way that makes Jaskier's breath hitch, so sure of himself and so determined. It's such a big change from their first time together in that bath, so, so different than the first time the Witcher allowed the brunette to inside him that for a few seconds he's completely speechless. It's a rare state for a bard so it doesn't last.
"I always have been yours." It comes out followed by a moan as Geralt wraps his big hand around his hardness but the honesty can't be missed. He is tempted to scold him for rushing things, Jaskier is still concerned about hurting Geralt, but he knows it will be of no use. His partner seems to enjoy the burnt of the stretch and who is Jaskier to deny him anything?
He gasps, as much in surprise to Geralt bottoming out so quickly as in reaction to the feeling of his tight heat all around his cock. He fails to muffle a groan and some colorful curses against Geralt's neck, hot breath panting against the skin. Since his mouth is already there, Jaskier leans in another fraction and sinks his teeth on the curve of the man's shoulder, not enough to break the skin or cause any damage but to cause a sting. It serves both to berate Geralt for rushing things and also to fulfill Jaskier's wish to mark the man as his own as well.
Looking up, blue eyes stare into gold ones when Geralt finally meets his gaze and Jaskier gives a soft, loving smile. It's a lot, everything, not only for Geralt but also for him. All the words unsaid, the veiled love confession, and their weakness, on display. His hands roam, stroking along the skin of Geralt's strong thighs until his warm palms are covering the man's bum and he briefly massages the muscle with his fingers. When Geralt holds his face thought shaking fingers, Jaskier feels like they're both being undone, breaking down to be put back together into something new, stronger.
A shiver runs down Jaskier's spine as Geralt starts rocking his hips and he rearranges his hands. One slides up the scarred back, burying itself into the long white strands to give them a tug. The other stays on Geralt's hip, not to still his movements but to anchor himself, thumb drawing small circles over the curve and crease of the bone. Words fail him but Jaskier doesn't need them now. Leaning in, he captures Geralt's mouth into a kiss, biting his bottom lip and then lapping at the stung flesh, tongue pressing inside to get a better taste.
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He says things like I have always been yours and means it, and Geralt believes him. He knows Jaskier's been devoted to him for much longer than he deserves. Geralt enjoys the heat that shudders through his body when Jaskier's inside of him, feeling like he may actually be starting to deserve it. He loses his breath when Jaskier bites him, the blissful sting of it with the sweet agony of being split open just the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.
Jaskier smiles as if he's not surprised at all with what Geralt is showing him, and he smiles back, finding safety in what he sees. This does not seem so unnerving after all. When Jaskier kisses him it's consuming, the way he usually drowns out anything but passion between them, and Geralt opens his mouth, letting the bard take what he wants from him. Now that he's in control he knows he can ride them both into oblivion as fast and aggressively as he usually prefers, but instead he's letting them both feel it first.
His powerful legs make it easy for him to raise up with each movement, almost letting Jaskier out but then sitting back down so that every time he's taking him long and thorough. He is broken from his slow fucking when Jaskier's cock hits him in just the right way and he gasps out of the kiss, cursing. It sends a jolt of aggression through him and his hands shoot to the bed frame, holding on. He rides him with a little more heat, seeking that same need, and it is a struggle not to go feral on him. Geralt wants to snap Jaskier's head back, bite him until he begs, take everything he wants fiercely.
He instead leans in close to Jaskier's ear, sucking on the lobe, whispering harshly to him. This is too soft for anyone to hear unless they were right next door, between them. "Make me yours. Claim me. I want to smell like you, taste like you." Geralt could ride Jaskier for hours with his stamina, but this isn't about being fucked. He wants Jaskier's mark, he wants to be owned by him. He wants his lover to know they are equals, that Jaskier can demand anything from him too. There's a desperate edge to his movements now and he grips Jaskier's arms, pulling his hands off where they are currently and firmly putting them on Geralt's arse. Jaskier can direct him this way, make his wants known.
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Geralt's look could peel him to the bone and he's never felt more naked before, more loved too. The man responds so beautiful to bites and scratches that Jaskier would do it all the time if he has got so distracted by those piercing golden eyes, on the look of Geralt's face now that this is a possibility. The Witcher smiles back at him and this is a greater gift than he could have ever expected.
He can’t help the way his thighs tense and release until they’re shaking, or the moan that escapes, when Geralt lifts himself up on powerful legs, only to slide back down leisurely. He does with more ease than expected, the handsome bastard, and Jaskier bites his tongue to stop himself from pointing out how Geralt is a natural at this. This should be illegal, Fucking god, but trust Geralt to be talented at everything he does once he puts his mind to it. Or his ass.
The gentle pacing sends a rush down the bard's spine that has him thickening up even more, if such a thing is possible. Geralt cursing and the change of peace has him shuddering from head to toe but he smiles, hips bucking up. The body on top of him is heavy, all strong muscles and power, and Jaskier adores it, doing his best to angle the roll of his hips so he can hit Geralt's sweet spot again every time their bodies meet. He doesn't care if they're loud or if they will get odd looks from the other witchers tomorrow, he's damn proud of what they're doing and it's a dream come true. He knows Geralt well enough and the telltale signs of the man's body to see that he is holding back a little but it's immediately distracted by the hot breath in his ear and the warm body pressing against his chest.
The words are maddening. Geralt might not be a poet but he knows how to make an impact and leave his audience breathless. Jaskier's reply is a strangled snarl followed by a moan as his brain short circuits a little. He sharply turns his head to capture's Geralt's mouth in a bitting kiss, his nails digging on the flesh of his ass.
"Mine." He growls against red bitten lips, his own curving into a mischievous smile Geralt might be familiar with. The blue eyes still betray him, full of heat and love when he stares at Geralt's gorgeous face. The bard's nails dig deeper. "Mine and no one else's."
He bucks up sharply to make the Witcher gasp and everything goes bright hot and too much for a split second, Geralt's body squeezing his cock like a vice grip. It's not enough to make Jaskier lose focus, though, he has far too much experience with this and too much determination to make it memorable for his lover.
On of his hand starts guiding Geralt's movements, pressing down on his ass to make him roll his hips at the right angle, to make the hardness splitting him drag over sensitive walls. The other hand moves to the front of his body, leaving four red thin lines on its wake after scratching Geralt's back. Jaskier wastes no time and cups one of Geralt's pecs, rubbing circles on his nipple before pinching it.
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If Jaskier pointed out how good he was at this, it would probably get a low laugh out of Geralt, but he has a lot of practice being on the other end of this. It feels vastly different, of course, but he's been ridden by the best of them, Jaskier included, so he has simply been paying attention to the bard's sexual skills. It is exquisite burning from the inside like this. He feels surrounded by Jaskier, like there is no part of them that isn't touching or joined at the moment. The roll of Jaskier's hips up at him is perfect and his eyes partially close, taking it in.
But his words are meant to get a reaction out of Jaskier and it works, leaving him with a moment of a smug smirk before Jaskier wipes it off with a kiss. Geralt groans when Jaskier's fingers dig into his ass and it's perfect, the look in his golden eyes pure pleasure when Jaskier says mine like that. He is about to taunt him except Jaskier gets there first and the buck up into him is exactly what he wanted. He gasps and his hands scramble against the bed board. Holding on. It was a powerful thrust and hit him just right and Geralt nods eagerly.
"Yours, oh fuck yours." Geralt's need to take over is easily handed over instead to Jaskier's physical commands, rolling his hips with grace once he's showed how to do it right, swearing at how it fills him in a different angle. There are many sensations going through him and then Jaskier's scratching him. "Gods." He doesn't care they won't last. He'll feel them there. The pain sharpens his desire and like the first time, what Geralt wants is surrender. He wants to power and be powerless. He spreads his legs a little more, perched so perfectly over Jaskier, leaning forward with his hands moving from fingertips to full palms.
His intention is clear when he moves then only with Jaskier's hands, following his instructions entirely, his ass wide open and his weight more on his own arms so that he can stay in position. Geralt breathes raggedly and angles himself so that Jaskier can have full control over his body and fuck up into him as hard as he wants. "Fuck me," he whines instead of growls, nuzzling into Jaskier's ear from this position and smelling his sweat. "Please." Often when Geralt says please, it's a formality, he's being demanding. This time it is completely genuine, an honest beg.
He knows that Jaskier wants to see him, that's the entire point of this position, so he still keeps his arms in a lean but lifts his head, pressing their foreheads together. "Jaskier, I'm yours."
ffffksajdjkas AAAH, sorry I thought I had replied this!
Geralt might realize now why the brunette enjoys riding him so much. The position is one of the best to really help to feel your partner, gravity doing wonders to the rolling of the hips. He doesn't care if Geralt doesn't last, it's already been wonderful, and that would make him more proud than anything. Jaskier bits his bottom lip, hard enough he could taste the coppery tartness of blood, and whimpers under his breath as Geralt admits that they own one another. It has taken them a long way to get here, so the admission and it's true meaning pulls a smile out of him, honest and full of love.
All those years of wanting have been sharpened to a hot point of desire focused on where his hands direct and slide across Geralt's body. It feels like he might burst, like he might float away into the sky, and he doesn’t know what’s got him so dizzy. Jaskier is not normally like this, but they normally don't fuck this way either, so it feels justified to be out of his element, overjoyed.
With his heart racing in his chest, he laps at the over-stimulated nub, clamping his teeth down Geralt's nipple and pulling, aiming to draw out a groan from the Witcher's lips. He would grin if his mouth weren’t busy. One of his hands squeezes the base of the man's dick, stroking it intermittently as his tongue flutters over the sensitive skin at Geralt's chest. Jaskier keeps it to light, soft strokes with the pad of his fingers, enough to feel good and tease but not to finish him off.
Then his lips trail up the man's collarbone and neck, aim to sucks a red mark onto his throat. He looks up to meet Geralt's eyes again when the man asks something from him - not demand, ask-, looking so gorgeous that Jaskier's heart is melting. It's like Geralt was born to fit in there, born to lean in and whisper it in his ear, to grind down on his cock, and trape him with his thighs. And who is Jaskier to deny him anything? He's not that kind of fool.He presses his forehead back against the other man, too breathless for a kiss, and charmed by the affectionate gesture.
"Anything you want, love."
It's easier to comply immediately, snapping his hips up, fingers leaving finger-shaped bruises on Geralt’s skin. Every time the other man grunts or sinks his nail on the wood of the bedposts before moaning, Jaskier shudders with the realization that it is because of him. He loses track of how many times he thrusts, how many needy little gasps he fucks out of Geralt with the force of them. He moans too, loud and needy, when a wave of sickeningly sweet pleasure surged through his body and the hand that isn't directing Geralt's hips, the one wrapped around his cock, squeezes and jerks him in tandem with the thrusts.
He could feel the pressure in his groin building, as Geralt's movements brought him so close to climax to the point it was on the edge of painful, but he wanted his lover to
“Geralt,” Jaskier says in between pants, smiling up at him. "Let go."
no worries!!! just assumed you were busy it's allll good
He didn't know that he wanted to be wanted so much. That the bard's adoration for him opened up something in his heart he didn't expect or even thought he desired. Jaskier saw his scars and his violence and his gruff impatience and bore all of it, loved all of him. Geralt isn't as free with his emotions so he's giving all of himself back this way. Jaskier's won him. His reward is getting ridden like a stallion.
He does groan at the harsh bite at his nipple paired together with stimulating strokes to his hungry cock. His plea is fulfilled immediately and all Geralt can do is hold on and enjoy it. And he does. His entire body feels like it's on fire with need, tensed up tight from an overabundance of pleasure, barely breathing in quick gasps whenever Jaskier thrusts up into him. He must have whispered harder at some point but he's uncertain, in a fog of feeling. His nails are digging into his own bed back board so at least he's the only one who has to worry about that. Or they both do, as it's their bed. He'll just smirk at the marks later. It's a compliment.
He is impressed by Jaskier's stamina but he might have saved up his strength for when Geralt let him have all of him. Geralt can feel him struggling and he nods, kissing him sloppily. It doesn't last since they have to breathe, but his hands abruptly move to cup Jaskier's face, tilting it up at him. He leans back just a little. "Look at me." No longer forehead to forehead since it's not easy to see there, instead he locks gold with blue again. "Come in me. Claim me."
Permission given, Geralt makes direct eye contact as he finally allows his strained and weeping body relief. He's avoided Jaskier's gaze before and now he's being brave, showing that he can, he can choose this, he can be in this moment with him. He comes all over Jaskier's chest and belly which is exactly what he means by claim, his scent covering him. His eyes go from dizzy to bliss and he whispers Jaskier's name over and over again like a quiet prayer.
That too, yes, because what is free time. Still, sorry and thanks for being so patient ♥
He doesn't have to mask his intention with music and embellished lyrics anymore and it is so much more rewarding to be able to call Geralt endearments to his face without getting a grunt in response. Not like the grunts aren't sexy, more so in situations like these where clothes had long been forgotten, but they share a level of comfort and trust now that Jaskier had been longing for all his life.
His way of showing Geralt his admiration is to grab a fistful of his hair and tug just the right way with one hand while the other slides up his cock and rubs a thumb under the cockhead. Let it not be said that Jaskier isn't good at multitasking. He gets lost in their lovemaking too, the kiss, the shared breath and loud moans, along with the distance sounds of the bed shaking under their assault. If the other witchers had any doubts about the nature of their relationship, those must be answered now. Later, he will now doubt spots the marks on the bed and laugh, it will be enough to keep him grinning with pride all week.
Jaskier sucks in a breath when Geralt speaks, eyes lost in golden suns that are staring back at him, and he's at a loss for words. "Geralt." Jaskier isn't one who has strong spiritual belief but he mutters the Witcher's name in a way akin to a prayer, feels Geralt coming and shaking on tops of him as his own religious experience. He rocks his hips harder to help Geralt ride out his orgasm and it doesn't take Jaskier more than a couple of trusts to follow him, pushed over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm.
His hands has moved to hold onto scarred hips with such force he's leaving little crescent moon marks on Geralt's skin. Jaskier growls his name, it's hard to describe the sounds he makes in a different way, over and over and over between gasps and moans. When the white behind his eyelids retreats and that familiar coil tightening in his abdomen eases, Jaskier's half-lidded eyes regard Geralt and he leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. They're both too out of breath for proper kisses. His cheeks are flushed and his chest glistening from exertion as well as the stains of their lovemaking.
"You look utterly debauched." The bard teases with pride in his voice, knowing far too well that he doesn't look any better.
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So is this. Jaskier's tug on his hair causes him to growl and bite Jaskier's lower lip. The witchers already knew about the two of them. It may be sometime since Geralt got to mark his scent, but Jaskier still smelled like him to a trained nose. Now he is satisfied to make it clearer. He is still not loud in bed the way Jaskier is but he loves those moans, the bed moving underneath them in a clear rock, and he plans on more of it. Gods he's missed this. He's missed Jaskier's taste under his tongue, the tight clench of his fingers in Geralt's sides, the way the bard simply let go.
He is lost in bliss for a few seconds, his eyes closing after they've both come and simply living in it. He makes a satisfied little hmmm as he memorizes the sounds of Jaskier growling his name, and Geralt is pleased with the ferocity his sweet bard showed. Geralt allows himself to linger in the embrace, Jaskier still deep in him and softening, and he smirks at Jaskier's words. He's feeling lazy and indulgent. His eyes open to look at his flushed lover. The shyness is gone. They stepped over that hurdle tonight. Jaskier saw to his heart. He is calmer than he expected for that.
"I see why you enjoy that position so much yourself." Jaskier does like riding Geralt too. Geralt can still feel the ache of being so perfectly full. His thumbs stay on Jaskier's face, running over his cheekbones affectionately. "You were good. You can fuck me any time you want." It seems like a generous and honest enough offer. Geralt may prefer pounding Jasker into a mattress, but he sees the value in this, and he is content with it too. He kisses him deeply, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting very lightly. After some reluctance, he gets up, this time the impulse because he worries about his weight on Jaskier for too long. They may be around the same height but Geralt is made of pure muscle, he's very heavy. Besides, this is his ritual.
His knees are shakier and that is a complete credit to Jaskier. He has to test them before standing, and while it looks like they aren't weak when he does, he feels the strain in them. He looks very pleased, gold eyes turning back to the bard. He stands there for a moment, smirking, intentionally letting his eyes slowly and hungrily take in the details of Jaskier who is absolutely debauched himself. His messy hair, pink skin, and the mark of Geralt's release on his chest. He has seen him naked countless times now and still desires him. "You look good in my bed," he rumbles, his eyes full of heat. It is their bed now, but this was his growing up.
He returns with a cloth and settles next to him on the bed, a meaty arm instantly put around his shoulders and a nibble to the side of his neck as he cleans his bard off. It's superficial to wipe off; he still smells intensely of him. He affectionately muzzles Jaskier's ear and sweaty hair. His body is still singing with pleasure, it's nice. "I never thought I would bring anyone home like this."
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Jaskier lived for those little moments. He knew that telling the whole world what sort of bond existed between was impossible and dangerous for many reasons, so that was the next best thing. They didn't need the whole Continent to know, it was enough with the two of them. And after tonight, the two of them...and everyone in the vicinity with keen hearing.
The bard whole body is still tingling even after it's all over, blood thrumming with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. He's going to be a bit bruised tomorrow and after so many weeks without the chance to see those familiar marks in his skin, he's overjoyed with the idea. His hands are loose on Geralt's hips now but still ever-present, not willing to let the other man go just yet. Or to move at all. He's busy basking on the look on his lover's face, the unusual softness and the smirk. The brunette smiles back easily, mussed hair falling over his forehead.
"It's a very good position, trust an expert." One that Geralt knows very intimately. He doesn't have enough words to express how much it meant to him. Jaskier leans into the touch to his cheekbones and he places a hand on Geralt’s chest in return, enjoying the sound of the beating of his heart, aware that not a lot of things that can raise his heartbeat. "That offer goes both way, you know."
The night is long and his Witcher always had enough stamina to keep him distracted for hours, he's not concerned. When their lips meet, Jaskier keeps him close with a hand on the small of his back and makes an unhappy sound when they have to pull apart to breathe. He lets out a small protest when Geralt leaves the bed -I should be the one doing that tonight!- but he doesn't have enough energy to move much. And if he's honest with himself, this is one of the parts he enjoys the most about their post lovemaking. Geralt seems to like to take care of him, even if the Witcher's legs might be a bit more wobbly than usual.
The staring and smirking don't go unnoticed and Jaskier gives him an unashamed grin back before he leans on the mattress a stretches a little, as if to say 'like what you see?'.
"It's a good bed. Sturdy. I think I was made to stay here." His hand slides down Jaskier's chest, fingers getting coated on Geralt's spent before the bard brings them up to his lips to suck on the tip. His blue eyes never leave Geralt until he goes away and returns with a cloth to take care of the rest of the stickiness. He all but purrs when how lips nip and kiss his neck, pressing his body against the much more muscular one of his lover.
"It surprised us both, trust me. I like it here with you." One of Jaskier's hands is now trailing patters on Geralt's arm, sliding up and down the bicep, tracing the scars, caressing the inner skin of his forearm. "How are you feeling?"
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"I already fuck you any time I want," Geralt points out at the both ways offer, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. Well, not any time, since Ciri's been with them, and they will have other things they need to do here than those sweet days and weeks they often got to fuck until neither of them could walk well. But they have a bed now, and the night is theirs. That will be enough. "Now you can do the same. I like you fierce." Fierce and strong. Geralt sometimes let himself be gentler and sweet with Jaskier, and Jaskier can be aggressive and ruthless with him. They're a good contrast that way.
He gives one of his raspy light laughs when Jaskier intentionally shows his wrecked body at him. And then he licks his fingers like that and Geralt's eyes are still heated. Fuck, he adores him. Geralt always has liked these little moments after sex, if he's being honest. He used to tolerate whores asking him questions about his scars as an excuse to stay, sometimes for a second round, but also because Geralt gets lonely. Not that he'd ever say as much, and he lived his solitary life without complaining before. But considering how he let Jaskier follow him around for years, and how close he let Yen get to him, the fact is he craves them. He likes when Jaskier snuggles up to him like now and the soft patterns his fingers make.
"About being fucked or about being here?" Geralt still doesn't like talking about his feelings, but he is pleasantly buzzed and Jaskier's warm and sweet. He nibbles on Jsakier's ear lobe, his voice so close only they can hear it. "Good about the first one." He is going to get very distracted if he keeps on Jaskier's neck so he simply rests his head against Jaskier's. He otherwise passively enjoys Jaskier's wandering hands, humming in thought.
"This is the safest place I know." It is why he brought Ciri there. He would fight an entire army by himself if he had, to but he is not so arrogant as to think that would work. No, she needs true protection. "But we are hard people. She may not like it here." That is his fear talking; Ciri seemed delighted to be there and there's no doubt she would win them all over quickly. But it still is not the type of place he would want a young girl to live in. She is soft. They are hard. She will have to learn how to fight and they are not kind. Geralt has been holding back and he will continue to. "I don't know what to do about her magic and neither does Vesemir."
Such cuties. Maybe we can star wrapping this one up, though? :3
"Always such romantic comebacks." The brunete pats his arm but it's obvious that he's trying not to laugh as well. It's been a while since he's been thoroughly debauched and he misses it but his limbs feel like jelly at the moment and being inside Geralt had been an experience. He's not in rush to do anything in the next several minutes. The night is long and his appetite insatiable.
"Do you, now?" The grin on Jaskier's face is predatory after that Fierce comment and he wraps an arm around Geralt's neck to pull him closer and bite down on his shoulder as soon as the man is within reach again. He looks all too proud of himself after that, happy to be pressed close and lazy against his lover. He enjoys these moments the most as well.
"Both." Jaskier comments without doubt or an ounce of shame. He was made to be by Geralt's side, let it be an old keep, the cold woods, or a too crowded tavern. He hums in delight at the nibbling, tilting his head to offer more skin for the Witcher to mark. When Geralt opts to rest his head against him, he can't even be mad about it. His hand lifts to the silver-white hair, treading through them and gently scratching the man's scalp.
"You are the safest place I know, Geralt. I would be happy anywhere as long as you're there and so will Ciri. You underestimate her, remember her bloodline." She is a princess and some part of her might be soft, that is true, but others had been forged in fire under the watch of her Grandmother. "Then we will contact someone who does. You know of Witches and Wizard, one might be able to help. But that's a worry for tomorrow, let her sleep one night."
work week was a bitch, comment below!
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