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."
[Can wrap here! Maybe we could do one when Yennefer arrives and she and Jaskier have been catty lol.]
There's an extra layer of protection that could come from this for Jaskier. His family now knows that the bard is beloved to him and will be in an extended stay here. If they accept Ciri, they have to accept Jaskier too. All three of them are a package. It means the other witchers will come to be defensive of Jaskier too, as an extended member of the witcher clan. Geralt is certain to be teased for this but he can handle it. He'll just punch them like when they were boys. Vesemir will give a long-suffering sigh and wait for them to grow up. The usual.
Geralt feels much the same way, debauched and used and he likes it. His body is ringing with pleasure and he is far from tired, but it is good to have this between them again. They've been able to sleep in the same bedroll and speak after she slept on the road, but there was a distance between them Geralt made as a boundary in case either of them got too tempted. Now they can hang all over one another again, wrapped up in a heated and naked embrace as long as they will.
He comes closer at Jaskier's request and snarls when he bites him, in a good, yes way. He's rarely happier than when Jaskier leaves him with nail marks and teeth. He marks the bard up pretty thoroughly, but he's still careful, keeping on that edge of pain and pleasure. Geralt on the other hand likes the dig of nails into him and the emphasis on pain, so it lasts on his rough skin longer. "I do," he confirms. He likes him fierce and strong and a little vicious.
He likes Jaskier's fingers in his sweaty hair and the rumbling sound he makes is almost like a purr. Geralt's never needed just a lover. He can find a lover anywhere. He's needed a partner. It took him awhile to get to a place where he could accept that, but he is there and Jaskier is the best choice for it. The layers of trust between them and the genuine respect are integral to why they work now. He can be vulnerable with Jaskier, with his soft human lover, and talk out real life problems they have to address. Such as Ciri and her place here.
"Calanthe was a very hard and powerful woman, that's true." And fiercely devoted to her daughter and granddaughter. She would have raised Ciri strong. Geralt likes that he could be seen as safe to others, such a contrast to who he was once, the Butcher. Geralt tilts his head back and tilts Jaskier's face up to him. "You will always be safe with me, my bard." He runs a finger on his lip. "My Jaskier." The claim can be gentle as well as aggressive and he seals that promise with a kiss.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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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!
There's an extra layer of protection that could come from this for Jaskier. His family now knows that the bard is beloved to him and will be in an extended stay here. If they accept Ciri, they have to accept Jaskier too. All three of them are a package. It means the other witchers will come to be defensive of Jaskier too, as an extended member of the witcher clan. Geralt is certain to be teased for this but he can handle it. He'll just punch them like when they were boys. Vesemir will give a long-suffering sigh and wait for them to grow up. The usual.
Geralt feels much the same way, debauched and used and he likes it. His body is ringing with pleasure and he is far from tired, but it is good to have this between them again. They've been able to sleep in the same bedroll and speak after she slept on the road, but there was a distance between them Geralt made as a boundary in case either of them got too tempted. Now they can hang all over one another again, wrapped up in a heated and naked embrace as long as they will.
He comes closer at Jaskier's request and snarls when he bites him, in a good, yes way. He's rarely happier than when Jaskier leaves him with nail marks and teeth. He marks the bard up pretty thoroughly, but he's still careful, keeping on that edge of pain and pleasure. Geralt on the other hand likes the dig of nails into him and the emphasis on pain, so it lasts on his rough skin longer. "I do," he confirms. He likes him fierce and strong and a little vicious.
He likes Jaskier's fingers in his sweaty hair and the rumbling sound he makes is almost like a purr. Geralt's never needed just a lover. He can find a lover anywhere. He's needed a partner. It took him awhile to get to a place where he could accept that, but he is there and Jaskier is the best choice for it. The layers of trust between them and the genuine respect are integral to why they work now. He can be vulnerable with Jaskier, with his soft human lover, and talk out real life problems they have to address. Such as Ciri and her place here.
"Calanthe was a very hard and powerful woman, that's true." And fiercely devoted to her daughter and granddaughter. She would have raised Ciri strong. Geralt likes that he could be seen as safe to others, such a contrast to who he was once, the Butcher. Geralt tilts his head back and tilts Jaskier's face up to him. "You will always be safe with me, my bard." He runs a finger on his lip. "My Jaskier." The claim can be gentle as well as aggressive and he seals that promise with a kiss.
♥♥♥