#october prompts 2k20
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Safe and Sound
doing this thing | day 8 - “I don’t feel so well”
warning for non-consensual drug use(ish)
There are many reasons Geralt doesn't like nobles, and the way one of them is leering at Jaskier right now is only one of them. Geralt sits in the corner, tucked away where he can't bother anyone and they can't bother him. The only reason he came in the first place was for Jaskier and the only reason he's still here is because there is a huge bed upstairs waiting for them, complete with silk sheets. And, at this rate, Geralt will have it all to himself. It's a small consolation for watching Jaskier fawn over everyone else all night, and Geralt shouldn't care who Jaskier gives his attention to anyway, but it's nice to have something to look forward to.
More and more often, though, Geralt catches Jaskier watching him, seeking him out as he waltzes around the room. And the longer the night goes on, the less attention Jaskier pays to anyone else and the more he catches Geralt's eye. He offers thankful smiles and even winks at him once as he starts in on a song he knows Geralt hates. He doesn't hate it, but the blatant eroticism of it makes his skin crawl in the most frustrating way.
When Jaskier finishes his set, Geralt tunes out for a little while. He's unconcerned about what's going on around him and once his ale runs out, he has no good reason to stay downstairs. He's a little surprised that Jaskier never came back to him before running off. It's rare that he'll just disappear without saying goodnight, even if he's just going up to their room alone.
It's not unusual enough for Geralt to be worried, but it is enough for him to be a little disappointed. He likes knowing where Jaskier is, that he's safe before going to bed himself. Tonight he isn't able to do that and the prospect of a warm and silky bed is less enticing than it was an hour ago.
It isn't long before he runs into Jaskier in the halls only he's not alone and something feels... off. His medallion twitches just so faintly against his chest and Geralt frowns at the man wrapped around Jaskier.
Apparently unbothered, Jaskier hurries up to him, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck.
"Geralt!" he nuzzles into his chest and Geralt nearly jerks away in surprise. Jaskier is an affectionate drunk, but he hasn't had nearly enough time to drink that much. Geralt presses his nose into Jaskier's hair, inhaling deeply and this time he does pull back.
Jaskier stinks like magic.
It only takes a moment for Geralt to connect the dots; it's a love potion of sorts - a mild one, but still enough that it has Geralt's blood boiling. The thought of someone taking advantage of Jaskier like that makes him sick. Especially when Jaskier is so free with his affections that a simple request would have given the man anything he wants.
Geralt's head snaps up to look at him, now standing alone just a few feet in front of them. Rage rises up in Geralt's chest and it takes all of his well-maintained control to keep from throttling the man right there. But killing nobles is never a good idea - less so for a Witcher - and doing so in their own home is asking for trouble. But in a flash, Geralt steps between him and Jaskier and something of his anger must show through because the man takes a step back, very careful not to look away. Geralt growls at him as he pulls Jaskier closer into his side and the man turns and runs. A coward.
Geralt seethes, even as the man disappears down the hall and it's not until Jaskier nuzzles against his chest that Geralt remembers there are still things he has to take care of. Namely, Jaskier.
"I don't feel so well," Jaskier murmurs, pitching forward. Geralt catches him before he hits the floor, pulling him back to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to support him.
A weak potion, it seems, if Jaskier is already starting to work through it. Geralt doesn't spare the man another thought before turning Jaskier in the direction of their room.
They're barely inside for a minute when Jaskier hunches over the washbasin and vomits into it. Geralt crosses to him, running a hand up his back and Jaskier moans miserably. This at least is familiar to Geralt; he and the other wolves have suffered hangovers that would kill a regular man and somehow Eskel is always there to pick him up afterward.
So Geralt mimics Eskel's actions, rubbing Jaskier's back and ensuring his hair doesn't slip down over his face. It feels good to have somewhere to channel the energy buzzing under his skin - somewhere other than the fuming rage at the man who did this to Jaskier.
When he's finished, he slumps to his knees, but Geralt gets him up, helps him out of his clothes, and gets him to bed. When Jaskier is under the covers, he reaches out, fingers slipping against Geralt's shoulders. He just mumbles at him and Geralt crouches down next to the bed, far enough away that Jaskier won't try and pull him into bed with him.
"Not tonight, Jaskier. Sleep. I'll be here." He waits until Jaskier's eyes fall shut then rises to his feet again and turns away from the bed.
He makes up a bed for himself on the floor before the fire. It's a far cry from the silk sheets he was looking forward to, but it's barely a thought in his mind as he lays down, still listening to Jaskier's breath from across the room.
Geralt is nearly asleep, just on the verge of unconsciousness when something bumps him and his eyes flash open. He's greeted by the back of Jaskier's head and before he can move, Jaskier has settled next to him on the floor. He grumbles sleepily as he presses back against Geralt's chest, lifting one of his arms and draping it over himself.
Geralt huffs a soft laugh and presses his nose into Jaskier's hair, too tired to worry about whether or not he should. Jaskier shuffles closer, making soft little sounds in his sleep and Geralt doesn't care that they have a whole empty bed just across the room, he's just glad to have Jaskier safe.
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oc-tober 2k20 - day i, sunrise
featuring aurivana in sky world, somewhere <333 for @oc-growth-and-development ‘s OCtober prompts!!
{ aura is @bebemoon oc, marivana is mine! }
pls click into the pic for better quality - tumblr & urstyle in combination is no bueno for image quality aaaa
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Cressi Day 2K20
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2FBhots
by temis
Prompts for Cressi Day: 7th of October
Words: 446, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Men's Football RPF
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Lionel Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo
Relationships: Lionel Messi/Cristiano Ronaldo
Additional Tags: Cressi day
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2FBhots
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Little Things
doing this thing | day 18 - “Where did that come from”
They're in town to have Geralt's armour repaired and to stock up on supplies. Nothing else. Geralt has been very clear about that. But there is a little shop that sells stationery and how is Jaskier supposed to ignore that? His notebook is filling up quickly and soon he'll need another and his notebook to him is just as important as, say, Geralt's potions - he simply couldn't do his job without it. So looking is fine.
He slips into the shop while Geralt is talking to the armourer and he's sure he won't be missed. He slips amongst the shelves, keeping quiet at the shopkeeper speaks to another customer and then, right at the back of the shop, he finds a notebook. It's not special, really, but the design on the cover reminds him of Geralt, somehow.
He holds the book in his hands, running his fingers over the indented design and sighs to himself. There are too many other expenses right now, he'll just have to find a cheaper one somewhere else - he doesn't need it right now, anyway. He sets the book back into its place on the shelf and moves on, inspecting their quills and inkpots, and eventually exiting the shop to go and find Geralt.
The notebook stays on his mind for days. Which doesn't make any sense because it's only a book and he knows Geralt's armour is more important, that a trip to the herbalist is more important, but it doesn't stop him from wanting. And it's not as though he denies himself, not as though this book might be the one indulgence for him because it certainly isn't. Geralt often teases him about where he spends his money and on what, but that's because Geralt doesn't understand fashion. But he's certain Geralt wouldn't have minded if he bought the book. After all, he pays for their rooms at inns and for their supper most nights when they're in town - and that money comes from his music.
He's sitting next to the fire dwelling on it, but when Geralt comes back from a hunt bloody and holding his left side, all thoughts of the book are gone. Geralt's armour is much more important.
They pass through the same town a few weeks later and Jaskier steadfastly avoids the shop, instead taking Roach ahead to have her stabled while he pays for a room. He takes his things up to the room and gets settled while he waits for Geralt to return. He gets a fire lit and has the table ready so when Geralt comes back he has somewhere to work. During the last hunt, he'd depleted his potions and once again Jaskier is glad that they purchased ingredients instead of the notebook, not that it doesn't still linger in his mind.
Once he's happy with the state of the room, he pulls his old notebook out and settles in front of the fire to write while he waits. He doesn't have long as it turns out. After only a few minutes, he hears footsteps outside the door and then Geralt walks in with his bag slung over one arm. He sets it on the ground, instead crossing to the bed to gather the things he needs. Jaskier watches as he always does, coming to sit at the other chair. He likes knowing what is what and how to put them together so that if he ever needs to, he can replicate the potions.
Geralt is patient with him, explaining each step as he goes, telling him which herbs need to be ground finely and which need to be turned into a paste. Jaskier listens eagerly, glad to have a distraction from the nagging regret about the book. His current notebook is unravelling and he's had to re-bind it three times - not that he minds, there are more important things.
"Jaskier," Geralt says sharply and he snaps his head up. Maybe this isn't as good a distraction as he thought.
"Sorry, what?"
"I need the vials from my pack, will you grab them?"
Jaskier nods, already rising from his seat, pushing the chair out behind him. He crosses the room and crouches next to Geralt's discarder bag, undoing the clasp. He's expecting to find the vials on top, considering they're delicate, but instead there's a package wrapped in fine silk. Jaskier frowns in confusion, taking the package and setting it aside.
But as he does so, a corner of the silk slips away, revealing a square of embossed leather and he freezes. The pattern looks familiar - but it can't be. Glancing up to see if Geralt is watching, he gently pulls the cloth away, revealing the book beneath. He can't breathe. Surely, there has to be some logical explanation as to why Geralt has this particular notebook in his bag. Maybe he needs it to record his recipes - Jaskier has been nagging at him to do that for him - and it only stands to reason that they would have similar tastes after spending so much time together. But Geralt doesn't care for patterns and intricacies; he likes things simple. Before he can think better of it, Jaskier is turning with the book in his hands.
"Geralt," he chokes, "what is this?"
Geralt, the bastard, barely acknowledges him, glancing up and shrugging. "Oh," he says, "where did that come from?"
"Geralt, I'm serious, what is this?"
"It's a notebook," he says simply, "I thought of all people, you would be able to recognize that."
"Yes, yes, but what is it doing here. What is this notebook doing in your bag?" This time, Geralt sets his tools down, looking over at him with the faintest smile on his lips.
"Do you not like it?" he asks, "You've been talking about it for weeks. Unless I picked the wrong one?"
"No," Jaskier mumbles, but suddenly his words have abandoned him. Surely Geralt can't mean that. He picked it out? For him? "I- it's- you- Geralt this was expensive, we can't afford-" Geralt's smile grows into something soft and warm and he turns in his seat.
"I made a trade," he says, "turns out the shopkeeper's brother was having a bit of a ghoul problem. I told him I'd take care of it in exchange for the book. He held it for me."
"So we- you didn't need to come back for supplies?" Jaskier stammers, struggling to process.
"Not for me, no."
Jaskier gets to his feet, crossing to where Geralt sits, the notebook still clenched tightly in his hand. "Thank you," he whispers, "I don't know what to say." He climbs into Geralt's lap, surprised again when a strong arm encircles his waist. Geralt cocks his head and reaches up abortively, letting his hand fall to Jaskier's thigh.
"Write me something nice," he says and Jaskier nods, breathless. He doesn't realize he's crying until Geralt reaches up again, brushing his cheek. "It's not that important," he says but Jaskier disagrees. Without thinking, he dips down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt's mouth.
"It's everything."
#geraskier#rex writes#october prompts 2k20#p sure this was supposed to be a whump prompt but#¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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If You’ll Have Me
doing this thing | day 19 - shaky hands
Jaskier has been having a good night, something rare of late, until one of the men in the front asks to hear a song about the White Wolf. That brings his mood down almost immediately. It's been months since he's seen Geralt and he's been trying not to think about him - it isn't working, but singing about him certainly isn't going to help - but he's not one to turn down a request. There is one song he thinks of, that will fit his current feelings about the Witcher and hopefully, deter anyone else from requesting songs about him.
He's never played it in public, never played it for anyone but himself, so his hands shake a little as he picks out the first few notes. He starts in hesitantly, unsure of how it will be received or how he will react singing it for a crowd - the last time he broke down halfway through and couldn't even finish through the tears.
His voice breaks on I'm weak my love, but no one seems to notice and if they do, they think it's an artistic choice.
He's almost made it all the way through when the doors swing open and Jaskier glances up to see the newcomer. Immediately, his attention is diverted because to the right of the door, tucked away in a dark corner, is Geralt. He panics, struggling to keep his composure through the end of the song. How much did he hear? Would he understand? Of course, he would, he's Geralt; he always understands everything Jaskier doesn't want him to.
He takes a calming breath as he finishes and immediately starts up something more lively when it's finished. This one is a duet, so he encourages the audience to join in, directing the women to sing one part and the men another. A few people stand at his encouragement and he hopes it's enough to block him from sight. The crowd is riled up enough that Jaskier manages to sneak off and slip out the back door.
He leans back against the side of the tavern with a sigh, catching his breath, and he's about to push off and head down the road and out of town when someone approaches. And because life's a bitch, he doesn't run in the other direction, doesn't even try to hide as Geralt comes into sight.
His hands are shaking, but this time the tremor works its way through his whole body. He wants to cry, to throw up, to collapse to the ground, but he does none of it. Instead, he just stares directly at Geralt.
"Why are you scared?" Geralt asks and Jaskier could laugh if he even remembered how.
"I'm not scared. I'm just- the song-" To his surprise, Geralt takes a step closer.
"The song was beautiful," he says, then quieter, "I didn't know."
"Ah. Right. Well, it wouldn't have done much good anyway, would it? I was too busy shit-shovelling to do anything about it-"
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he says again and the words sound strange, forced but not insincere. Jaskier isn't sure what to do with them. "I'm sorry for the things I said to you, for the way I acted after..."
"Yen?" Jaskier offers and Geralt almost winces.
"Yes. I-" he falters and it's only when Jaskier meets his eyes that he realizes how tired he looks. And not just like he's lacking sleep, but completely worn out and exhausted. The same way Jaskier feels every spring when he's not sure Geralt will come back for him this time.
"I've been looking for you," Geralt admits, "for months. I know I don't deserve it, but I miss you."
"What?"
Geralt's shoulder slump and he averts his eyes. "As it turns out, my life is better for having you in it."
Jaskier feels like he's drowning and he can't tell which way is up. Geralt doesn't just say things like that, not even to Yennefer, not in Jaskier's knowledge. And it's so much. Though he supposes, in comparison, it's not a song bearing his heart to the world. But for Geralt, it's everything. Jaskier realizes with a jolt that he's spacing out and when he focuses, Geralt is a few steps forward, almost right in front of him.
Geralt reaches forward, fingertips just grazing Jaskier's hands and a shudder runs through his whole body. He wants to grab, to slide his fingers between Geralt's and never let go, but this seems important to Geralt, so he refrains. Geralt's palms slide against his own and Jaskier lets his fingers curl around his hands. He doesn't dare speak lest he break the spell or spook Geralt, but he aches to know what's going through his mind.
"I'll be better," he whispers and it's so quiet Jaskier almost doesn't hear, "if you give me a chance?"
"You... want me back?" Jaskier asks. Geralt's lips twitch optimistically and he squeezes Jaskier's hands.
"If you'll have me."
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Better Than Gwent?
doing this thing | day 25/26 - drunk sex + “I think I’ve broken something”
This got long and I didn’t have time for two, so I combined them for something I’ve wanted to write for a while now c:
This, like so many other things in their life recently, starts with a game of Gwent. It's been one tournament after another lately and because Jaskier is a very patient companion (and because Geralt's life needs a little more happiness in it) he lets Geralt drag him alone to each and every one of them.
Tonight they're in Dorian and Geralt is playing against a very determined dwarf whose name Jaskier failed to catch. He blames the wine. If there is one thing Geralt is as good at as killing monsters, it's Gwent and he's been winning the majority of his games, leaving them significantly richer and Geralt particularly generous. He's been providing Jaskier with drinks all night and Jaskier is nothing if not thankful.
He's hammered when Geraly starts a new game with a pretty Elf whose name also slips his mind. The wine. It's a shame, he thinks because until she's joined by a very large and menacing looking man, Jaskier was considering asking her upstairs after the match. But the man with her makes no mistake about who she'll be leaving with and Jaskier sighs to himself.
But that's fine. It's been a long time since he's had a good night out with Geralt and from what he's witnessed so far, Geralt is having a very good night. So Jaskier isn't expecting a bad reaction when he lifts one of Geralt's arms and slips into his lap, but he's not exactly expecting to be welcomed.
"Hey!" Geralt's opponent shouts, "he's cheating!" Geralt just huffs a soft laugh and transfers his cards from his right to left hand, circling his now free arm around Jaskier's waist.
"Believe me," he says, flashing a quick grin at Jaskier, "if he was helping me, you'd win with certainty."
Jaskier would be offended, but he's right. No matter how many times Geralt has explained the rules and even talked him through it, Jaskier cannot grasp the concept of Gwent. Nor why anyone would want to spend hours on end playing it. The firm hand on his thigh also goes a long way to distracting from the insult. Jaskier smiles across the table and the woman Geralt's playing gives him a warning look before returning to her cards. The man with her keeps his eyes on him but Jaskier isn't worried; even if they did start something, even drunk, Geralt would protect him.
He settles against Geralt's chest, looping an arm around his neck and looking down at his cards like he has any idea what any of them are for. He hums thoughtfully and Geralt, surprisingly, holds him a little closer, letting his hand slip over his thigh. It distracts Jaskier from the cards and he shuts his eyes instead, basking in the attention.
He focuses on the heat of Geralt's hand, now rubbing circles into his thigh and the sounds of the room around them. Heat coils in his gut, but he ignores it; it wouldn't be the first time Geralt got him worked up when he shouldn't. Only this time Geralt doesn't stop like he normally would. The more into the game he gets, the firmer his grip gets on Jaskier's thigh and the further in his hand slips.
Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and leather and liquor that only feeds his growing arousal. For someone so frequently covered in monster guts, Geralt smells good and Jaskier can't help himself. He presses his nose right under Geralt's jaw, parting his lips just so and running his tongue up the length of Geralt's throat. In his head it's playful, but Geralt shudders under him, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. And oh, that's fun.
He does it again, just for fun and Geralt growls low in his throat. It's a warning, but there's no anger behind it and Jaskier loves nothing if not pushing his buttons. So he leans in again, letting his breath dust over Geralt's skin, but he doesn't move to do anything more. It's enough.
Geralt shifts under him, and despite the game, does his best not to move his hand from Jaskier's thigh. If anything, it moves higher, and his fingers slip further between his legs. Jaskier loses all sense of restraint at that point, moaning softly against Geralt's neck.
He's paying so little attention to the game that he doesn't realize it's over until Geralt's other hand rests on his knee and his opponent says, "good game."
"You too," Geralt says and his voice is rough, thick in a way that goes straight to Jaskier's cock. Which, in this position, is far too close to Geralt's hand and swelling rapidly under the attention.
Jaskier mumbles, pressing his nose back into Geralt's neck with a soft moan and Geralt shifts under him turning his head so he's breathing into his hair.
"Jaskier, he breathes and whatever he was going to say next is lost because he slips his hand between Jaskier's legs, pressing his palm against his cock. He inhales sharply and Jaskier whines as Geralt presses harder, fits his hand around him. "Fuck."
Jaskier shifts his legs, spreading them just slightly to give Geralt better access and he's quick to take advantage of it, squeezing him through his trousers and grinding the heel of his hand against him. And fuck, it's a damn good thing they're sitting at a table because Jaskier is rock hard under Geralt's touch and they're already putting on quite the show.
Another challenger slides into the seat across from them and Jaskier groans softly under his breath. The man across from him looks him up and down with a smirk and Jaskier realizes what he must look like; the man probably thinks he's a whore. Which is... probably fair. He's feeling rather dishevelled and his face is hot with lust and it would probably be his first assumption as well. Especially in the lap of a highly intoxicated Witcher. Jaskier decides he'd be quite happy to be Geralt's whore and the assumption doesn't bother him one bit - unless the newcomer tries to join in.
Jaskier is generous and open-minded but absolutely, positively, unequivocally against letting anyone join in on whatever this is with Geralt tonight. Another time, perhaps, but this is unprecedented and if he's only going to have one night with Geralt, he's not about to share it. He makes to shoo the man away, but when he looks back at Geralt, he's already got cards in his hand and he gives Jaskier a pleading look that no one could say no to. Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into his ear and whispering against his neck.
"Can you wait one more game? I'll make it worth your while." He nips at the skin below his ear and presses a kiss to the reddened skin. Pulling back, Geralt offers a smile and, perfectly straight-faced, wraps his hand around JAskier's cock and squeezes.
Jaskier may not be terribly good at Gwent, but he likes to watch Geralt play. He loves the intense focus, the absolute passion and thought he puts into playing - no matter who his opponent. But right now Jaskier is shaking with the restraint it takes not to grind up against Geralt's hand and everything else is a blur in the background. Geralt's palm sits curved around the jut of his cock, unmoving save for the faint twitch of Geralt's fingers when Jaskier leans forward to groan at him.
He shifts in Geralt's lap, pressing himself closer and is absolutely delighted when he slides his hand between Geralt's legs and finds him fully hard and straining against the leather of his trousers. It's too much for Jaskier to ignore and he presses his palm against the bulge, rubbing him through his trousers.
Geralt remains maddeningly calm, though he presses down a little more firmly on Jaskier's crotch. Not exactly the effect he was hoping to have, but a little moan slips from his lips and he drops his forehead to Geralt's shoulder. It suddenly becomes very important to him when this game is going to end.
Geralt wins the first round and the second ends in a tie. Jaskier groans loudly, pressing his lips to Geralt's throat and kissing up to his ear. The third round starts and Jaskier whines.
"Patience," Geralt hums, lips quirked in a smug grin. Jaskier whimpers at him and Geralt runs his fingers up the length of Jaskier's cock, rubbing against him before pulling up and slipping open the clasp on Jaskier's trousers. Maybe one more round won't be the end of the world.
Geralt's hand slips into his trousers, wrapping around his bare cock and Jaskier nearly chokes on the wave of need that rushes through him. Jaskier nearly doubles over, hips twitching up into Geralt's fist. At this point, the entire inn could buy tickets and Jaskier would be happy to give them their money's worth. He doesn't even care that the man across from him is watching or that he's blatantly touching himself under the table. In fact, it's a little arousing in itself, knowing someone else is getting off on this little game.
Geralt continues stroking him absently, apparently unaware of how fucking hard Jaskier has to try not to just tear his clothes off right there. He lets his head loll, rocking into Geralt's touch with a little gasp. He's being intentionally obscene, but neither Geralt nor his opponent seems to mind and Geralt shifts under him, readjusting so Jaskier's ass is pressed against his cock.
He lets out a little groan and Geralt holds him closer, rolling his hips against him. Jaskier is tempted to pull his trousers down and see if Geralt will fuck him right there, but he hears a smug pass from above him and the muttered fuck that follows from across the table.
Immediately, still thanking the other man for a good game, Geralt rises to his feet and Jaskier fumbles, somewhat delayed, after him. He's in a fucking state - trousers open and slipping down his hips, cheeks flushed dark, hair ruffled - but he couldn't care less about it when Geralt's arms wind around his waist, slipping down to cup his ass. He quickly collects his cards from the table and Jaskier spares a parting glance to the stranger as Geralt walks him back toward the dark hallway. Their room is at the end of it, but Jaskier isn't sure he'll make it that far.
Geralt pushes him into the wall, tugging Jaskier's shirt from his trousers as he leans in against him and it's all Jaskier can do not to haul him forward and kiss him stupid. Apparently, Geralt has the same thought. His mouth crashes down against Jaskier's, hot and greedy and Jaskier would collapse under the urgency of it if he wasn't pinned between Geralt's body and the wall.
He whines into his mouth, acutely aware that they're still in full view of anyone in the common room and parts his lips, encouraging Geralt to deepen the kiss. And he does. Jaskier moans at the first press of his tongue between his lips and reaches down for the hem of Geralt's trousers, wrapping his hands around them and tugging him close. He slides on hand down, cupping Geralt's cock through the leather and makes a quick decision that the trousers are much too thick and he needs to be out of them. Now.
He pushes Geralt off of him and takes a step after him to fumble with the buttons on his trousers. He kisses him hard and Geralt's hands fall to his hips, before slipping lower. Jaskier has only just finished unbuttoning Geralt's trousers when he's unceremoniously lifted off his feet and slung over Geralt's shoulder.
"Geralt! You brute, let me down! I wasn't finished!"
He gets an unsympathetic chuckle in response and Geralt squeezes his ass as he carries him toward the bed. Once they're in the room, Jaskier expects to be put down, but Geralt just crouches down next to their things, slipping his cards back into his pack and grabbing what looks like a vial of oil. Jaskier groans at the implications.
Geralt carries him over to the bed and drops him on it, climbing up after him before Jaskier even has a chance to right himself. But gods he doesn't care when Geralt dips down and catches his mouth in a heated kiss. It's not graceful, what with Geralt crawling up over him and Jaskier doing his damndest to rid Geralt of all his clothes, but he feels it all the way down to his toes. Or maybe that's the wine. Geralt shoves Jaskier's trousers down far enough to free his cock and wrap a hand around him, and Jaskier finds he's unconcerned about it any longer.
The only thing that matters is Geralt's hand around his cock, until it's Geralt's mouth around him and then that's the only thing that matters.
He writhes in the sheets, already wound so tightly and eager for release. But Geralt is shockingly talented with his tongue and Jaskier wants to stay like this forever, floating between overstimulation and greed, desperate for more. And Geralt - wonderful, perfect, Geralt - gives it to him.
It's a bit of a struggle to get him out of his clothes like this, but Jaskier does away with his doublet and shirt, happy to see them gone, as Geralt leans on one elbow and slides Jaskier's boots and trousers off. Satisfied, he slides further up the bed again, pressing his shoulders under Jaskier's knees and pressing them up.
Abruptly, Jaskier is displaced and Geralt pulls off his cock, sitting back on his knees. Jaskier watches as he pulls his shirt up over his head, just barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch. But as his eyes roam the planes of his chest, he realizes he can and as Geralt pushes his trousers down, Jaskier climbs to his feet.
He slips one arm around Geralt's neck, sliding the other up his chest. For a moment, Geralt indulges him and when Jaskier wraps a hand around his cock, Geralt's hips snap forward hard.
"Fuck," he breathes, "Jaskier-."
Jaskier's eyes drop shut, letting the sound of Geralt's voice wash over him. He sounds needy and so fucking sexy, Jaskier doesn't quite know what to do with him. Without thinking, he turns them around, pushing Geralt down against the mattress and climbing up over his chest. He's quick to snatch the oil from Geralt's hands and Geralt just watches wide-eyed as Jaskier pulls the cork and drizzles the oil over his fingers.
As he reaches behind himself, he watches the way Geralt's nostrils flare, the way his eyes, so dark and wide dart from his face to his hand and back again. Jaskier presses between his cheeks, rubbing against his hole with a little groan. Geralt watches, enraptured as Jaskier presses in, his eyelids fluttering as he works himself open. Geralt is bigger than anyone Jaskier has been with maybe ever, and he takes the time to prep himself properly, despite being able to hear the way Geralt touches himself.
Eventually, the sound of it is too much and he pulls Geralt's hand from his cock, shifting back into place. He doesn't even care anymore that Geralt is still wearing his boots and trousers because, from this position, he can see every little expression that flits across his face. From here, he can see how Geralt's eyes drop shut and his mouth falls open when he touches him.
Jaskier adjusts himself, pressing the head of Geralt's cock against him and sitting back on him. His own eyes drop shut at the initial pressure, but Geralt's hands come up to hold his hips, thumbs rubbing light circles in his skin.
"That's it," he whispers, "fuck Jaskier, you're perfect." He reaches up, pressing his thumb to Jaskier's bottom lip and Jaskier sucks the digit into his finger, sliding his tongue around the tip as he finally settles on Geralt's cock.
He drops his head back, shifting his hips and rising just slightly off Geralt's cock before dropping onto him again. He gets a loud groan in response and immediately does it again, desperate to draw more of those sounds from Geralt's lips. It only encourages him and Jaskier rides him hard, uncaring of how loud they are or who could hear them. Geralt feels incredible inside him and beneath him and nothing else matters.
He's leaning back, propped up on his hands, when Geralt sits up, wraps an arm around his waist and flips him onto his back. Jaskier lets out a high laugh and Geralt kisses the sound from his lips as he shuffles them back into position. He buries himself deep, rutting into him as Jaskier coils an arm around his neck. The other goes up to hold the bedframe as Geralt's hips dislodge him with every thrust.
Their lips barely part for a second as Geralt picks up momentum, slamming into him hard with every thrust now. He manages to hit the perfect spot every time until Jaskier is writing under him, one hand clenched hard in Geralt's hair and the other still struggling in vain to keep him steady.
Geralt thrusts hard, snapping his hips and there's a deafening crack but Jaskier is unaware of anything but the pleasure that zips through him as he comes. Geralt shifts onto his side, stroking Jaskier through it even as they're displaced onto the floor. Unfazed, Jaskier slips his other arm around Geralt's neck, breaking away from his lips long enough to look at him.
"Fuck Geralt, you're amazing, darling. Are you gonna come for me?"
Geralt presses his forehead against Jaskier's, mumbling a soft, yeah as he shuffles up closer, knees on either side of Jaskier's hips. Jaskier groans as he's bent practically in half, flopping back against the floor and letting his knees hook around Geralt's neck instead. Geralt's so close now, he can't do much but rut into him and Jaskier encourages him, breathing soft words of praise against his lips as Geralt tumbles over the edge after him.
Geralt collapses on him almost immediately and they tangle together, Geralt with his head on Jaksier's chest and Jaskier with his hands in Geralt's hair. His chest is still heaving and he's not sure he'll ever catch his breath, but when Geralt looks up at him again, he can't help but kiss him, sinking into the kiss even as Geralt wraps his arms around him and rolls them onto their sides. Breaking away for a moment, he grins at Jaskier before leaning in and whispering conspiratorily,
"I think I've broken something."
Jaskier glances back at the bed now behind them, one corner of which is bowing significantly lower thangthe others and he turns back with a grin, running his hands up Geralt's chest.
"D'you suppose they'll charge extra for that?"
"Mm, probably," he hums and he smirks, rolling on top of him again, "I suppose we'll have to make it worth our while."
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Compromise
doing this thing | day 24 - ignoring an injury
emotional hurt is a kind of injury, right?
They've been doing this for a while now. This being the mind-blowing sex they've been having lately. It started months ago when Geralt offered a hand in the dark after Jaskier's previous engagement fell through. It's escalated since then, happening nearly every night or every other night and it's not just a hand anymore. And it's not just sex anymore. Even Geralt can see that. But he knows Jaskier doesn't want to be tied down, knows the emotional attachment is because they're friends and that it wouldn't prevent Jaskier from chasing after someone else in the future. Geralt knows all of these things, but he continues because this is the closest he's ever felt to another person. He's been wanting so long that he'll take whatever Jaskier is willing to give him, even if it's just sex.
He knows one day it will end and he will feel worse. He'll remember the scent of Jaskier's skin when it's slick with sweat, the press of his fingers, the taste of his mouth. One day it will all be gone and he'll likely have to watch Jaskier go off with someone else, but at least he'll have his memories. Only it seems that day may come sooner rather than later.
The first time he notices the change in Jaskier's behaviour is when they're at an inn. Jaskier is performing when Geralt returns, a sombre love song but the sounds of it, but he looks sheepish when he spots him and the next song he plays is upbeat and lively. Geralt doesn't think anything of it; sometimes Jaskier likes to mix things up. He doesn't think any more about it as he heads up to their room to settle in.
It's a few days later before he thinks about it again. He's in the bath, having returned from a rather gruesome hunt and Jaskier is behind him, dumping buckets of water over his head and doing his best to remove the viscera from his hair. He's been chatting away, fondly berating Geralt for making such a mess of himself (not his fault), but he falls silent other than a faint humming as he works soap through Geralt's hair. Geralt glances up at the glass before him but when he glimpses Jaskier's reflection he looks... wistful. He wants to ask about it, but Jaskier realizes he's looking and pulls up a grin, though the expression doesn't reach his eyes. Jaskier says nothing and goes so far out of his way to put up a front that Geralt doesn't ask about it.
But it continues happening. They keep falling into bed together at the end of the night but every morning Jaskier seems a little dimmer, a little less himself.
Geralt realizes he has to end this thing. The summer is coming to an end and they'll part ways for the winter soon, anyway. The winter will be long and cold without Jaskier's bed to look forward to in the spring, but he'd give anything to know Jaskier was truly happy again.
Because he doesn't know what to say and because he's not quite ready to let go, he waits for a couple of weeks before confronting him. It's too long, he tells himself, when Jaskier only manages a half smile at him.
"Something's wrong," he says and Jaskier just looks up at him. "For the past few weeks you've been... sullen."
"I've just been working on a new song that's giving me trouble." Geralt frowns. He knows Jaskier better than to believe that.
"I think our arrangement is causing problems," he says, missing the way Jaskier's face falls. "I think it would be better off if we stop before things get worse."
"Oh. Right."
"Jaskier?" Jaskier turns like he's about to go on with the morning routine, but he stops suddenly and turns back to Geralt.
"It's just. I actually quite liked the way things were going. If I'm anything but perfectly happy, it's not to do with that."
"You aren't a good liar, Jaskier." Jaskier splutters at him but composes himself quickly. For a long moment, he just stares and Geralt isn't sure if he's supposed to say something.
"Okay," Jaskier finally relents, "promise you won't leave and I'll tell you."
"Why would I leave?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just fixes him with a look and suddenly Geralt can see the heaviness in his eyes, the pain written in his face.
"Just.... promise."
"Okay."
Jaskier flops down on the bed, clasping his hands in his lap and pointedly not looking at Geralt. "Sleeping with you isn't the problem," he whispers, "it's what comes after. It's when I wake up alone in the morning or worse- when I wake up next to you and have to leave you lying there alone. It's when all I want to do is curl up closer and hold you-"
"I don't understand-"
"Geralt, I love you-"
"Wouldn't you want someone younger? Someone bright and attractive-"
Jaskier laughs and looks him dead in the face. "Geralt you are the most stunningly handsome man I have ever had the pleasure to know. How could I want someone different, when I have everything I want right in front of me?" He rises to his feet and crosses the few feet between them.
"Maybe we can compromise," Geralt offers, struggling to form the words with his head still reeling from Jaskier's confession. He reaches out tentatively, brushing his fingers along Jaskier's jaw and when he's not denied, he cups his cheek, smoothing his thumb over his cheekbone.
"What did you have in mind?"
"We don't have to stop," Geralt says, stepping closer, "and you can stay in bed any time you like."
"If?"
"Say it again?"
"What?" Jaskier asks, his lips turning up in a teasing grin, "I love you?"
Geralt's chest swells and he's certain he will never feel this kind of thrill and relief ever again. He smiles and tips his head down, brushing his lips against Jaskier's. It's just brief, but as Jaskier draws away, he looks up at him, his eyes soft and warm.
"I love you, Geralt."
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Unsatisfied
doing this thing | day 5 - orgasm denial
I really took liberties with this one and went very off topic (yes I realize this is my own list) bc I was not feeling it. This is actually more like one that I cut from the list (oops!)
Jaskier's still restless as he makes his way back to their room at the inn. By now, Geralt will be asleep and for once, he's glad for it. The last thing he needs is for Geralt to see him like this and ask why. The pair of them have shared much on their journeys together, but this is not something Jaskier is particularly eager to share.
He slips into the room, stepping as carefully as he can and shutting the door quietly behind him. There's a sound from across the room and he stops in his tracks, waiting to see if Gerlt will wake before continuing. He shuffles across the floor toward the only bed and frowns at Geralt's form, taking up the majority of the space. There's nothing for it; he'll simply have to sleep on the floor tonight because he certainly can't sleep with Geralt when he's in this state.
At least if he's on his own, he can deal with his little problem without too much trouble and he won't have to suffer through the night like this. He manages to cross the room in the dark without stumbling or knocking into anything and he sits at the end of the bed, laying out his bedroom. On the bed above him, Geralt shifts and Jaskier freezes again, one hand shoved deep in his pack, searching.
He hears a grunt then the bed creaks and Jaskier shuts his eyes. He knows Geralt is awake now, knows he's looking for him but it doesn't matter if he sees him or not - he'll hear him soon enough, or smell him if he's very unlucky.
"Jaskier?"
Fuck. Or that.
"Go back to sleep Geralt, I didn't mean to wake you."
"What are you doing down there, aren't you coming to bed?"
"Er, no. I don't think so."
Geralt growls at him, low, impatient. "Why not?"
"I, er- I think it would be best if I don't."
"Jaskier," Geralt hisses through the dark. "I won't put up with you bitching all day tomorrow because you didn't sleep well because you slept on the floor."
Well. That's a lot of words at once for Geralt. Jaskier wants to climb into bed with him, would willingly join him any other night but tonight- Although he also doesn't want to be left behind in the morning. He's stuck, it seems, between a rock and a hard place. There's an irony there that he doesn't appreciate.
Reluctantly, Jaskier releases the bottle in his hand and rises to his feet. He doesn't bother to remove his clothes before climbing up over the foot of the bed and pressing himself against the wall. He'll appease Geralt for the time being and tomorrow, he'll just have to find time to slip away and take care of things without Geralt finding out. It should be easy enough, he's done it dozens of times before.
But, as always, Geralt can't let anything be easy for him.
"You're not getting changed?"
"No, I don't think so."
Geralt just grunts in response and Jaskier thinks he's finally free of scrutiny. He turns toward the wall and curls around himself, forcing down the feelings still plaguing him. It's fine; Geralt keeps his distance and Jaskier doesn't have to look at him (because that certainly won't help calm him), but he still can't sleep.
He shifts, rolling onto his stomach in the hopes that it will make it easier to sleep, but it doesn't. So he rolls onto his side. Also no good. But the next time he moves, he feels a hand on his hip and rolls his head back to find Geralt much closer than he was a moment ago.
"What's wrong?" he asks and Jaskier just shrugs.
"Can't sleep."
"Cold?" he asks and when Jaskier doesn' answer, he just shifts closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Which is... sweet, honestly. And so out of character for Geralt that Jaskier can't bring himself to tell him no. He mumbles a soft thanks and presses his shoulders back as if to prove his thankfulness.
But Geralt's hand slips under the hem of his shirt - accidentally, he's sure - and his thumb brushing lightly against his skin. It's soft, much softer than he would expect from his companion and if he didn't know better, he'd say Geralt was fucking with him. But he does know Geralt better than that and he's already been warned about their early morning, so he's sure Geralt wouldn't intentionally keep him up.
So Jaskier withstands this assault that would regularly be more than welcome. Geralt's hand moves to his thigh and Jaskier has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning. Geralt is just tired, that's all it is, because sometimes when he's tired and feels safe, he lets his defences down. That's all. And Jaskier's body is just having a very unfortunate reaction to Geralt's trust. Hot breath dusts against the back of his neck and Jaskier shudders against him, his traitorous cock twitching where it's pressed against his trousers. The only thing he has to be thankful for now is that he kept his clothes on before climbing into bed.
Geralt slides closer, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck and Jaskier can't take anymore or he's going to lose his fucking mind. He's already keyed up beyond words and of course Geralt chooses tonight to become all touchy-feely at bedtime.
He hauls himself forward, pulling from Geralt's embrace and pulls himself into an upright position. He's hunched over, trying to steady his breathing when Geralt stirs next to him.
"I'm sorry, I just can't-"
"What's wrong?" Geralt asks, his voice fuzzy with sleep.
"I just have to go and take care of something," he mumbles. He's already moving, halfway across Geralt when strong hands come up to his thighs, pulling him down so he's straddling Geralt's hips. And the position doesn't go unnoticed. Jaskier's cock twitches immediately and he's sure Geralt must be able to feel how hard he is, though he remains placid as always.
"What's going on Jaskier? Why won't you just lie down and sleep?" Jaskier shifts to pull away but Geralt holds him down. Jaskier looks up and Geralt’s eyes meet his for a moment. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I-" he starts, immediately going for the quickest and most practical lie he can think up, but he meets Geralt's eyes again and his resolve drains at the sincerity there. Of course, now is the time Geralt decides to worry about him. "I had a rather unsatisfying night," he mumbles, hoping it will be enough. Geralt just looks at him expectantly and Jaskier sighs. "Do you mind if I-" he tips his head to the side and Geralt nods, releasing him.
Jaskier slides off of him, lying back on his side and tucking his knees up to keep Geralt from seeing just how badly he's affected.
"After my performance tonight a lovely lad invited me back to his room-" Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him impatiently but Jaskier just waves him off and continues. "Have you ever been with someone who likes to push your limits?"
"Get to the point, Jaskier, I've had enough of your exploits for a lifetime."
"Well, he just- we were-" Jaskier sighs and relents. "He was bringing me to the edge over and over without-" he glances up and finds Geralt watching him expectantly which considering the topic of conversation is a little overwhelming."Anyway he got me really worked up and then his brother came home and he kicked me out! Can you believe it?"
"Why didn't you just take care of it?" Geralt mumbles and his eyes are shut again.
"It wasn't that bad when I got back here, but then you just, y'know-" he doesn't dare risk calling it cuddling lest Geralt shy away from it and never try it again, but he doesn't know what to call it.
"Hmm."
"Thank you for your sympathy," Jaskier scoffs, turning back onto his other side to scowl at the wall.
"If you need to take care of things, I'm not going to stop you."
"What, right here? With you lying next to me? I don't think so."
"I've heard you dozens of other times, I don't see why it should matter." Jaskier splutters at the confession, but Geralt remains totally calm. "Jaskier, neither of us are going to sleep until you come, so just get on with it."
There's something about Geralt telling him to come that runs right through him and his cock gives a twitch of enthusiasm. Reluctantly Jaskier undoes his trousers and slips a hand inside. Having an audience shouldn't affect him the way it does; usually, he enjoys being watched, knowing that someone else is getting off watching him but Geralt is- well it just feels wrong. It shouldn't feel like he's taking advantage, but it does. Geralt doesn't know how he feels about him, doesn't know the things he thinks about him and touching himself while Geralt is right there just feels like an intrusion or something.
Jaskier is under no delusions, he knows exactly how he feels about Geralt and he knows that he shouldn't think about him the way that he does, but sometimes it's hard not to.
"I can't," he mumbles. It feels good to have a hand wrapped around him, but it's not worth the shame that creeps into his chest. He keeps thinking about Geralt hearing him, Geralt hearing him when he was thinking about him. "I can't do it with you watching."
"Why not?"
"I just... it's not right, Geralt, listening in on someone when they don't know."
"I didn't intend to listen. I was just listening to make sure you were alright."
"Oh."
"But you're so very loud."
"So why didn't you stop?"
"You're also very... captivating."
All of a sudden the air feels very dense and Jaskier struggles to catch his breath. "Geralt," he breathes, "are you telling me you liked listening to me jerk off?"
"I didn't dislike it."
"Oh. Is that why you- tonight?"
"No," Geralt says firmly. "We have to get an early start, we both need to get some sleep."
"Ah. Right. Maybe if you... helped? If you like listening you could just... talk to me? Tell me about those times?"
Geralt hesitates for a moment and then, "what should I say?"
Ah. Okay, so they're really doing this. "Tell me about the first time." Jaskier's heart hammers against his chest and he's not even sure he's breathing.
"I was hunting a fiend and you insisted on going off," Geralt huffs what sounds like a laugh and Jaskier relaxes a little. "I knew it was close so I didn't want you out of my sight but you were insistent, so I listened after you. I didn't want you getting hurt."
"When did you realize?"
"I'd smelled it on you before you left, so it didn't take much to piece together what you were doing."
Jaskier keeps his back turned as he snakes a hand down his stomach, slipping under the waist of his trousers. He shuts his eyes, focusing on the low rumble of Geralt's voice.
"What made you realize?"
"I heard swear under your breath and I heard you groan as you touched yourself. Something had you aroused already."
"Mm," Jaskier confirms, "I remember. What did you think?"
"Nothing, at first. I know I take you away from town more often than you're used to. I knew it was just something you needed to do."
"Geralt," he groans, "could you try and be just a tiny bit sexy?"
There's a huff of a laugh and then Geralt's breath against the back of his neck. Jaskier doesn't know when he moved closer, but it's certainly a step in the right direction.
"I found myself waiting for the next time. You always stink of lust so I was never sure when it would be. Then one night we were camped by the river and you said you were going to wash your clothes. I knew you weren't."
"You listened," Jaskier guesses, shutting his eyes. His cock twitches against his palm and he squeezes a little tighter. He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Geralt breathes against him.
"I listened. I liked the way you sounded. Breathless, wanting. I tried to picture what you'd look like."
"Oh," Jaskier gasps. His hips jerk forward and he stifles a groan into his pillow. "Did you-" he huffs, "did you like it?" He knows he shouldn't be so brazen, but his cock aches for more and Jaskier is brave and stupid at the best of times.
"Yes." Fuck. Jaskier groans and throws his head back, hitting Geralt's chest with a soft thud. He hadn't realized he was that close.
"Please," he whispers and he's not sure what he's asking for but then Geralt's palm slides around his forearm, wrapping gently around him before sliding down to his wrist. He doesn't linger long, but just as Jaskier thinks he's about to pull away, he slips his fingers between Jaskier's wrapping around his cock.
"Geralt."
"I thought about this," he breathes, pressing his nose against the base of his skull, "while I listened to you. Imagined it was me touching you, pulling those sounds from you."
"Should've come," Jaskier hums. Gera;t shifts against him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and Jaskier can feel his breath, hot and damp against his skin.
"I did."
"Fuck, Geralt. Tell me. Please."
Geralt takes his hand, moves a little quicker against him and Jaskier struggles to focus on anything but the pressure around his cock, the unfamiliar fingers coiled around him.
"It gets me hard every time. I hear every word you say, I've heard you come whispering my name and I couldn't tune it out. I didn't want to. So when you'd slip away, I'd settle in."
"Mm, Geralt, please-" Jaskier's hips jerk forward and Geralt breathes against the side of his neck, dipping in to press a kiss under his ear. "Tell me."
"I'd bring myself off to the sound of you touching yourself. Still do, sometimes."
And oh, if that isn't sexy as hell. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, shifts back against Geralt and he can feel his cock pressing against him. Geralt is hard and huge, pressed against his ass and when he shifts his hip, Jaskier lets out a low moan.
"Did you think about touching me?" he asks, "like this?"
"And other ways."
"Fuck, Geralt, show me."
The hand around his releases and for a split second, Jaskier thinks he's pushed too far. He doesn't always think before he speaks and with Geralt's hand wrapped around his cock, he can hardly be expected to think clearly. Behind him, Geralt shuffles and Jaskier's hips twitch.
After a moment, Geralt's hands return to his body curling around the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. Jaskier assists, squirming out of it; apparently, Geralt isn't done with him, after all. His trousers come next, shoved down toward the bottom of the bed and discarded, then Jaskier finds himself rolled onto his other side and Geralt wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. And Geralt is naked too, pressed right up against him.
Jaskier stifles a groan in his neck, pressing an experimental kiss against Geralt's skin. It earns him a soft hum in response and he pushes closer, breath stuttering as Geralt's cock slides against his own.
"Is this what you thought about?" he asks, "fucking me?"
"Mm," Geralt tips his head up, pressing his lips against Jaskier's and Jaskier groans against him, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Geralt deepens the kiss, sliding a hand down his back and cupping his ass to guide the roll of his hips. He moans softly against him and Jaskier commits the sound to memory, delighting in the feeling of it against his lips. He hooks a knee over Geralt's hip, pulling himself forward and the gentle kiss quickly devolves into quick, jolting movements and panted groans. Pleasure builds inside him and Jaskier knows this can't last forever but fuck if he doesn't want it to.
"I want you," he mumbles, mouthing at Geralt's jaw, "all the time. Think about you- off in the forest, down by the river. Tonight, in another man's bed I was still thinking about you."
"Next time stay," Geralt breathes. He slips a hand around them both, stroking them both as well as he can with the uneven thrust of their hips. "I won't leave you wanting."
"Never doubted you for a second." Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt's thumb slips up over the head of his cock and he kisses him again, nipping at his bottom lip.
"Come for me, Jaskier." The words are whispered against his ear and Jaskier can feel his entire body melt into him, all resistance gone as though there was any to begin with. He lets Geralt tug him forward, not an inch of space between them and Jaskier rocks against him, hips stuttering as Geralt's hand splays over his lower back, keeping him near.
He lets out a sharp moan, jerking forward sharply and as Geralt's hand squeezes around him, he comes. Geralt catches his lips in a deep kiss, rolling him onto his back and fitting himself against him.
Jaskier is barely aware beyond the blood rushing in his ears, but he can feel Geralt moving against him, hear the soft groans against his lips and he drowns in it. His whole body is alight and when Geralt rocks against him it's almost too sensitive. He wraps his arms around him, letting his fingers explore the planes of his back now that he's not too distracted to enjoy it. Geralt shudders apart in his arms, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck as he comes and then he's still against him, but for his lips pressing against Jaskier's skin, slow and lazy.
Jaskier slumps, exhausted, but he's not quite ready to let Geralt go. He tries once, to lifts himself from Jaskier's chest, but Jaskier is feeling especially affectionate, post-orgasm and just slips one hand up into Geralt's hair, massaging his head softly.
"Don't you want to get cleaned up?"
"Mm," Jaskier hums, "I think we should sleep."
"I'll come back," Geralt promises, pressing up from the mattress again. Jaskier pouts but really he should have known Geralt would know him so well. He lets him go and Geralt offers a soft smile before slipping from the bed.
"Don't be long," Jaskier mutters, already tugging his pillow back under his head, "don’t forget, we have to leave early."
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Meet Me Halfway
doing this thing | day 23 - dry humping
Geralt and Jaskier have a plan. They meet each spring between the mountain ranges, north of the Pontar; it's an approximate halfway point between Kaer Morhen and Oxenfurt and it means neither has to search far for the other. So when Jaskier is delayed by a late snowstorm, he sits in his room at the inn and worries for days.
Geralt won't know where he is. What if he thinks Jaskier didn't want to meet him? What if he thinks something happened to him? What if- the list is endless.
When the snow finally clears, Jaskier has worked himself into such a panic that Geralt won't be there to meet him. But he presses forward anyway, his pack clutched comfortingly to his chest. If Geralt isn't there, he doesn't know what he'll do. He never had a chance to tell him how he truly felt or to tell him how much Geralt helped him, made him feel a part of something for once.
With every step, his anxiety grows, builds into a weight in his chest that he can't shake. He's only a few days out so he travels as long as he can, as late into the night as his legs will carry him. And he keeps to the Pontar.
He reaches their meeting place at noon of the third day, exhausted and terrified, but determined. There's a little shack tucked into the treeline where he usually waits if he arrives first, and not immediately spotting Geralt, he makes his way inside.
There isn't much inside, so Jaskier settles himself on the floor, staring absently at the wall. There's a little carving in the wall from a past year when Geralt was delayed and he'd pushed away the fear and anxiety carving a little wolf into the wall. Only he didn't carve the bird. He frowns at it and shuffles closer, running his fingers along the edges of the carving. Where his is faded and smooth with age, the bird is sharp and still shows the brightness of the wood beneath.
There's a crack from behind the hut, someone hurrying through the trees and Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat at the mere thought that it could be Geralt. He scrambles out of the hut and bowls into a solid wall of muscle and leather.
"Jaskier."
He tries to take a step but is immediately hauled forward, strong arms winding around him and he could cry. Geralt waited for him.
Geralt pulls back just far enough to look at him and Jaskier realizes belatedly that there's a hand in his hair, still holding him gently.
"I thought you were dead," he whispers and Jaskier can feel the familiar heartache in his voice.
"I got caught in the storm," Jaskier chokes, "I didn't think you'd wait-"
"Of course I'd wait for you," Geralt rumbles. His hands slip to Jaskier's hips, walking him back toward the hut and Jaskier only manages,
"I was so afraid," before Geralt's mouth is crashing against his own, hot and demanding, and Jaskier is helpless against him.
He lets himself be pressed against the side of the shack, reaching up to twine his fingers in Geralt's hair. There's an irony in that he's spent so many hours thinking about it and now that he can, he's barely focused on Geralt's hair at all. How could he be with a firm body pressing into him, soft lips parting against his own. He lets out a soft moan and Geralt presses closer, breaking their kiss to mouth at Jaskier's jaw.
"Fuck," he breathes, "I thought I'd lost you."
"I'm here," Jaskier assures him, tipping his head back and tangling both hands in Geralt's hair. "I'm here, love."
Geralt's nose presses under his neck and a soft moan slips from Jaskier's lips as teeth drag against his throat. He gets one arm around Geralt's shoulders, bringing him closer as the other hand tugs on his hair in an attempt to get Geralt's mouth back on his own. It works, only this time when Geralt kisses him, it's with his entire body, pressing himself flush against Jaskier and he's hard. Fuck.
Jaskier groans and his hips shift instinctively, drawing a stuttered groan from Geralt. He does it again, drowning in the moan that pulls from Geralt's lips. So long as he lives, he will never forget that sound - and Geralt makes certain of it, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. Jaskier shudders against him, struggling against the real fear that his legs will just give out under him. He shakes with every thrust, trying desperately to give as much as he gets, but Geralt is a force to be reckoned with and Jaskier is weak under his attention.
Just when he thinks he'll collapse for sure, Geralt scoops him up, hauling him into his arms and pressing his back against the shack. He wraps his legs around Geralt's hips, keeping him close. Like this, he doesn't have to support himself and they find an easy rhythm, rocking against each other like they'll never get another chance.
Jaskier holds Geralt's head, gently running his fingers through his hair, even as his words fail him. He's panting too hard to kiss him, but he keeps his forehead pressed against Geralt's, his lips just within reach. He feels wild and loose but somehow calmer than he's been in years and he knows no one else could make him feel this way.
Geralt grinds against him again and Jaskier moans softly. He reaches between them, fumbling to get his own trousers undone and then Geralt's, but he hadn't accounted for the sheer need that overtakes him being able to feel Geralt's cock against his own. He's thick and hard and fucking stunning and it takes all of Jaskier's will not to lose it right there.
He wraps a hand around them both, stroking in time with Geralt's thrusts and he very nearly forgets how to breathe with the intensity of it. Geralt groans low and rough, nipping at Jaskier's bottom lip.
"Jask," he breathes, a soft broken sound, and it's the only warning he gets before Geralt's hips stutter and he's spilling all over Jaskier's hand. That undoes the last little bit of Jaskier's restraint and he follows with a series of moans and gasps that are readily kissed from his lips.
He barely even realizes when Geralt moves them into the shack, managing to set his things down and lay his cloak out with one hand. He settles them both down and draws Jaskier in again, kissing him softly as he (surprisingly easily) gets him out of his clothes. The room is cool in the spring air, but Jaskier can hardly complain when Geralt strips out of his own clothes and pulls him in close again.
"I missed you too," Jaskier says when he can find his voice again. He reaches out, brushing Geralt's hair out of his face and the smiles he gets in response nearly ends him.
"I was so worried," Geralt says but the smile doesn't fade. "I didn't know if I should stay and wait or go look for you."
"You carved the bird."
"In case I was gone when you showed up. I hoped you'd realize I was close."
"I did," Jaskier hums, shutting his eyes as he shuffles closer, "but I think you found me first."
#sorry this is kinda stunted#i realized i work earlier tomorrow than i thought#and it is now past bedtime#geraskier#october prompts 2k20#rex writes#smut
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Not Enough
doing this thing | day 21 - panic attacks
I skipped ahead a bit because 1. I didn’t have time to do the other prompt justice and 2. feelings
Jaskier learned from a young age how to hide his feelings. He was a viscount and was to act according to his standing; no whining or snivelling, no complaining. And when you disobey there are consequences. So Jaskier learned quickly to bottle up any negative emotions, bury them down deep and for good measure, wrap the whole thing up with a wink and a smile.
For forty years, it's worked wonders, but the longer you push at something the harder it pushes back when it finally breaks free.
And it works too well, even good emotions being shoved down where they can't be a burden to anyone. But on the top of a mountain, Jaskier skates his feelings. He tries to tell Geralt the trough, to ask him to come away with him, but to no avail. He's too much.
He's never asked for anything from anyone, always paying his own way - and Geralt's, at times - but even if he did ask for something from someone, it wouldn't be much.
He wants nothing more than to be genuinely loved, to be cared for as more than a bedwarmer or a conquest. But he would never ask because he knows what the reaction would be. It's just one more thing he finds himself pushing down and ignoring.
No one would want him, not even his very best friend in the whole wide world. He pushed that down too, buries it beneath less painful memories, and moves on. Because that's what you do. You don't cry, don't scream or shout - you collect yourself and move on.
Until.
He's outside Yennefer's tent, hoping Geralt will be back soon, when he hears it. It's a conversation not meant for him, but it strikes him deeply.
"I dreamed of becoming important to someone."
For the first time, Jaskier understands Yennefer a little better. That's all he's ever wanted, too. But then he hears Geralt's response and it feels like lighting through his chest.
"But now... you're important to me."
He can't breathe. He can't catch his breath and as he stumbles away, his head swims. Of course, Geralt wants her. Of course. He was such an idiot, such a damned idiot to even consider telling Geralt- and now-
Jaskier drops to his knees, fighting to suck in air. His lungs burn and shame and embarrassment rise in his chest, threatening to overtake him. He had thought- He had been stupid to think a man like Geralt would ever want anything to do with him.
Tears sting his eyes, eventually smiling down his cheeks and into the dirt beneath his hands. He doesn't know how long he stays there until he can finally breathe again, but it's dark when he becomes aware of his surroundings. And Geralt is still with Yen.
Geralt will always be with Yen, there's simply no place for Jaskier in his life anymore.
#New plan#I do the prompt for the 23rd because i have too many feelings#I don't think this quite gets across my feelings about that scene#But like#Same yen#I also want to be important to someone#I am going to regret this in the morning#Bc feelings#Rip to tomorrow me i guess#rex writes#october prompts 2k20#Unhappy ending#Panic attacks#I'll fix up the post properly tomorrow#Sorry if it's a mess#i wrote this on my phone#At 130am
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Don’t Move
doing this thing | day 11 - “don’t move”
Jaskier moves quickly but not quickly enough. His shriek rings out and Geralt has to remind himself that Jaskier isn't his only responsibility, but he's torn. Despite the aching in his chest, he makes a split-second decision. He goes for Ciri first, scooping her up just in time to get her out of the way as a tree comes down on their camp.
He should have known better, should have forced them to push through until they reached town. He should've- There's no point in thinking about what he should have done because he can't do anything about it now. Now, he has to search for somewhere safe for Ciri.
He finds a place not far from their doomed camp, a shelf of rock where she can hide away at the back and be safe. He tucks her away, ensuring she has enough blankets to keep warm and wraps his cloak around her to be certain. Then, once he's convinced Roach to step under the cover, he returns to their camp. Moving faster than he thought his legs could carry him, he returns to their camp.
His heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest and he wonders if this is what humans feel like every time they're scared. He hates it, but he hates not knowing what he's returning to more.
He finds him, trapped beneath a branch and a tree trunk. He's sitting up but the position is awkward, the only reason he's still upright is because of the branch holding him there. Geralt's heart thuds and his blood rushes. He sees Jaskier's mouth moving but doesn't understand what he's saying if he's speaking aloud at all.
Geralt hauls the branch off of him, throwing it to one side without even realizing he's doing so. Jaskier splutters and takes a deep breath. Fuck. He was struggling to breathe. If Geralt had been any longer... He shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about it.
Jaskier looks at him pleadingly and lifts an arm but Geralt gently presses it back into place.
"Don't move," he growls and it comes out broken and shaky.
"Ciri-"
"She's fine. Don't move. Do you hurt?" Jaskier nods. "Still," Geralt reminds him. "Where?"
"Everywhere." His eyes shut and Geralt is struck with the need to ease the pained look on his face. He wants to wrap Jaskier in his arms and hold him, shield him from the storm, from the outside world. But he knows he can't. Can't hold him, can't even move him.
He's seen enough boys die because their spines were broken and they were moved incorrectly. He can't let that happen now. It was hard enough seeing it when he wasn't responsible, when the boys were still just nameless children. He saw himself in them, but this- Jaskier is so much more. If anything happened to him- If Geralt was to blame-
He'd never forgive himself.
"Your back-" he manages. Jaskier pushes himself up with a wince and Geralt reaches out in a panic. But Jaskier is... okay.
"A little stiff, but I'm in one piece," Jaskier forces a smile but Geralt can still smell the fear on him but he doesn't know how to help, he's frozen in place. Jaskier moves each of his limbs in turn and Geralt just watches, unable to do anything else. When Jaskier shouts, he spurs into motion, catching him as he drops forward.
"What is it?" Geralt asks, frantically pawing at Jaskier. Jaskier lifts the edge of his doublet, wincing again as he twists his body. Under the shining gold of the fabric, his shirt is stained red. Panic rises up in him again and Geralt spares a second's thought to his well-kept control, now gone in the face of Jaskier's suffering.
The shirt beneath is torn, the skin beneath damaged and Geralt inspects it carefully. It's not deep, but it will need treating and soon, lest it get infected. He's so lost in his thoughts, running through the exact process to take, how exactly to treat Jaskier's wounds, that he doesn't realize how close he is until Jaskier's head is on the back of his head.
"I'm fine, love," Jaskier whispers and Geralt shifts, pressing their foreheads together. He says nothing, but draws away, gently gathering Jaskier into his arms.
When he rises to his feet, Jaskier nuzzles in against him, whispering promises that he's fine, that Geralt could not have anticipated the storm. And as he makes his way back to the rock shelf and Ciri's hiding place, he makes a promise to himself. That never again, despite what nature may bring, will he put either of them in a situation like this again.
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Just in Time
doing this thing | day 7 - hanahaki
I wish I had so much more time for this one because I had so many thoughts. One day I’ll have to write a full fic, but for now:
Jaskier has imagined his death in many ways - at the hands of an angry spouse; quiet, in his bed as an old man; a stray downer - but never like this. Never sneaking off and choking up flower petals where Geralt can't see (or, hopefully, hear) him. The last thing he needs is for Geralt to try and help and to look further into what this is.
Jaskier knows, of course. He's knowledgeable in all aspects of love and up until his recent affliction had, like most poets, romanticized hanahaki disease. But knowing the only person who can cure your impending death is also the reason for it seems less romantic than the stories he'd been told as a child.
The worst part is that in all the years and all the stories, there is only one cure for the disease: requited love.
Jaskier sighs to himself as he plucks one last petal from between his lips. At the rate he's going, he'll have as much luck getting Yen to fall in love with him as Geralt.
He resigns himself to it. The petals took some getting used to, but the most difficult part now is keeping it from Geralt. He knows Geralt suspects something, and after months of this, there's no way he couldn't. The only reason he hasn't brought it up, Jaskier suspects, is for Jaskier's sake or for the sake of peace. It's not like it's getting any worse.
It gets worse.
Jaskier wakes up in the middle of the night, choking on petals. When he catches his breath, he takes a quick look around to ensure Geralt is still sleeping and, finding him still asleep, gathers up the petals and slips away from camp. He buries them at the edge of the forest, as he usually does, but this time when he drops the broken petals into the hole, he finds a bud. Just one. But his heart starts to beat a little quicker nonetheless. For months he's been holding steady with the petals, but a bud means the disease is progressing.
Still, he can't let Geralt know. Geralt would only worry and demand to know what's wrong and, if Jaskier didn't tell him, likely take him to a healer and get it figured out himself. And once he knew, gods, Jaskier can't even imagine what that would mean for him. If Geralt knew he was in love would he want to know who with? Would he press if it meant making Jaskier better? He doesn't want to think about it at all.
As with all things in his life, this eventually blows up in his face.
He's performing at a banquet. A tavern would have been too casual, an inn too practical. No, it has to be a manor house surrounded by the wealthy and powerful - and worst of all, Geralt. He's halfway through a jig when he feels the tickling begin. He makes it through the end of the song by some miracle, before coughing and spluttering. He slaps a hand over his mouth but a few petals slip through his fingers as he makes a quick escape to the garden.
Jaskier's hunched over a railing, coughing flowers into the flowerbeds below. For something so soft and delicate, they burn in his throat as though fighting their way out. A gentle hand presses against his back and Geralt slips up close.
"Jaskier," he says and he sounds worried, a tone reserved for... well, not him.
"'M fine," he mumbles, but as soon as he opens his mouth another handful of petals spill from his lips.
"Fuck. Jaskier." The hand on his back fists in his doublet, the other coming around to cover Jaskier's hand. "We have to get you to a healer."
"No," he insists. "Geralt-" he splutters and chokes on a loose petal and hangs his head. How does he explain there's no helping him? None at least that are worth the sacrifice.
"Then Yennefer."
Jaskier turns, wiping his mouth as he lifts his head to look at him. Yen is the last person he wants to see in this state, but Geralt looks scared in a way Jaskier has never seen him before.
"If it gets worse," he suggests.
"No," Geralt says, "before it gets worse."
They argue about it on and off for a few weeks. It's an argument Jaskier doesn't win.
Yennefer is none too pleased to see him, especially when she realizes he is the cause for their visit. She looks him over, clearly realizing something is up when Jaskier holds back a cough.
"He's coughing up flowers," Geralt says, "I've never seen anything like it."
"Hanahaki," Yen sighs, crossing her arms across her chest. "Your bard is in love. Unrequited." Yen looks like she's about to say something more, but Jaskier looks up at her, pleading. He knows she knows what’s happening to him, but Geralt can't know. Don't tell him, he begs silently. Yen gives him an odd look but she doesn't say anything.
"Geralt," she says, "I need a moment with the bard." She keeps her eyes on Jaskier and the intensity of it is a little terrifying, but the alternative is much, much worse. As soon as Geralt is out of earshot, she sits across from him, crossing her legs and leaning on them.
"You know," she says accusingly.
"Yes."
"So why are you here? I can't imagine you came to enjoy my company?"
"I don't want him to worry."
Yen laughs at him. "Too late."
"Don't tell him."
"That you'll die?"
"Yes."
"Why not try to cure it?" Yen's eyes narrow skeptically and Jaskier sighs.
"My beloved will never return my feelings, nor would I expect them to."
"There's another option," she insists though Jaskier can't fathom why.
"I will never fall out of love, not this time." He looks down, focusing too hard on his boots and Yen scoffs.
"Then you're a fool," Yen snaps, rising to her feet.
"Then I suppose I shall die a fool, but please don't tell him."
"If he asks, I won't lie." She leaves the room and Jaskier sighs, dropping his chin against his chest.
"Wouldn't expect anything less," he mumbles. For a few minutes, he sits in silence before realizing Yen isn't coming back. He gathers himself up and leaves the little hut, making his way back to where Geralt is waiting.
"What did she say?" he asks and Jaskier only shrugs.
"Nothing to be done, I'm afraid. We'll have to wait for it to go away on its own."
It doesn't go away, nor does Jaskier ever expect it to. If anything, he's resigned himself to a slow death so long as he can spend his remaining days with Geralt. And he does.
Geralt takes care of him now that he's not hiding it any longer, ensuring he's always warm and well-fed. They'll stop early for the night when Jaskier has a bad fit and Geralt will take care of the rest of the duties around camp. Jaskier is torn. He feels guilty for letting Geralt do so much for him when he's not doing anything to try and make himself better. But a part of him relishes the attention, wishes that it was the way they always were - or at least some of the time. At the same time, he realizes the only reason Geralt is acting like this at all is because Jaskier is sick.
He does everything he can to help and Jaskier just gets worse. He sees the toll it takes on Geralt, how every moment he's not hunting becomes dedicated to Jaskier. And Jaskier tries not to let him, but Geralt is having none of it. And Jaskier gets worse.
It's a cold autumn night when Geralt realizes his efforts are doing no good. They're at an inn, in a single bed because Geralt won't let him get very far away anymore. Jaskier is facing the wall, his back to Geralt's chest when he finally hears the words he's been dreading.
"It's not going to get better, is it?" Geralt's voice is soft but seems like thunder in his ears and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut.
"No, darling, it's not."
Geralt's arm tightens a little around him, though Jaskier suspects it's a reflex. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't want to worry you. I was hoping you'd be gone for the winter before it got this bad."
"I won't leave you like this," Geralt rumbles, "there must be something I can do."
Jaskier could cry at the injustice of it all. He wants to tell Geralt the truth, but he can't put that on him, can't put his death on Geralt's hands. Already, he's sure Geralt will blame himself for it.
"There's nothing, my dear. It's enough to have you here."
Geralt curls around him nose pressed into his hair. Jaskier has to fight back tears, curling around himself as he struggles to catch his breath. His throat is raw from hacking up blooms and he hasn't told Geralt, but they've been more frequent recently and complete with stems and leaves. More than one at a time.
He shuts his eyes and presses into Geralt's warmth, taking care to pay attention to every little detail of Geralt's body against his own. It's so unfair that this is all he has ever wanted and he knows now that he won't live to see the morning. This isn't the way he thought he'd go, but he can't think of a much better way, really. Geralt is soft and warm around him and he listens to the sound of his breath as he slowly drifts off to sleep.
In the morning he's... still alive. He's not sure how because he was so sure of the end, more than he'd been sure of anything. He takes a deep breath to measure the strain and there... nothing. He breathes easily for the first time in months and his heart starts pounding because he still loves Geralt. He can feel the warmth of his body around him, entangled with him and it seeps into his bones. Which means...
His eyes snap open, immediately focusing on Geralt's eyes before him. He can't breathe, but oddly this seems more familiar.
"It was me," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier can feel his lips twitch just slightly. "You almost died, Jaskier, why didn't you tell me?"
Jaskier reaches up, winding both arms around Geralt's neck and drawing him closer. "I didn't want you to blame yourself, darling." Geralt looks conflicted, like he wants to say something, but doesn't know what, so Jaskier interrupts. "Geralt?" he whispers, "tell me you mean it."
"I mean it. I'm sorry it took so long." He tips forward, pressing his lips to Jaskier's. When he draws back, he's smiling and Jaskier will never forget the way he looks now with the morning sun shining in on his face.
"Darling, you were just in time."
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Not Too Late
doing this thing | day 20 - hypothermia
I guess I’m just really into post-mountain reunion fics this week. I wish I had more time for this (I know I keep saying that, but I have like 10k worth of plot for this one).
Jaskier huddles in on himself, trying to remember what Geralt had taught him about keeping warm. All he can think of is Geralt's face and it only makes him more miserable, so he gives up on the attempt altogether. He's still so cold.
As a last resort, he pulls himself toward the edge of the cliff with the desperate hope that some of his own body heat might bounce back at him. It doesn't work and Jaskier is left shivering under his thin blanket, wishing he hadn't been quite so stubborn after they had parted ways on the mountain. If he had gone after Geralt like he wanted to, like he almost did dozens of times, he might not be here, on the brink of death frozen and alone.
He wonders vaguely what Geralt is up to these days, whether or not he'll miss Jaskier when he finds out about his death, wonders if he'll hear about it. He's probably off somewhere with Yen - nothing can ever keep them apart for long. He hopes he's happy. Geralt is the last thing he thinks about before he shuts his eyes against the world.
Geralt is hesitant as he enters the city, acutely aware of his surroundings, ears pricked to any sign of danger. He's fully aware that most of the people here probably hate him, but the offer for the contract had been too good to pass up. Things haven't been great lately - or maybe that's just him - but he hasn't been taking as many jobs as he should and the winter will be setting in soon, he needs provisions before he heads north.
He heads to the mayor's house because the notice was unsigned, but he's quickly turned away, sent in the direction of the academy. It feels like a trap and he's not enthusiastic about walking right into it. But he knows he was awful to Jaskier, knows that if this is a trap, he probably deserves whatever he has coming. He's not at all expecting what he gets.
The professor he's been sent to is a young woman close to Jaskier's age and she smiles at him when she sees him, but he can smell the nervousness on her.
"Master Witcher," she says, "I wasn't expecting you to be quite so prompt."
"Monsters don't just wait around to be killed," he says and she gives him an odd look. He's used to odd looks, especially when he mentions killing things, but this one is new. It's less nervous, more sheepish.
"Ah, well, about that. Actually, sir, there is no monster. It's just you see, our Jaskier's gone off somewhere and no one's seen him for days. It's getting cold and he never goes off without telling someone." Geralt stares blankly at her, waiting for her to get to the point and hoping it isn't what he thinks it is.
"You see," she continues, "we've all heard the stories about how you never turn down a man in need and how you're the best tracker there is and, well, who better to go and find Jaskier than his best friend?"
Ah, fuck.
But he's only been gone a couple of days. Surely, that isn't unusual? And if he's gone on purpose, surely the last person he wants to see coming to collect him is Geralt? How could he want anything to do with him after the things he said? Even Yen is still upset with him and he didn't blame her for everything wrong with his life.
Apparently, he's taking too long to respond because the professor shifts in place and looks up at him hopefully. And because Geralt is a hopeless fool, he agrees. Jaskier could be in trouble after all and Geralt will not be the source of any more hurt for him.
"Do you need something of his?" she asks and Geralt barely resists rolling his eyes.
"I'm not a dog." And besides, there's nothing in the world that could make him forget a scent when it's absence has been haunting him for months.
He sets out immediately, asking around for any information on where he would have gone and all of Jaskier's peers seem delighted to see him. He doesn't understand. It's confusing and overwhelming and Geralt is happier when he leaves the city gates and heads out into the wilderness. He keeps to the riverbank; a heavy snow fell only a few nights back so looking for tracks is useless, but Jaskier knows to keep to the edge of the Pontar. That's how they find one another every spring.
The thought eats away at him. This coming spring will be the first for years that he hasn't met up with Jaskier and it's an uncomfortable feeling not knowing what Jaskier will get up to, where he'll be. Whether or not he'll be safe.
It's hours before Geralt finds any sign of his missing bard and he's worked himself into a panic in the meantime. What if Jaskier's been taken? What if he's run off and gotten himself kidnapped - or worse? He can't keep his mind from reeling and when he finds signs of a failed campfire off toward the treeline, he stumbles in his rush to reach it.
It shows nothing, but there is a trail leading away from it, deep footprints made more shallow by the newly fallen snow. Geralt follows the path to a large, rotting stump and at its base- fuck.
Jaskier is huddled in on himself, his skin a haunting bluish-grey and Geralt drops to his knees in the snow. He tugs him close instinctively only now able to hear the sluggish thud of his heartbeat and a little of the fear eases away. He's still alive, at least, but Geralt needs to get him warm - and fast. He bundles Jaskier into his arms, relieved to find his limbs still moveable, and carries him to the first place he can find shelter.
Oxenfurt is much too far to travel with him like this, but Geralt is familiar enough with the area that he finds a shelf of rock without much trouble. He's loathe to leave Jaskier even for a second, but he needs to get a fire lit and there is little he can do with the few sticks lying around. He tucks him up against the back of the shelter, wrapping him in his cloak. For a second, Geralt pauses, pressing his forehead to Jaskier's and breathing a silent apology before tearing himself away.
It's hard to find usable wood under the snow, but he manages and clears a space in the snow to build a fire. It's rough, but igni will get anything lit, so he doesn't mind. Once it's burning, he turns back to Jaskier, cupping his face in one hand.
"Jask," he says, "are you with me?" There's no response and Geralt takes a steadying breath, his thumb rubbing absently over Jaskier's cheekbone. "Okay," he says to himself and gets to work.
The first thing he has to do is get Jaskier out of his clothes and while he knows it's necessary, it still feels like an intrusion. But his clothes are soaked from the snow and sitting in them will only make things worse. He gets Jaskier undressed and turns to lean against the wall himself, hauling Jaskier into his lap. Getting out of his own shirt is much more difficult, being unwilling to let Jaskier go for a moment, but it's necessary; skin to skin contact is the easiest way to warm someone.
He wraps both blankets around them and he holds Jaskier close, tucking his head under his chin and shutting his eyes. He focuses on every inch of the body pressed against his own, rubs his arms, breathes against his neck.
"Please," he whispers, "come back to me."
Geralt has no recollection of drifting off, but he wakes with a start to something - someone - moving against him. There's a pained grumble and Geralt's arms instinctively hold him tighter as Jaskier shifts slowly in his lap. He presses his nose into Geralt's chest, humming quietly before stopping abruptly and twist himself to look up at Geralt.
"You know," he starts and his voice comes out raw and rough. Geralt hates the sound of it. "If you wanted me naked in your lap, all you had to do was ask."
He's bleary and still looks half-alive, still too cold and pale for Geralt's comfort, but he's okay. Geralt could cry with relief. Instinctively, he hauls Jaskier closer, bundles him up against his chest and buries his face in his neck. It's another hour or so before either of them moves and then it's only for Jaskier to pull his cold fingers from Geralt's chest.
"Put them back," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier pulls back to look at him - as much as Geralt will allow.
"You always get mad when I touch you with my cold fingers," he mumbles. Geralt brings his own hand up, slipping his fingers between Jaskier's and lifts his hand. Without thinking, he presses a soft kiss to his palm, lingering longer than he should as he mumbles,
"I never will again, I promise.
#rex writes#geraskier#october prompts 2k20#i don't think the paragraph spacing worked properly on tumblr#bah
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In Dreams
doing this thing | day 27 - dirty dreams
Jaskier has been playing all night and he's exhausted. The audience had been more enthusiastic than he expected in such a small, out-of-the-way town, and how could he resist when they kept coming back for more? So by the time, he makes his way up to his shared room, he's dragging his feet, ready to crawl into bed next to Geralt and bury himself in warm blankets. When he gets up to the room, it becomes evident that sleep is not going to come quite so easily as that. Well enough, since Jaskier is abruptly wide awake.
From across the room, there's a low groan and Jaskier stops dead in his tracks, only barely remembering to shut the door behind him. His eyes laser-focus on Geralt, only visible in the moonlight that shines through the window. But Jaskier doesn't need candlelight to know what's happening. He has enough experience to know that Geralt is dreaming and by the sight and sound of him, it's a very good dream.
Jaskier's skin prickles as Geralt shifts in his sleep and there's another little moan that just rips right through him. He can't help but watch him, tracking the way his hand moves over the covers, and Jaskier finds himself waiting for it to slip down over his cock. And when his eyes drag down that low, it's clear that Geralt is turned on. Very clear.
Jaskier chokes on a groan himself, and his cock twitches at the sight of him, thick and hard pressing up against the covers. There's no mistaking the size of him and Jaskier bites his lip. He fights against the urge to climb up onto the bed and touch him, to push the blankets down and wrap a hand around Geralt's cock. He berates himself even for the thought of it, but the impulse remains. Geralt moves again, drawing Jaskier's attention back up as he arches off the bed with a soft moan.
"Jaskier," he breathes, soft but clear and Jaskier immediately snaps back to reality.
He hurries to the edge of the bed, climbing up and gripping Geralt's shoulder to shake him gently awake before he can say anything else the both of them might regret. But Jaskier's body is still thrumming with arousal, more so now than before, and he's not thinking clearly as he shakes the sleeping Witcher.
Geralt's eyes flash open and he sits up abruptly, grabbing Jaskier's arm just this side of too hard.
"Jaskier?" he asks and his grip lessens, but not entirely.
"You were dreaming," Jaskier explains, dazed and too breathless for his liking, "I thought it best to wake you."
"You're still in your clothes," Geralt mutters and Jaskier shifts deliberately to hide the evidence of his arousal as Geralt's eyes drop to his lap.
"Yes, I rather think that's for the best." Geralt shuts his eyes and shrugs, releasing Jaskier's arm and dropping back against the bed.
After a moment, Jaskier joins him, removing only his doublet before lying down and quickly tugging the blankets up over him. His cock throbs with unresolved lust and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut to try and ignore it. For a long time, he lies still but he doesn't get any closer to falling asleep and, judging by the dead silence next to him, neither does Geralt. After waiting and considering for a long time, Jaskier sighs.
"Geralt?" he asks.
"Hmm?"
"Listen, you don't have to say anything, but when you were dreaming you," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "you said my name. And well, if you ever wanted to... well, I wouldn't be opposed."
Geralt scoffs. "I'm not going to fuck you just because you're horny."
"It's not-" Jaskier splutters, indignant. "How did you know?"
"I can smell it on you. It's... distracting."
"Well," Jaskier snaps back, "so is coming back to our room to you moaning my name in your sleep, so I dare say we're even." He lies quietly, seething to himself. Of course, Geralt would turn this around on him, make him the problem. And to think, Jaskier was trying to help by waking him up.
The longer he lies there thinking about it, the less angry he is. Not that it's truly anger anyway. After a while, he realizes he can't leave things like this before bed. His mother always taught him never to end the night on a bad note and never to leave a loved one without telling them you love them. This situation is something of a combination of the two.
"It's not just because I'm horny, you know." It's certainly true now because sex is the last thing on his mind, knowing Geralt thinks that's the only thing he wants from him. "I don't make a habit of propositioning my friends for the hell of it. Do you know how many times I've had to hold back, afraid that my touch will be unwanted?" His voice is a little higher than intended and it comes out bitter and hopeless but he pauses to catch his breath. If he's doing this now, he needs to calm himself down.
"It's a curse, truly, being able to see you every day knowing I can't give you what you want or do the things for you that I know you'll never ask for." Jaskier falls quiet again and shuts his eyes. He feels Geralt roll over and the bitterest part of himself tells him he's turned away, so Jaskier moves to turn away as well, but then there's a hand on his arm, softer than before.
He lets Geralt roll him onto his side and when he opens his eyes, Geralt is facing him. His expression is maddeningly emotionless, but when he speaks his voice is gentle.
"How long have you been feeling like this?"
"As long as I can remember," Jaskier admits. "I hardly remember a time when I didn't ache to give you everything I wasn't allowed."
"Who says you're not allowed?"
Jaskier scoffs. "When have you ever let me touch you? You're always so determined to do everything alone-" Jaskier stops as Geralt slips an arm over his hip, wrapping around him and pulling him closer.
"I didn't know you wanted to," he whispers, "I thought you were only doing it to so I would let you stay."
"Since when has permission ever stopped me?" Jaskier mutters and Geralt chuckles softly, tipping his head to look at him.
"I'm sorry," he smiles softly, "why did you never say anything?" Jaskier ducks his head against his chin. At least he doesn't have to worry about any awkward boners now. "Jaskier?" Geralt prompts.
"Same reason. Didn't think you'd want it."
"Mm." Geralt's fingers press into his lower back and he looks up at him questioningly. "Can I-?" he asks and Jaskier has barely agrees before Geralt is tugging him forward against him. He tucks Jaskier's head under his chin and hums softly. "I like it when you touch me."
Jaskier isn't sure what to do with himself. It feels like a fantasy and he has to wonder if he's the one dreaming now as, even as he turns onto his side to face into the room, Geralt curls up around him.
#october prompts 2k20#geraskier#rex writes#oof#this is the worst ending I have ever written#but in my defense#it was supposed to be a transition#so#maybe when I go back and edit next month I'll make this readable
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Keep Quiet
doing this thing | day 16 - “Keep quiet”
I realize this is 20 minutes late but @australis290 put Hamilton on and I had to go and watch it and then I got sleepy so... this should have been longer but it’s not, sorry.
The circumstances leading up to their current predicament are somewhat blurry or at least that's what Jaskier intends on telling people if the story ever comes up. He certainly hopes it doesn't. What he remembers now is talking to Geralt, someone behind him shouting, and Geralt hauling him up by the back of his doublet and pulling him after him.
Behind them, he hears the thudding footsteps of the man chasing them and a quick glance over his shoulder tells him everything he needs to know about their situation. The man is familiar to him, worryingly so, and he dreads explaining their relationship to Geralt. Their pursuer is the bodyguard for a very wealthy nobleman with whose wife Jaskier spent a lovely week in bed. Clearly, her husband doesn't share his thoughts on it.
There's a crash to one side of them and Jaskier looks over to find a cart blowing back into their pursuer's path. He turns back to Geralt to find him standing still with one arm outstretched. Jaskier spares one final look at the destruction before turning back to Geralt and promptly being hauled into a nearby alley. He opens his mouth and turns to ask Geralt what the fuck that was and he winds up pressed against a brick wall with a hand pressed against his mouth.
Oh.
He'd been too preoccupied to realize when he'd been hauled down here, but this is less of an alley and more of a gap between houses. A very small gap. And Geralt is very close to him. With his hand over his mouth. And, he realizes now, the other pressing his shoulder back into the wall. A wave of heat rolls up the back of his neck and he tries to step out of Geralt's hold before things become uncomfortable.
Jaskier moves to step away, but Geralt presses back with both hands and Jaskier stifles a groan against his palm.
"Keep quiet," Geralt hisses, "that won't distract him for long. I expect you have an explanation for this?" Jaskier shrugs and offers a sheepish grin but it's masked by Geralt's hand.
He shifts again and Geralt presses against him, holding him still with his body which is... problematic. A soft whine escapes his lips and Geralt's eyes snap up to meet his, soft but questioning. Jaskier squirms under his hold and the hand on his shoulder loosens its grip, sliding lower. Geralt's head tilts to one side and Jaskier knows he's trying to figure out his reaction. He does his best to keep his breathing even, but there are loud footsteps right around the corner and Geralt pushes him further down the alley.
It's narrower here and there's no space at all between them and Geralt is certain to feel the effect he's having on him. Jaskier shifts, trying to keep his hips pressed back against the wall, but he only achieves gaining an inch of space between them and soon that's not going to be enough.
Geralt's hands are both on his shoulders now so he can't miss the way Jaskier's tongue slips between his lips. And really, this is quite absurd. They're on the run from a man who has likely been hired to kill him and Jaskier's struggling not to get aroused like it's the first time he's ever touched another person. It's not even the first time he's been pressed up against Geralt, but something about the chase and the hands pushing and pulling at him is having an unfortunate effect on him.
Geralt's hand presses against his mouth again, too gently to be of any good other than to further wind him up. Something brushes up against his cock and Jaskier realizes belatedly that it's Geralt's thigh and he thinks for a horrible moment that Geralt is doing this on purpose, but then he hears someone approaching again and he holds his breath. But when Geralt shifts closer, he can't help but press into the touch, only barely stifling a groan as his cock presses into Geralt's thigh. Geralt looks down at him, eyes dark, and Jaskier nearly whimpers under the intensity of it.
"Can you be quiet?" he asks. Jaskier nods earnestly and Geralt ducks his head, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck. "Good."
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A Small Price to Pay
doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag
"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.
"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"
He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.
"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"
"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."
Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.
Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.
"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.
"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.
Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.
It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.
"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.
"Do you trust me?"
Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.
He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.
He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.
"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.
Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.
"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.
Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.
Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.
As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.
"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."
He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.
They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.
Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.
And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.
Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.
"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.
"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."
Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.
"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.
Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.
"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.
Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-
Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.
"You knew?" he asks.
"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.
Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.
"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."
"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.
Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.
"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"
Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.
Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.
"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"
"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."
"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."
"Mission- ah!accomplished."
Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.
Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.
"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."
One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.
"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.
Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.
"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.
"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."
Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.
He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.
Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.
When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.
"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.
"A small price to pay."
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