(Geralt x Jaskier)
“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?” Jaskier’s voice was soft and earnest, “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion?”
“Hm,” Geralt couldn’t bring himself to meet Jaskier’s gaze, a flutter of guilt in his chest. Those words that had been an offhand comment at the time, had clearly been playing on Jaskier’s mind.
“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while.”
There was a pause where Jaskier fidgeted slightly and Geralt could hear the slight increase in his heart rate. A strange feeling started to spread through Geralt, one he couldn’t quite place, and he couldn’t decide if the churning in his stomach was good or unpleasant.
“Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it?” Jaskier quirked a small smile, “Life’s too short. Do what pleases you. While you can.”
“Composing your next song?” Geralt responded lightly, Jaskier’s words sending a tight coil into his gut.
“No, I just uh… just trying to work out what pleases me.”
Geralt turned to look at him. Really look at him.
After nearly twenty-two years by his side, it was like he was seeing the bard properly for the first time. His soft blue eyes twinkling in the light of the setting sun. The sincerity and honesty in his expression. The way he fiddled with the sleeve of his red doublet. His offer of comfort quickly turning to baring his soul to the Witcher. Open and vulnerable and trusting. Brave Jaskier. Loyal Jaskier. Kind Jaskier. Loving Jaskier.
In that moment Geralt suddenly knew what his life had been missing, what he had been unwittingly searching for. In that moment, the very last wall he had been hiding behind for years finally crumbled.
He half stood, leaning over Jaskier, caressing the side of his face with a warm hand, and kissed him.
Jaskier’s noise of surprise quickly became a soft moan as he melted into Geralt. His own hands finding their way to curl into Geralt’s shirt. Geralt cupped both his cheeks tenderly, drawing him impossibly closer, trying to convey every unspoken emotion in a press of lips on lips.
Jaskier’s heart was thundering in his chest, loud and strong, especially against the Witcher’s sensitive hearing. Geralt’s slow heartbeat picked up a pace.
He dropped his nose to Jaskier’s chin for a moment, then forced himself to meet Jaskier’s watery blue eyes. He offered Jaskier a warm, gentle smile and something in Jaskier’s expression broke. A tear, quickly followed by another, rolled down his cheek.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” he blinked rapidly, voice thick, “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Being in love with you for…for all these years?”
Jaskier’s voice broke on the last few words and Geralt felt his heart shatter.
“I’m here now. I’m with you now,” he tried, longing to be able to reverse the years so that he could have done this sooner, done this when he had…when…shit…when Jaskier had more time.
Jaskier was half-way through his life and he had given it all to Geralt. And Geralt had taken him for granted every step of the way. No longer. What time Jaskier had left in his cruelly short life, Geralt was going to spend making it up to him. Making up for lost time. Starting now.
He captured Jaskier’s mouth again in a chaste kiss, hands coming up to thread into the bard’s dark hair. Jaskier found a hold at the back of Geralt’s neck. The slide of their lips together became almost desperate, fervent, leaving Jaskier breathless.
Geralt’s entire body was tingling. The static feeling burning in every nerve, every fibre of his being.
He could practically taste the spike in Jaskier’s scent. A musk that was all too familiar from trying to ignore it across a busy tavern or in the corner of a grand ballroom. But this time it was because of Geralt’s mouth and Geralt’s touch and Geralt’s need.
He tucked his arms around the bard, hoisting him to his feet and buried his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. He felt arms settle around him, the firm press of Jaskier’s palms against his shoulder blades, the heat building between their bodies pressed flush together. He felt the cold tip of Jaskier’s nose bump into the bare flesh of his neck and a shiver ran down Geralt’s spine.
Holding him like this, tight and close in an embrace so long over-due that it physically hurt in Geralt’s chest. Just feeling him there. Solid and real and there. Jaskier had always been there. Through everything. He had seen Geralt at his best, and worst, and was still by his side. How could Geralt have missed it? How could he have been so stupid? Ignoring and pushing away every emotion he thought he didn’t deserve to feel. Hurting Jaskier every day because he was too afraid to admit he felt the same way.
He felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.
“I love you Jaskier,” his voice was high and tight, muffled against Jaskier’s neck.
“Geralt,” Jaskier choked, his grip around the Witcher tightening.
Geralt leaned back, planting a hard kiss onto Jaskier’s temple, then to his cheek, then to his mouth. He swiped his tongue against Jaskier’s lips, and the bard accepted him eagerly. Geralt deepened the kiss with a groan. Tasting Jaskier. Devouring him. Swallowing the little noises rising in Jaskier’s throat and loosing himself in the heat of Jaskier’s mouth.
Jaskier trembled against him.
The thick scent of Jaskier’s arousal was starting to drive him crazy. There was a heat spreading through Geralt’s core. He wanted Jaskier. Needed him. All of him. He needed to touch him, feel him, breath him, until it was all too much but still never enough.
He had never felt like this before. Not even with Yennefer. So consumed by emotion that he could barely breathe. And now that he was finally letting himself feel it, it was exciting and scary and overwhelming.
“Geralt. Geralt please. I need you,” Jaskier whimpered against his mouth, hands buried in Geralt’s hair.
He huffed out a breathless laugh as Geralt scooped him up in his strong arms and carried him towards his tent, his lips barely leaving Jaskier’s for a second.
Geralt was very aware of the dwarves watching them, of Yennefer watching them. But he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about right now was Jaskier.
As soon as the canvas closed behind them, Jaskier wriggled out of Geralt’s hold and spun into him, tugging the hem of Geralt’s shirt up until the Witcher had no choice but to let him pull it off over his head. The shirt landed on the floor in a rumpled heap, immediately forgotten as Jaskier’s lute calloused fingers trailed up his scarred chest, onto his shoulders and down his arms. His touch was electric, leaving Geralt’s skin prickling, the hairs standing on end.
Geralt couldn’t take the look of absolute devotion Jaskier was giving him and surged forwards to steal another hard kiss. His hands planted on Jaskier’s waist and he walked him backwards until they reached Geralt’s bedroll.
The Witcher pulled the bard down with him so that he was on his back with Jaskier straddling his stomach. Jaskier bracketed Geralt’s face with his hands and pressed kiss after kiss to Geralt’s lips until they were both panting for breath.
Geralt ran his hands down Jaskier’s back, feeling the material of his doublet bunch under his fingers, and took handfuls of Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier gasped into Geralt’s mouth, rocking back slightly as Geralt squeezed.
He could feel the bulge in Jaskier’s breeches pressing into his lower stomach and he was painfully aware of his own confined erection.
He dared to cant his hips up, hissing at the delicious friction as his crotch brushed against Jaskier’s. Jaskier’s head fell into Geralt’s shoulder, his arms shaking with the effort to support his weight as he went dizzy with need.
Geralt slid his hands under the bard’s shirt and rubbed patterns into his soft skin. Up his firm stomach, through the dark hair covering his chest, ghosting over his peaked nipples then back down again. Jaskier was literally quivering against his touch, his breath tickling Geralt’s neck in sharp huffs as Geralt ran his hands round his sides, up his back, kneading into the muscle of his shoulders.
Jaskier practically whined when Geralt removed his hands form under his shirt but shuffled back as Geralt sat up, pushing the doublet off his shoulders and yanking his cotton shirt up over his head.
Their mouths connected again in a wanton kiss as Geralt continued his exploration of Jaskier’s torso. Thoroughly enjoying the gasps and little mewls that escaped the bard when he found particularly sensitive spots. Jaskier, now straddling Geralt’s lap, reached down and plucked at the laces of Geralt’s leather pants.
He leaned back, breaking the kiss, capturing Geralt’s amber eyes with brilliant blue.
“Can…can I touch you Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was reedy with desire and Geralt cupped his cheeks in an attempt to ground himself.
Jaskier. Sweet Jaskier, was asking his permission to take this further and his heart bled.
“Yes,” Geralt sucked hungrily at Jaskier’s mouth as he felt supple fingers dip into his pants and curl around his cock.
Jaskier started a slow, torturous rhythm, stroking him with just enough pressure to make Geralt’s vision flash white.
He rutted into Jaskier’s fist, aching for more friction and Jaskier chuckled into his mouth.
“Easy Witcher,” Jaskier chide, laughter blazing in his eyes, “I want to savour every second of this.”
Geralt had to oblige him. He owed him that much, and more.
He let Jaskier take control, forcing himself to be still as Jaskier’s hand worked him. He let Jaskier slow their frantic kissing so that they were breathing heavily through their noses as tongues twined. He let Jaskier curl a hand into his white hair, keeping him steady and present.
The muscles in Geralt’s groin constricted and heat pooled in his gut. Jolts of fire prickled over his skin.
“Jask. Jaskier. I’m – I’m close,” he grunted.
“Come for me Geralt,” Jaskier locked gazes with him, twisting his wrist on an upward stroke that sent shudders through Geralt’s spine.
“Fuck,” Geralt growled, eyes rolling as he threw back his head, body spasming, cock twitching in Jaskier’s merciless hold, hips jittering as he came hard.
Jaskier continued to stroke him through his high until he could barely take the overstimulation any longer. When Jaskier finally let him go, Geralt collapsed back on the bedroll. His vision returned to normal, the thundering of blood in his ears easing, chest heaving with each breath as the echoes of his orgasm still rippled through his body.
Jaskier looked as flushed as he felt. Beautiful and radiant and smug.
As Jaskier wiped his hand clean on his breeches, Geralt threw his arms around him, pulled him tight to his chest and them rolled them over so that he was now positioned above Jaskier. Jaskier’s squeak of surprise became a rich laugh as Geralt peppered his face with feather light kisses.
“Good?” Jaskier smirked, a sheen of sweat already forming on his skin.
“Hm,” Geralt nuzzled into Jaskier’s neck, “I’m such an idiot.”
“Well, you’re not wrong but, do tell how you’ve come to this revelation?” Jaskier pushed at him lightly until Geralt lifted his head again. Blue eyes met amber and he heard Jaskier’s breath hitch.
“I’m an idiot because this shouldn’t be our first time doing this,” he grumbled.
“Not much we can do about that now,” Jaskier hummed, playing with a lock of Geralt’s silver hair, “I’d have waited for you for forever if I had to.”
“Jaskier. You don’t have forever,” Geralt felt his chest constrict.
“All the more reason to enjoy the time I do have with you,” Jaskier smiled.
He was just so fucking beautiful. Geralt wanted to weep.
To stop himself, Geralt kissed him again. Soft and tender, holding the side of his face, brushing his thumb back and forth across his cheek. Jaskier melted under him.
He rolled his hips down, still feeling Jaskier’s erection against his crotch, becoming half hard again at the thought of him. Jaskier quivered.
Geralt trailed his lips along Jaskier’s jaw, pressed a firm kiss to the base of his ear, down onto his neck. Exploring, mapping every inch, nibbling and sucking as he went. Every time he introduced his teeth to the bard’s skin, Jaskier jolted, a gasp escaping him. Geralt pulsed his tongue into the shallow dip of Jaskier’s throat and he could feel Jaskier’s elevated heartbeat against his tongue, hear the whimper pulled from his lips. He scraped his teeth against the spot and the sudden tension that stiffened Jaskier’s body, the filthy moan erupting from his chest, was ethereal.
Jaskier bucked against him and Geralt’s hand flew down to unbutton his breeches, barely remembering to offer the same courtesy Jaskier gave to him by asking his permission. At Jaskier’s desperate nod, he plunged his hand down the front of his breeches and wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s cock.
Jaskier clung to him desperately as Geralt jerked him quickly. The friction escalating the pleasure until the bard was squirming under him, pinned down by a heavy hand on his chest.
“Shit, Geralt,” Jaskier keened.
As tempted as he was to push Jaskier over the edge like this, he wanted to do more, feel more, so he stopped his rapid stroking of Jaskier’s cock and removed his hand. Jaskier whined at the lack of contact but then Geralt was shimmying down his breeches and taking them off with his boots. Then Geralt was removing his own pants and boots. Jaskier’s chest heaved with each breath, eyes blown wide.
“I want to make you feel good Jaskier. So damn good,” Geralt panted, gazing down at the bard who reeked of lust, “Can I?”
“Yes Geralt. Yes. Yes. Yes,” Jaskier reached for him, weak and wanting, and Geralt descended on the bard, locking their lips together and pressing himself flush against him.
He ground his fully erect cock into Jaskier’s and Jaskier groaned.
If you had told him this morning that come nightfall, he would be lying naked on top of Jaskier, touching him and kissing him, he probably would have pushed you off the mountain. He could hardly believe it himself. Barely even beginning to comprehend that it was happening, much less fully understanding what it now meant.
He leaned off Jaskier, reaching for his pack and felt blue eyes boring into him as he quickly rummaged around in the front pocket. When he withdrew the vial of chamomile oil, Jaskier’s already flushed face grew even darker.
Geralt popped the cap and dipped his fingers into the oil. He could hear the quake in Jaskier’s breath as he placed the vial to one side then positioned himself over the bard, hand pressed onto his ass, index finger dipping tentatively between the cheeks.
“You sure?” Geralt asked him, searching Jaskier’s face for reservation.
“I’m sure. I’m sure. Geralt please,” Jaskier’s hands fisted into the bedroll, looking at Geralt hungrily.
Slowly, Geralt pushed the tip of his finger into the bard and Jaskier’s head thunked back as he arched slightly at the intimate touch.
With some controlled back and forth, Geralt worked his finger into Jaskier up to the knuckle. The heat, the tight clench of muscle around the digit. The scent of the chamomile mixing with the salt and musk coming from the both of them.
He leaned down over Jaskier to crash another bruising kiss to his lips as he pressed a second finger into him. Jaskier whimpered into his mouth, a shudder rolling through him with each push of Geralt’s fingers.
Geralt was becoming braver with the rhythm as he felt Jaskier’s body get used to the pressure and the stretch. He curled his fingers inside Jaskier, and the man yelped, grabbing onto Geralt for support.
“Ah, ah, there Geralt,” he rasped.
Geralt brushed that sweet spot again and Jaskier grit his teeth against the intensity of the pleasure that was building in him.
Kissing away each sobbing breath, Geralt added a third finger, going slowly at first until he was confident Jaskier could take the faster pace.
He couldn’t believe how responsive Jaskier was to his touch. How vocal he was. How eager and willing he was to let Geralt take him apart. His trust and love shining through with the brightness of those blue eyes and the gentle caresses of Geralt’s skin.
Geralt grunted as he pushed his cock into Jaskier’s hip. He was impossibly hard and couldn’t take it much longer.
He removed his fingers, leaving Jaskier trembling and panting, and slicked himself up with more of the chamomile oil. The slide of his own hand over his oversensitive cock had him biting his lip and he quickly discarded the vial to rest himself against Jaskier’s ass.
“Ready?” he growled.
Jaskier had enough coherent thought left to nod.
Geralt pressed the head of his cock into Jaskier, deliberately forcing himself to not thrust his entire length into him at once.
Jaskier closed his eyes, breathing hard, getting used to the stretch as Geralt rocked his hips slightly, easing into him, keeping a close eye on the bard for any signs of discomfort.
Once he was fully sheathed, he stilled for a moment, relishing in the tight heat around his cock, their bodies fully connected. Taking in Jaskier’s face, his hair damp with sweat, those brazen blue eyes blown wide with pleasure.
Jaskier’s hands came up to hold onto Geralt’s cheeks, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. Geralt stole a quick kiss before burying his head in the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder and snapping his hips forwards.
Jaskier’s sharp breath ended in a moan, his legs coming up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, his fingers tightening into his silver hair.
Geralt used his entire body to roll out each thrust, slow and purposeful, aimed perfectly to hit that sweet spot inside Jaskier that had the bard shuddering and whining.
Geralt could feel the heat of pleasure pooling in his groin and his skin prickled with the intensity of each wave. He was very aware of the way their bodies moved together. The way Jaskier’s hips rose up to meet each thrust. The sweat building between their chest’s pressed together. The sobbing breaths that escaped Jaskier with every nudge of his prostate. How fucking good it felt to be inside him, making love to him.
His own breathing started to become ragged as pleasure climbed. He could feel it spark through his body with every roll of his hips. Tightening in all the right places.
Jaskier stomach fluttered, as he pressed kiss after kiss into Geralt’s neck. He cried out when a particularly sharp thrust forced coils of ecstasy through him.
“Geralt, Geralt please,” he whimpered, clawing wildly at Geralt’s shoulders, “Please, please, I need-“
He didn’t get to finish as Geralt slammed into him and he wailed. The Witcher’s picked up the pace, the rhythm becoming messier as need drove him on. The sound of skin on skin resounding around the tent.
Jaskier’s gurning hitched as his body tensed, arching of the bedroll as he came. Geralt’s name a breathless plea on his lips as he shook apart underneath him.
Geralt rutted into him shallowly, chasing his own orgasm that hit with enough intensity to punch the breath from him. He spilled deep inside his bard and collapsed on top of him. Both of them shaking as they came down from their high.
Geralt tucked his arms around Jaskier after slipping his now spent cock from inside him and rolled onto his side, bundling the shivering bard to his chest and holding him close. Jaskier’s breaths were hot and wet against his sweat slicked skin. He carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, giving him a moment to come back to himself.
“You okay?’ he hummed softly when he felt Jaskier shift in his arms.
“Holy fuck Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice was lax with bliss.
Geralt grinned into Jaskier’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The bard shuffled so he could look at Geralt. The Witcher’s heart panged in his chest.
“I love you,” Jaskier sighed.
“I love you too,” Geralt managed to choke out.
Jaskier settled back into him, head resting on Geralt’s shoulder and traced his fingers along the ridge of a scar marring Geralt’s chest.
They lay together in peaceful silence, the bard’s movements stopping and his breathing slowing as he fell asleep.
Geralt’s brain was still working too fast to allow him to give in to the darkness too. The love and affection for the man in his arms burned through him and that desire to keep him safe even stronger than before.
He knew in the morning they would need to talk. Properly talk about everything, in a way they had never had conversation before. Honest, with everything out in the open and with nothing but the future in front of them.
He knew in the morning he would have to deal with Yennefer, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
The only thing he wanted to think about was Jaskier and what they had just shared and what that meant.
The next few days passed by in a blur.
Yennefer had stuck her head into the tent as dawn broke saying that the dwarves had already left. Jaskier encouraged Geralt to go on without him on account of still not being able to feel his legs properly.
By the time Jaskier caught up with them, the Reavers were dead, the dwarves were pissed about missing the fight, there was also a dead dragon but her egg was safe, Borch and his companions were alive which was very confusing and shocking all round, and Geralt was alive with hardly a scratch. The relief that scorched through Jaskier nearly knocked him on his ass.
Yennefer and Geralt had argued, with Borch stepping in to clear some things up for them. Jaskier had tried very hard not to listen and when Yennefer stalked past him, he offered her an apologetic smile. The look of venom she shot him quickly wiped it off his face.
He was there by Geralt’s side as the Witcher came to terms with what had just happened, his anger and fury dissolving under the bard’s reassuring touch and tender kisses.
Geralt glanced at him with the new morning sun blazing in those amber eyes.
“The coast?” he grumbled.
And Jaskier could have sworn he felt himself go giddy.
Geralt was more sombre and stoic than usual as they trekked down the mountain. Jaskier gave him the space he needed and by the time they reached Roach, the Witcher had an arm looped around the bard’s waist and was nuzzling into the side of his face.
Their journey to the coast was interjected with camping under the stars, love making, dealing with bandits who tried to rob them, chasing after Roach who took off to investigate a field of aromatic flowers, more love making in said field of aromatic flowers, being booed out of a tavern when Jaskier accidentally got caught up in Geralt’s gaze and forgot the words to the song he had been singing, hunting down a pack of drowners that were bothering a small hamlet, Jaskier disturbing a hornets nest when helping Geralt pick herbs and running off shrieking, a bed at an inn where their love making progressed to wild fucking, Jaskier stumbling head first into a stream because Geralt’s playful nudge was just a little too enthusiastic, Geralt getting insanely jealous of the woman who kept throwing lewd winks at Jaskier as they stopped to buy more food and supplies at a market and dragging the bard away. And spending every night curled up in each other’s arms, sharing soft words and loving kisses.
Eventually, as they crested a rise and the smell of the ocean hit Geralt in a salty cloud, they found themselves on the edge of a sandy beach with nothing but horizon in front of them.
Jaskier leaned into Geralt, humming contentedly as the breeze whipped at his hair and tinged his cheeks pink.
“We made it Geralt. The coast. You and me,” he sighed, snuggling into Geralt’s warmth and watching the waves.
You and me. The emotion stuck thickly in Geralt’s throat.
Geralt finally knew he was where he was meant to be, where he belonged. And for the first time in a long time, the future looked bright.