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Jaskier made that face he always made when Geralt said something he didn’t particularly agree with, and everything clicked right into place. The last thing Geralt wanted was anyone needing him, but there was Jaskier, right in front of him, needing him. He should have seen it. He should have heard it in the way Jaskier called his name. He should have understood it in the way that Jaskier followed him, no matter how perilous the journey. He should have known it in the songs that Jaskier sung about him. Most of all, he should have seen it in the way Jaskier looked at him. Those puppy eyes.

“Stop me,” Geralt rasped, pushing forward and sloshing through the water. Jaskier couldn’t get away fast enough to avoid being splashed. He couldn’t escape Geralt’s sudden grip around his arms. “Stop me,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier looked at him with those wide eyes and just shook his head.

Geralt smashed their lips together in a sudden, searing kiss. The water splashed again; Jaskier was drenched, but he kissed back. He braced himself on the edge of the tub and pushed into Geralt’s lips, his body. Even with the water, Geralt was warm, like his heart was racing fast enough for the both of them. It wasn’t possible. He was a Witcher. His heart barely beat, and he couldn’t feel anything, but they could both feel this. The heat of their kiss. The pressing of lips and warm tongues and smashing of noses as they tilted their heads, trying to find the right angle.

Geralt sucked in a deep breath, gasping through his nose as they only kissed deeper. He was tearing at Jaskier’s shirt, trying to get it off of him without having to part. If Jaskier cared, he didn’t show it. There were other shirts, but there was only one this. For as long as Jaskier had been dreaming about the feeling of Geralt’s rough fingers digging into his skin, he would take one glorious night in heaven over any stupid shirt. He let Geralt tear it right off of him, moaning and pressing deeper into their kiss as he tangled his arms up in it in his haste to get it off.

His shirt was off. Geralt’s grip came back, tight around Jaskier’s chest—right under his arms. With that grip, Geralt moved back into the tub. He dragged Jaskier back with him; Jaskier scrambled over the side of the tub to avoid hurting himself; he failed, knocking his ankle into the wood, but he didn’t matter. He sat right over Geralt’s laps, still in his trousers and underclothes, and kept kissing. Geralt worked on his clothes; Jaskier worked on their kiss. He had his arms around Geralt’s neck, fingers through his hair, surging deeper whenever he found a moment.

Geralt manhandled Jaskier out of his wet clothes. He moved them around in the tub, never parting from their kiss, tugging and pulling at laces and fabrics until Jaskier’s trousers and smalls were puddling on the stone floor off to the side of the tub. Jaskier settled right back down in Geralt’s lap, suddenly able to feel the press of Geralt’s hardening cock against him. Jaskier gasped into their kiss, letting Geralt peck at his open mouth while he squirmed. Jaskier’s nails were digging into Geralt’s shoulders, but Geralt didn’t care. He just pulled Jaskier closer as he worked his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier moaned into their kiss. He scratched and clambered, rocking his hips into Geralt’s cock, all while sucking on Geralt’s tongue. Feeling how it moved over his teeth and the ridges of his mouth. Jaskier was warm. He was hot. If not for the water sloshing between them, he’d be sweating.

When Geralt’s hand came up to cup Jaskier’s head, tangle through his hair and pull him even closer, Jaskier swore he lost himself. His hips were bucking uselessly, his cock straining valiantly to stand between them. He let Geralt move his head, position him where he wanted him. Their tongues met and tangled with saliva and moaning. Geralt’s moans were deep, right from his throat, and they sent shivers straight down Jaskier’s spine. It was like he was dreaming, but it was the best dream he’d ever had.

Geralt was everywhere. Their chests were pressed together, their hardening cocks. Geralt still had a hand in Jaskier’s hair and one around the small of his back. Geralt was just as afraid this wasn’t real. How could he not have seen it earlier? How badly Jaskier wanted this? Wanted him? Needed him. Geralt thought he didn’t want that, but now that he had it in the form of Jaskier, grinding against his cock, he couldn’t imagine losing it.

When they finally parted, they pressed their foreheads together; Jaskier closed his eyes, running his hands down the side of Geralt’s face, through his hair. Geralt couldn’t think about closing his eyes and missing a second of this. Jaskier’s face. His desperately needy face. His lips were red and swollen from the intensity of their kiss. That only made Geralt want to kiss him again. Want to keep kissing him until Jaskier was coming undone in his lap. Already, he could feel Jaskier’s full hardness against him. From nothing but kissing and idle grinding—Jaskier was achingly hard.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled. “I—”

Jaskier shushed him. “Don’t ruin it, Geralt. You’re not so skilled with words.”

Any other time, Geralt would have rolled his eyes and complained about how obnoxious Jaskier was. A complete menace. All he could do now was smile. He tilted Jaskier’s head to kiss him, again, and Jaskier moaned. Jaskier moaned so beautifully, and his hips twitched forward.

“Geralt—” Jaskier gasped, when Geralt pulled away.

“I want you,” Geralt growled. “I want you now, writing on my cock.”

Yes,” Jaskier responded, breathless and needy. “Please, Geralt. That’s all I’ve—please.”

They had plenty of oils. Plenty of oils that could be used for this specific occasion. Geralt slapped Jaskier’s arse as he scrambled out of the tub to get some, enjoying the way it jiggled and bounced under the force of his hand. He might have to try that—provided this wasn’t a one-time thing. He’d have Jaskier at his side for as long as he could—if he could. It was a discussion for another time. Geralt wrapped his hand around his cock, instead, stroking himself idly as he watched Jaskier flit about the room to find the oil.

Jaskier had such a fine, shapely arse. Two perfect globes that bounced with every step he took. The fat of his thighs moved, and his cock bobbed. Geralt squeezed around the base of his own prick, groaning. He could get off, just like this, watching Jaskier move.

“Now, now,” Jaskier grinned once he’d found the oil. “Let’s not have too much fun. There’s more to do, you know.”

“I don’t make a habit out of sleeping with men,” Geralt said. “You’ll have to teach me.”

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks, a visible shiver took hold of him. “I—I’ll show you,” he promised.

“Do you make a habit of it?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. He helped Jaskier back into the tub, holding onto his hips to keep him steady. If he’d left Jaskier standing, he might have sunk forward and took that fine cock right into his throat, but there wasn’t time. They rightfully had a party to be attending. Geralt would have him after. If it were possible.

“I—” Jaskier gulped, settling back down in Geralt’s lap. “I do,” he said. “You don’t—”

Geralt shook his head. “I clearly have no issue with it.” He took hold of Jaskier’s chin and tugged him closer, as if to prove it, and kissed him. Jaskier melted into him, pressing into Geralt’s chest and moaning.

When they parted, Jaskier passed the oil to Geralt and cast his eyes down. He looked over Geralt’s chest. He was covered in scars; every one of them had a story that Jaskier knew, had memorized. Jaskier reached out and ran his fingers along one, tracing down to the crease of Geralt’s pectorals.

“I also make a habit of washing myself,” Jaskier muttered, tracing another scar. “Normally, that’s important, you know. But—”

“Another habit,” Geralt hummed, oddly fond. “Should I ask how many?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I don’t keep count. Too complicated,” he said. “Does that—bother you?”

Geralt shrugged. “Should it? I’m sure I could get bothered if you’d prefer.”

Jaskier gave a wide grin. Geralt almost smiled back, but smiling wasn’t something he really did. Instead, he worked open the vial of oil and dripped it over his fingers, as Jaskier instructed. Geralt wasn’t entirely stupid. Just because he didn’t make a habit out of sleeping with men didn’t mean he’d never in his life explored the possibility. There were plenty of attractive men. There was only one Jaskier. Jaskier was the perfect man to try this out with for the first time.

He wrapped a tight arm around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him close. Jaskier gasped, bracing himself on Geralt’s shoulders. His face was red; that blush trailed all the way up to his ears and down to his chest. This was everything he’d ever wanted, and somehow, more embarrassing. He felt like a blushing virgin all over again, recalling the first time he’d ever let a man push him down. He’d always liked older men. He’d always liked men that, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine they were Geralt. This was Geralt. The real one.

This very real Geralt craned his neck so he could kiss Jaskier’s chest, nipping at his skin. Jaskier gasped at each light press of teeth, especially when they ghosted over his nipple. He threaded his fingers though Geralt’s hair, bracing himself for the coming touch. Geralt’s lips around his nipple was something else, entirely. The flick of his tongue. The way that he sucked on the sensitive skin and had Jaskier keening. Jaskier’s hips bucked into Geralt, sloshing the water. There was no friction with water, but he could rub the head of his cock into Geralt’s stomach, all the same.

“Now, just—gently,” Jaskier gasped. “I bathe as often as I can, but it’s been awhile since I’ve had—well, you know.” He swallowed his embarrassment and closed his eyes.

He was up on his knees so the water wouldn’t impede them. He missed the warmth of the water and Geralt’s lips on his chest, but Geralt made up for all of it. Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s thighs to keep him still; he mouthed over Jaskier’s hip, his pelvis. Jaskier shivered in Geralt’s hold, but he tried to keep composed. He steadied himself with one hand on Geralt’s shoulder while he used the other to spread his cheeks apart. Geralt kept him still, but the first press of his fingers had Jaskier’s hips bucking.

“Be still,” Geralt commanded.

Jaskier whimpered, squeezing his nails into Geralt’s shoulder and nodding. He was going to try his best, but then Geralt was mouthing right at the base of his cock. Jaskier nearly lost himself, entirely. Geralt spread the oil through his cleft, over his quivering hole.

“Here?” Geralt teased, breathing over the heat of Jaskier’s prick.

Yes—you arse,” Jaskier gasped. “Please.”

Geralt pressed his first finger in just as he wrapped his lips around the tip of Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier jolted, but Geralt’s strong grip on his thighs kept him entirely still. He just had to stay there and take what Geralt gave him—the slow, torturous circle of Geralt’s tongue around his slit and the gentle press of his finger. Jaskier could feel the callouses and each knuckle as Geralt pressed into him. He gasped at the feeling, the sudden fullness. Geralt was a shit; that’s precisely what he was. He knew exactly what he was doing, working his finger in and out of Jaskier with refined care.

Geralt sunk lower on Jaskier’s cock, closing his eyes and working his tongue along the underside. Jaskier was trembling in his grasp; that alone went straight to his cock. It was hard to focus, but he knew it would be worth it. He’d have Jaskier bouncing in his lap, splashing water and moaning so prettily for him. He just had to work him open, stretch him wide enough that he could sit all the way down to the base in one go. Geralt pressed his second finger forward, listening to every subtle sound Jaskier made to ensure it was okay.

It was more than okay. Jaskier tried to press back onto Geralt’s fingers, taking the second one inside of himself. His hole spread open around Geralt, swollen and red from the strain. But he did it. He took Geralt’s two fingers all the way to the base, and Geralt hooked them just right to have Jaskier keening and shaking in his arms.

Geralt,” Jaskier gasped. “Oh, Geralt, that’s—”

Geralt did it again to shut Jaskier up; his entire body trembled, and his cock twitched in Geralt’s mouth. If Geralt didn’t return that desperation, he might have thought it pathetic. Instead, it was endearing. He took Jaskier’s cock all the way to the base, right down his throat, and sucked. As he began to bob his head, he started to move his fingers. Fucking into Jaskier with them, spreading them apart and working Jaskier’s hole open. His work didn’t go unrewarded. A whole litany of moans poured out of Jaskier’s lips; Geralt’s name was there, please, and little whimpering whines.

Jaskier made noises Geralt didn’t know how he’d gone his whole life without hearing. He’d had woman after woman in his bed, and none of them made sounds so beautiful. Jaskier was desperately trying to stay still. The way his hips twitched, and his cock dripped with every rush of pleasure Geralt gave him was painfully endearing. It made Geralt work harder, bobbing his head of Jaskier’s cock. He played his tongue right over the slit when he came to suck on just the head while he worked on that third finger.

Despite his whine, Jaskier’s hole stretched to accept the new intrusion. Geralt had three fingers inside of him, fucking him, working into his deepest places and pulling the pleasure right out of him. Jaskier’s entire body was warm, trembling. His cock twitched with every swipe of Geralt’s tongue, like he was about to come. He didn’t want to come, not without Geralt’s cock inside of him. He wanted to feel it, Geralt’s cock. He wanted to have it in his hand, the weight and the size of it. He couldn’t. All Jaskier could do was hold onto Geralt with all of his strength, trying to hold on through this onslaught of pleasure.

Geralt spread his fingers open, stretching Jaskier. Jaskier trembled through every touch of his fingers, each crook of them that pressed right up against his prostate. His thighs were trembling from the strain; if not for Geralt’s hold on him, he would have fallen back into the tub with a newfound exhaustion. He was ready to collapse, to just come and bask in his afterglow. But there was still so much to do. So much to feel—the hot clench of Geralt’s throat around his cock. Jaskier wanted to feel that against his hole, the way Geralt could move his lips and eat Jaskier wide open.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, threading his fingers back through Geralt’s hair. “I’m ready. I’m ready, please—”

All at once, Geralt pulled back off of Jaskier’s cock and pulled his fingers. It was a rush, after that, of pushing Jaskier over the edge of the tub. Geralt pushed himself up on his knees, grabbing the vial off the floor to coat his cock. Jaskier braced himself on the edge of tub, closing his eyes tightly as Geralt worked behind him, getting in between his thighs and rubbing the swollen head of his prick right through Jaskier’s rosy red cheeks. Jaskier let out a gasping moan, arching his back and rolling back against that searing touch.

“Don’t get too comfortable, bard,” Geralt grumbled. He peeled Jaskier’s cheeks apart, taking a handful of one to pull it to the side. He took hold of his cock with his free hand, guiding himself to Jaskier’s stretched hole. Geralt moaned, watching himself sink into Jaskier. The way his hole stretched to accommodate the girth of his cock, the length, was the most arousing thing Geralt had ever laid eyes on. He went slow, watching each inch of himself disappear. Jaskier took all of it, working his hips back to take it faster.

Once Geralt was inside of him, deep inside of him with hips pressed right up against the swell of his arse, Jaskier relaxed. He shivered, trembled, and clenched around Geralt’s cock. He was so full. So stretched open, like he could feel it all the way in his stomach. This was exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he’d imagined. Geralt’s cock, filling him perfectly, so deep and so thick. His hips worked on their own, jerking back to meet that hot source of pleasure. Jaskier’s cock twitched, even, threatening to come before they’d even begun.

Geralt reached down and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier yelped as Geralt dragged him back. He was held steady by Geralt’s arm, as Geralt fell back into the tub so he could sit, comfortable, with Jaskier impaled in his lap. The sudden position change had Jaskier crying out with new fire burning in his pelvis. Geralt was deeper, somehow. It felt so much deeper, and it was all Jaskier could do to keep himself from coming right there. He braced himself on the edge of the tub and held himself around his stomach. There was no noticeable bulge, but he swore he could feel how deep Geralt’s cock was, inside of him. His entire body was taken with a tremble.

“Geralt—oh, Geralt,” Jaskier cried out. “I—it feels so good. You’re so big, I—”

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Geralt accused, pulling Jaskier back by one hand around his chest and one around his throat. “It’s working.” Geralt growled, right into Jaskier’s ear, as he shifted for that first hard thrust up into Jaskier’s needy, waiting hole.

Jaskier moaned out. Geralt took a hard hold on both of his hips, to help steady Jaskier, so he could brace himself on the edges of the tub. Once he had the leverage, Jaskier was unstoppable. He started to bounce on Geralt’s cock, splashing the water up over the edge of the tub with the force of it. He ground down, each time he bottomed out and hit Geralt’s lap. Jaskier was a seasoned professional—he might as well have been a whore, how well he moved his hips. Little circles, grinding into Geralt’s cock and clenching down around him. Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s hips hard enough to bruise.

He was jealous. He was bothered. He couldn’t imagine Jaskier bouncing on someone else’s cock like this, making those beautiful noises. It was too soon to be so possessive, but Geralt didn’t care. If it took having Jaskier like this every night to get the point across, then he’d be certainly willing to make the sacrifice. Jaskier tight little hole around him, whenever he wanted—Geralt groaned against him, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist to pull him close.

They were still grinding together; the new hold made moving difficult, but the grinding was just as good. Jaskier was so hot, so tight—his silken walls squeezing down over the base of Geralt’s cock like he was trying to milk him of his orgasm. Geralt used his new hold to palm over Jaskier’s nipples—they were sensitive little things, making Jaskier gasp and writhe. At the same time, Geralt mouthed over the back of Jaskier’s neck, over the curve into his shoulder.

“Careful,” Geralt rasped. “If you insist on moving like a little whore, I’ll make you hold it in at that stupid fucking party.”

Jaskier trembled in Geralt’s hold, moaning at the suggestion of Geralt’s spend leaking down his thigh in the middle of a party.

“Perfect way to keep all those nobles away from you,” Geralt continued. “Anyone comes near you and they’ll know what you did beforehand. Spread yourself open for some man’s cock. No one will know it was me—”

Geralt pulled Jaskier back, flush into his chest so he could bite down at the base of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier cried out, suddenly, his hips grinding wildly down onto Geralt’s cock. Geralt’s teeth dug into him, pulling that pinch of skin into his mouth so he could suck on it.

“You—almost sound jealous,” Jaskier’s breath hitched as he spoke. He leaned into Geralt’s teeth, wanting more of that rough touch. He’d let Geralt do anything to him. If that included bending him over in the middle of a crowded room and showing everyone who he belonged to, then Jaskier would be ready for it. He’d bring extra oil.

“Never,” Geralt responded. His bite turned into sweet kisses up the column of Jaskier’s throat. “Nothing to be jealous of. You’re mine.”

Jaskier trembled and worked his hips harder. That word alone had gone straight to his cock; it drove him wild. He wanted to belong to Geralt. He wanted to be with Geralt. Anything he could have. Everything. He already had so much of it; Geralt was everywhere around him, in the rough snaps of his hips to the sweet kisses against his neck and his shoulder. Geralt pinched Jaskier’s nipples between his fingers just to make him keen so prettily. Jaskier arched his back and threw his head back.

He couldn’t control himself. His hips worked on their own, grinding down onto Geralt’s cock. Geralt was so thick inside of him; he was losing his mind. Everything was on fire, a rush of pleasure, threatening waves of an impending orgasm. He braced himself on the tub, working himself down harder, faster, trying to chase after that orgasm. That was when Geralt’s teeth caught around his earlobe, and Jaskier spasmed.

“Touch yourself,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier couldn’t scramble fast enough to comply. He got a hand around his own cock; with the other, he reached behind to brace himself on Geralt. His hips jerked. While he stroked his cock, desperately, he fucked himself down onto Geralt’s cock. Every thrust brought him closer. Every stroke of his hand. The water eased everything, made it perfect. Warm. Hot. Jaskier’s jaw was dropped open with his incessant noise, shouts and moans straight from the bottom of his throat. He was a fucking vision.

Geralt was close. When Jaskier came, squeezing around his cock, Geralt followed. They both cried out, names on each other’s lips and wrapped in each other’s arms. The water sloshed, muddied, and stilled when they did. The rush of pleasure stayed in a burning fire, kindling between them as Jaskier relaxed back into Geralt’s chest. He hadn’t even tried to move off of Geralt’s cock. He was content to sit there with it buried deep inside of him. If it softened like that, then Jaskier would be there to feel every second of it.

“If I can’t sing,” Jaskier muttered, “I’m blaming you. I’ll tell the whole party that their bard can’t perform because a Witcher got too rowdy.”

Geralt snorted, stroking his fingers along the curve of Jaskier’s neck. “You’re a menace.”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes closing. He wriggled, leaning into Geralt’s neck. He wanted to have this moment for as long as he could, afraid that maybe the words had all just been words. Maybe he’d only been Geralt’s for the night. Geralt might disappear in the morning, and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He could enjoy the feeling of Geralt’s thick cock inside of him for as long as he could have it. If they didn’t have a deadline to meet, Jaskier might attempt to get that cock hard again; he’d let Geralt fuck him over ever solid surface in this room, if he wanted.

They had places to go. Jaskier feared the moment they pulled apart; it would be the last time they were ever together. Still, he couldn’t deny the jolt of feeling Geralt pull out of him. The way his hole clenched down, how he suddenly felt empty. He wanted Geralt back inside of him. But they had things to do.

They had to wash, quickly. Geralt wasn’t going to make good on his threat to keep Jaskier full of his spend through the party, especially not when Jaskier keened so prettily with fingers back in his arse. Like he needed to be full. Insatiable. Needy. Geralt cleaned him out as thoroughly as possible, and then they washed themselves. They dried and dressed; Geralt checked Jaskier before they left, to ensure that he looked presentable. Even at Jaskier’s insistence that no, nothing was leaking, Geralt still wanted to be sure.

As much as the thought had sounded nice, it only sounded nice as a thought. He didn’t want anyone to know what they’d done. If he were going to lay claim on Jaskier, it would be in something much classier. He’d get him a wolf’s pin broach to wear on his breast or something of the like. Something gaudy and beautiful that matched the rest of his bubbly personality. It was an awfully intrusive thought, the image of Jaskier wearing a broach like that. It was all the proof Geralt needed—he needed Jaskier, too.