No one knows where Julian is right now.
(Honestly speaking, Julian isn’t precisely sure where Julian is right now, because he’s a disaster and his phone’s GPS is allergic to this warehouse district.)
A younger, slightly less in-debt-up-to-his-eyeballs Julian would have been miffed by the lack of proper verbal directions. As it stands, he would probably eat Yennefer du Vengerberg’s very expensive handbag without salt for the number she wrote down on the back of his gas receipt.
Because Julian Alfred Pankratz had to go and study the arts at Oxenfurt rather than applying himself at some dreadful law school in Nilfgaard like Hugo, and mother and father were not precisely keen on paying for him to become an artist.
He wonders what his mother will say when her social club finds out he’s doing porn .
Hopefully doing porn.
Today is his camera test, which Triss, who is either Yennefer’s personal assistant or her wife, assures him will be absolutely painless.
(Because nothing says professionalism like panicking on the phone with a porn producer’s personal assistant. Or wife. Shit .)
You have an advantage, as an Omega entering the industry. Plus, Yen sent me your photo, and you’ve got the sweetest butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.
Which was a surprisingly reassuring thing to hear from someone who wants to hire him to put strange penises in his mouth.
He takes a deep breath, looks at the auto body shop he’s passed at least three times, and nods firmly. A heavily tattooed man in a lawn chair frowns at him like he’s lost his mind.
He probably has, considering.
It’s difficult enough being an Omega—does he really want to make life any harder?
He checks his texts again.
Five thumbs up emojis from Essi.
Checks his banking app.
Yep yep yep.
Time to get a job.
He finally finds the correct warehouse, and pulls into a parking space with a surprisingly discreet sign reserving it for Vengeance Studios. Tucked into the shade, there’s a small deck with patio furniture and an umbrella, and beyond that a set of stepping stones up to a heavy door.
He stops at the doorbell and straightens his jacket. Pauses. Fusses with his pockets. Pauses. Adjusts his hair. Makes a high-pitched noise. Stares at the button.
“You know there’s a camera built into this thing, right?” A brash voice laughs through the speaker, and Julian closes his eyes.
“Please kill me.”
“Then we’d never get to—”
“ Get away from my desk, Lambert. ”
The door buzzes and Julian, red-faced and screaming internally, darts inside.
The interior of the studio is, frankly, unreal.
Outside, the sun was burning hot, and the vague smell of boat fuel wafted through the air. He’s pretty sure that this is the sort of place that hires corporate scenting services, because the cool air inside is filled with brown sugar and fig.
It’s like walking into a spa, especially considering the couches and decorative plants peppering the reception area. The sort of place expensive people might actually sit down to have expensive conversations.
He knows because ‘Aunt’ Eleanora has that same ridiculously priced couch.
And then there’s the reception desk, curved and sleek, manned by a young woman with riotous pale blond curls and what appears to be a rolled up magazine.
“Piss off, Uncle Lambert.”
He’s not sure which is more unnerving, a 5’7” pixie threatening a 6’3” prime Alpha with a copy of US Weekly, or the fact that this appears to be a family business.
He gets a proper look at Julian and stills, whistling loud. “Look at you , sweet thing.”
The magazine sails through the air and hits his chest with a heavy thwap . “ Leave. You’re making him uncomfortable.”
Lambert laughs. “You remember what we do here, right? Sooner or later, he’ll end up sitting on—”
“The paper weight flies next.”
“ Tits, Ciri. I’m going!”
She watches like a hawk until he saunters deeper into the building, which gives Julian a very brief window to note a bubble butt and thighs that could probably crush a watermelon.
“Please ignore him. He’s an asshole.” Ciri turns a sweet smile on him, extending a hand to shake from behind her perch. “I’m Cirilla. Call me Ciri. I’ve got some paperwork for you to go through, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.” He smiles back, clasping her offered hand and accepting the clipboard that follows.
“Julian—it’s Julian, right?”
“Take a deep breath. Yen liked you. That’s the hardest part.”
He blinks at her. Smiles a small, ridiculous smile.
“Around here? I really doubt that.”
“...I still have the paperweight.”
He goes to one of the surprisingly comfortable designer couches to fill out the forms.
The paperwork itself doesn’t take terribly long.
He’s got a stage name ready to go and everything, and it isn’t even the result of one of those ridiculous meme generators bouncing about on VisageTome. His medical paperwork is all in order after a truly awkward visitor to his doctor.
He distinctly remembers the nurse asking, “Are you sexually active?”
And blurting, “I’m about to be.”
Followed by a loud silence and judgmental clicking.
But it’s been a while.
He hasn’t had a heat partner in ages— after graduating from Oxenfurt, casual hookups had been an even more awkward prospect. He tended to have a much easier time with people who had a chance to adjust to his...everything.
He’s always been a high energy Omega, comparatively social and independent to a point that his mother would scold him to keep to a set area during parties.
It won’t do to appear too available , Julian.
Which, in Mother, meant Don’t be such a slut, you absolute disappointment.
It’s amazing, really, that he grew up to be so outgoing, considering the lash-fluttering, anxious disaster Mother made of his sisters. Erszebet cried the first time Julian introduced her to an Alpha friend from university.
Just because Alphas can’t pop a knot without a soulmate or a shot of Via-phon, it doesn’t make them all rampaging deviants.
Speaking of, he comes to another bit of paperwork clarifying his consent to be artificially knotted.
He bites his lip.
Oh, yes please.
(And there’s his mother’s voice again, high and nasal— slut. )
But then he remembers Essi, joint dangling from her fingers, golden hair splayed out over his covers, smiling, “If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”
“Not who I do?”
“Don’t be a puritan, Jaskier. You’re too pretty for that.”
(That’s his new name— Jaskier . She’d helped him pick it out.)
The thought of his friend settles something squirmy in his chest, and he places a big, fat check mark in the box, initials beside it.
If his parents wanted to retain their iron grip on his social life and obligations, they should maybe have considered not abandoning him to crippling student loan debt.
To hell with that.
He might as well have fun.
Ciri takes the clipboard back from him with a sweet smile, takes a quick look over, and hums. “Everything looks good. Did you have any questions?”
“I...should I? Have questions?”
Ciri looks up at him and frowns, just a little. Like a tiny, disappointed cherub. He feels a bit guilty. “You don’t have to. If you have any later, you can ask. Everyone here wants you to be comfortable.”
“It’s good if you’re excited.” She smiles. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Hours of fun.” Another built Alpha pats his shoulder in what seems like genuine commiseration, a laughing smile on his lips. He’s handsome, with floppy brown hair and a relaxed posture. “For about fifty to sixty minutes of usable content.”
Jaskier looks at him and thinks friend. Really hot friend. Naked friend. Is he going to be naked with this person?
“Ju—” She glances at the paperwork again. “Jaskier, this is Eskel. He’s one of our actors, though he directs sometimes.”
“I’m directing today. Yen’s out on an errand.” He pauses, his hand applying just a bit of pressure. “I hope that’s all right. Sudden change of plans.”
“Oh, no.” Jaskier shakes his head so hard he thinks it might fly off. “Is it odd that I’d feel more comfortable with you?”
Ciri and Eskel both laugh, offering a resounding, “ No. ”
“Yennefer could freeze a man’s balls off at twenty paces. She’s a good boss, but ‘surging terror’ isn’t good for the circulation. You’ll get used to her.”
“So, how—how does this work?” Is it possible for excitement to make you choke? He’s nervous, sure, but this seems like a genuinely nice place, and he’s yet to meet an unattractive person. It feels like there’s a shrill squeal setting up shop in his throat.
Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.
“First, take a deep breath.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” He can’t really help the Omega whining. The amount of pheromones he’s kicking off right now is deeply unfortunate.
“Why? We want that energy. It just also helps with the next bit if you relax. ”
Keep purring at me like that and it’s the last thing I’ll do.
More warm, low laughter. “I really cannot wait until you meet—” Something shifts in Eskel’s face. “...Huh.”
“I have a thought.” He glances at Ciri, who looks a bit surprised for a moment before beaming.
“Should I be worried?”
“With Eskel? No. With Lambert? Run.” Ciri waves him off, and he’s all too eager to move as Eskel guides them past the desk and down a hallway.
It’s unreal that a place this nice is tucked inside a warehouse. His confusion must show on his face, because Eskel takes notice. “The rent is cheaper near the tracks. Sometimes it means pausing on set because a train is running past, but we’re working on that one. For now, we’ve gotten used to it. Nothing like freezing for a full three minutes inside your partner.”
Jaskier laughs. “Oh, that sounds awkward.”
“You’ll get to know everyone, so it won’t be so bad. We’re a weird family.”
“That’s a horrible analogy.” Jaskier pauses to flash a sharp grin. “I hate my family.”
In the distance, he hears Lambert yell, “Daddy issues! Called it! ” followed by a loud thud.
“Karma.” Eskel shrugs. “I was thinking—oh. Did you want to get changed? Stripping on camera can be a little awkward.”
Jaskier pauses, biting his lip. “I’m about to get off on camera. This shouldn’t be the difficult decision.”
“Right. Well, if you’re up for it… Usually, we do camera tests solo. You answer some questions, get comfortable, get yourself off. We see how it plays.”
“Of course.” Jaskier says, like this is a normal thing one says ‘of course’ to.
“But I’ve got a good feeling about this, and I think it might help you level out.”
“How would you feel about pairing up?”
“Like, doing the interview with someone else? How would that work?”
“I’d still be setting up, asking questions, all that...but Geralt would sit with you. I’m interested in what chemistry you might have.”
“This has to be the world’s strangest job interview.”
“Not much of an interview. If Yen recruited you herself and you’re clean, you don’t have a hell of a lot to worry about.”
Jaskier feels like something tight has come loose in his chest. “Oh.”
“ You have no idea. It just seems…”
“ Exactly. ”
“So...Geralt? Is he nice?” Jaskier asks, and immediately covers his face, looking for the nearest hole to crawl into. “That’s such an awkward question. Gods.”
“In twenty-odd years, I’ve never met a more chivalrous bastard. He’ll be good to you.”
“You’ve known him that long?”
“We’re brothers. Geralt, Lambert, and I.”
Jaskier sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“Adopted! We don’t partner up!”
“ He’s hung like a Shetland pony!” Lambert again. Are these walls that thin?
“Aiden!” Eskel calls back. “ Hit him harder! ”
“I promise you, the soundproofing is better on the sets. Lambert’s just got bat ears.”
“I don’t mind if he listens.” Jaskier says, very softly, and watches Eskel trip. “Yeah, no. I’m a slut.”
“Oh, today is going to be beautiful . Fucking art. ”
“So, what does that have to do with getting changed?”
“Geralt likes to undress his partners. Says it’s like unwrapping a gift.”
That sends a shiver up his spine. “Who am I to say no?”
“A consenting employee.”
“If you’re not getting changed, then head on into the third room there. I’ll see if Geralt is up for it.”
If he’s built anything like his brothers, Jaskier really hopes he is.
The room Eskel’s pointed him to is somewhere between small and intimate. One side hosts a bed and a nightstand with a lamp, and Jaskier wonders dazedly if he’d find a copy of the Beggar’s Book in the drawers.
He blinks, gathers himself.
And heads to the other side of the room, where a couch faces away from the bed and toward a modest suite of recording and lighting equipment. Coming from the land of Ikean everything, the couch itself is a revelation.
He would get off with this couch in a heartbeat if anyone asked it of him.
So he toes off his shoes, pulls his legs up, and does his level best to become one with his new best friend before Eskel comes back with an answer.
Eskel comes back with Jaskier’s new new best friend.
Sorry, Essi. His dick is undoubtedly bigger than yours.
The white-haired man has muscles the size of Jaskier’s head and piercing golden eyes, and he can’t help the instinctive whimper that fights past the row of teeth he buries in his lower lip.
Geralt stares through him, and Jaskier can feel the subaural rumble that answers him.
“Hi.” Jaskier says, completely screwed.
“‘Hi.’” Geralt’s lips quirk into the tiniest smile. Jaskier wants more of it.
Eskel rubs his hands together, then claps. “Let’s get started.”
The lights are warm but not blinding as the camera focuses on a handsome pair settled on a plush couch. The brunet fidgets with a throw pillow. At first glance he seems nervous, until his gaze slides toward his companion, and his teeth torture his bottom lip.
“Is everyone comfortable?”
Both men nod.
“I’m sure our friends remember Geralt.”
The white-haired man smirks, just a little, eyes toying with the camera. “We hope.”
“But his friend is new.”
“Are we friends?” The brunet smiles, his grip on the pillow loosening as he looks at the Alpha with more than friendly interest.
“We’re about to be.” Geralt teases back, reaching for the pillow and tugging it away, an audible rumble picked up on the mic when he finds the man is already tenting his pants.
“Damn,” The interviewer chuckles. “You really don’t waste time.”
The smaller man laughs. “I told you I’m a slut.”
Geralt’s pupils visibly dilate. “I can work with that.”
One broad palm runs over a jean-clad thigh, and the brunet pushes into the contact.
“This is Jaskier, he’s new to the studio.”
Jaskier wiggles his fingers obligingly, head tilted. “Hi.”
“How old are you, Jaskier?”
“Twenty-tw—ooh.” He sighs, tilting his head more when Geralt crowds in further, brushing his lips across the join of neck and shoulder.
“Oh, hey. He likes you.”
“Lots of people like me. I’m a friendly person.” Jaskier grins, then stops to hiss as teeth join the equation. He teases, “Eskel said you’d be nice to me.”
“Eskel’s a fucking liar .”
Another chuckle from behind the camera. “What’s your secondary, J?”
“ Omega. ” The man sighs. “And impatient. I’m slicked up already.”
“ Shit. ” Eskel and Geralt chorus.
Jaskier takes one of Geralt’s roving hands and presses it first to the front of his pants and then lower, dipping between his thighs.
“He’s not kidding. Shit. He’s soaked through.”
“Am I gonna mess up your couch?”
“It’s Scotchgarded straight to hell.” Eskel says, a bit awkward. “Are you really…?”
It’s Eskel’s turn to hiss. “You taken a knot before, sweetheart?”
Jaskier shakes his head, body twisting up into Geralt’s as the Alpha pulls closer, strong fingers pressing against his hole through the thick layer of fabric. His hips jerk. He’s desperate for it. “ Never . I want it so bad.”
“We’ll see about that next time, J. It’s short notice, so Geralt hasn’t dosed up.”
“I wish I had. ” Geralt rasps. “He smells so sweet.”
He bends down, mouthing over Jaskier’s zipper, humming when the boy bucks against him.
“ Please get me naked. Please.”
“You want my mouth?”
“ I want your everything .”
“ Shit. ” Eskel huffs. “Better listen to him, Geralt.”
His usual fare is sensual undressing. Slow, unrelenting force. The sort of fucking that makes you grit your teeth and let your eyes roll back, like the ocean’s got you and it isn’t letting go.
But Jaskier’s burning hot, new and sweet and captivating.
He nearly rips the man’s shirt over his head, doing the same with his own form-fit tee, and goes to pinch a tight pink nipple.
Jaskier keens , his head falling back to bare the long column of his throat. “ Alpha .” He sighs.
There’s a tight creaking noise from behind the camera, and Geralt freezes , gaze intent on vulnerable skin. He doesn’t hesitate for long before latching on, sucking hard and meeting those frantic, rocking hips with a hand plunged down the front of Jaskier’s jeans.
The camera’s good enough quality to capture in high definition the way his palm rocks over the pretty Omega’s trapped cock. The way the boy grinds against his palm.
“ Please .”
Again, Geralt obeys, hands going to tug jeans and underpants down his thighs. “Lift up, baby.” He urges, and Jaskier lifts his hips, letting the Alpha sink off the couch to cast the last of his clothing away.
He hovers, hands smoothing up pale, trembling thighs.
Jaskier takes a breath, staring back down at Geralt between his thighs. “I want you naked twenty minutes ago. ” And then, glancing back at the camera with a wicked smile. “Did you have any more questions?”
Geralt drops his jeans like they’re on fire, cock rock hard against his belly.
“There was something about hobbies, but I think we figured that one out.”
Jaskier giggles as Geralt rejoins him on the couch. “How do you want us to do this?”
Geralt shakes his head, a growl in his voice. “How do you want to do this?”
The Omega hums, long fingers reaching out to rub and tease at the head of his partner’s reddened prick. Before he can get words out, Geralt’s mouth is on his, wet and hot and messy.
Another moment, and Jaskier smooths a hand over his chest, digging his nails in just at the end. Then he wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck and slides into his lap, easy as breathing. “For the camera, right?”
“Fuck the camera.” Geralt rumbles.
“Not interested.” Seated sideways like this, the camera catches everything—the bulge of Geralt’s muscles as he tugs the Omega up higher. The tremor in the sweet boy’s thighs as his partner lowers him down onto his waiting dick.
“ Oh fuck .” The sound is wet, plaintive. Completely helpless. “ Yes. I want that. I want—hhha- ah. ”
His grip is tight in Geralt’s hair, lips open and gasping against his cheek. He tries to tuck himself in, to be small and easy to maneuver. His thighs press up against Geralt’s back, knees bent as the bigger man begins to lift him up and drop him down.
“ Geralt. ”
“I’ve got you. Fuck —look at you.”
The camera finally moves, shifting closer to catch the way the Alpha’s cock disappears into that sweet, little hole.
“More, please. ” There are tears in his eyes, impossibly blue and devastated. “ Shit , you’re so big. Please. ”
“Bet you say that to all the boys.”
“No, I mean it. Very much. Oh, fuck , what do they feed y—a-ahhh. ”
His stomach tenses and rolls, struggling to meet Geralt’s punishing thrusts.
Again, the camera focuses on where they’re connected, slick pooling between them, splattering each time Geralt’s cock slams against his thighs and ass.
“You’re leaking so fucking much. ” Eskel groans.
“He’s perfect .” Geralt answers. “You feel perfect, Omega?”
“ Yes, Alpha. ” His face is flushed, tears leaking from his eyes, mouth open and gasping as he struggles to move closer, faster, harder.
His fingers tangle tighter in soft white hair, dragging him in for a messy parody of a kiss, whispering filthy invectives between them.
“Are you gonna cum, sweetheart? Can you smile for the camera?”
“I’ll smile for whoever you fucking want, just don’t stop .”
Suddenly, Geralt shifts, the leg positioned out front on the couch bent underneath him. He leans Jaskier back, pace unrelenting even as it shoves him into the cushions.
The Omega turns his head, drooling, eyes nearly vacant but shining .
“Yes yes please give it to me. Make me—Alpha…” Another keening whine, plaintive, and his whole body convulses, back arching hard as he screams. “Alpha, fuu-uck.”
Geralt snaps his hips hard once, twice, and then suddenly…he freezes, shock still.
The camera moves again to catch…that slick, abused hole, greedily suckling on the Alpha’s knot, coated in thick clear slick.
“Oh, fuck. Geralt, did you take—”
“No. No, fuck . Oh, sweetheart .”
Jaskier makes a wet gasping noise, hips still working helplessly on his Alpha’s knot—his soulmate’s knot. Flooding him full, locking him up tight. Breeding him.
He’s sobbing, arms locked tight around Geralt’s shoulders, pressing against warm skin. Insensible.
Their eyes lock, Geralt hovering on the edge of panic, apology, but Jaskier smiles, drool still leaking from his lips as he turns his chin up for a kiss.
“So full , Alpha.” He sighs, rocking again. “Mmmm.”
Geralt, completely unable to help himself, answers with a roll of his hips, keeping them together, grinding his knot against his mate’s sweet spot, tugging at that sore red rim.
“You look sad.” Jaskier hums.
“No, baby. Just…surprised.”
These two just became a fucking goldmine.
It’s funny, because Geralt has spent the last several years convincing himself that there isn’t anyone out there for him.
No sweet courtship.
No person made for him.
No happy realizations tangled in his lover’s arms.
Something about this is poetically ironic.
He stares into Jaskier’s eyes, waiting for the Omega to come back to the surface, feeling the fever start under smooth, pale skin already.
“You’ll go into Heat soon. Need to move you to the bed.”
Jaskier blinks. Blinks again. “ Oh shit—did we?”
“ Wow. ” He stares up at the ceiling, shifts a little only to gasp at the renewed pressure right where his body wants it. “Oh. Okay, that’s—”
“A lot. I—”
“ Amazing . I was going to say amazing.”
Geralt can’t help but smile at the sudden swell of excitement. His Omega is chatty , even with the camera off.
“Are you really Geralt?”
“I mean is it your name name?”
“Why is my tongue not working.”
“You’re addled. The bond’s starting up. Heat’ll hit soon.”
Jaskier blinks again. Frowns. “We need stuff for that. Does a porn studio have stuff for that?”
“We’re about to.” Geralt can’t help but laugh, pressing his forehead to a marked-up shoulder. “ Gods . I have to move you.”
“You can put me wherever you want. I feel like my stomach is high. It’s very warm.”
“Again, Heat.” Geralt chuckles, hitching the Omega’s legs tighter about his waist and supporting him before rising to move them to the bed.
“ Oh, he’s strong. I have to tell Essi.”
“The bane of your continued existence, if you’re mine.”
“Mmmmhm. Where’d Eskel go?”
“Probably to find a bathroom, then call Yennefer and scream.”
“Oh. Good news?”
“If you wanted to pay off those student loans, yeah. Bonding videos are rare , and so are pair-bonded performers.”
“We’ve got porn tenure.”
“ Gods .” Geralt collapses again into his shoulder. “ You. ”
“‘Gods, me.’ Sounds about right.”
About twenty minutes later, Lambert pokes his head in, laughing.
“Did you really hit it and commit it?”
“Get bent, Lambert.”
“Hey, I’m here to see what kind of Gatorade our little brother likes. Be nice to me.”
“He can’t. He’s busy. And blue.” Jaskier’s voice is muffled against a broad shoulder. “Go away before I get something sticky on you.”
“ Ew. ”
Both Geralt and Jaskier yell, “ Aiden! ”
“Please.” Jaskier says, two days later, sprawled across Geralt’s chest with a newly-pierced bonding gland and a knot in his ass. “ Please tell me we get a copy of that video.”
Geralt props himself up against the headboard, pulling Jaskier with him and stretching over the edge to retrieve another bottle of sweet, sweet electrolytes. “If you want it.”
Jaskier moves obediently, letting his mate ply him with bits of fruit and Cool Blue.
“You know,” He says, “I should probably tell you my name.”
The end of the video, thrown up on the laptop screen:
Geralt stares down at his soulmate , absolutely captivated, sweet Omega sighing and sated in his arms.
The Alpha looks up at the camera, at the man behind it.
“He’s perfect. ”
“He is. You found him, huh?”
“Mmmmm.” Geralt reaches down to brush sweat-slicked hair from his partner’s forehead. Jaskier leans unconsciously into the contact, eager for any of his Alpha’s touch.
Behind the camera, Eskel purrs: “Welcome home, little brother.”
Jaskier wakes up after the final wave sore and sated and thanking an entire pantheon of gods for his luck.
And then realizes he’s missed sixteen calls and forty-two texts from Essi.
He buries his face in Geralt’s beautiful bosom. “ Whoops .”