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driven on by the flesh

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Geralt couldn’t say why he didn’t have the curse lifted.

It was simple enough – or, at least, as simple as curses went. In reality it was a long, complicated process requiring many things and an ample amount of time and usually some magic. But , compared to the risks associated with curing, say, a striga, the cure for a cursed werewolf was exceedingly easy to manage. Of course, he could just about manage to do it himself, minus some minor preparations that might need to be done by someone else.

He found himself reluctant to try.

At first, it was because he’d had too many other things to deal with – he’d been cursed while in the middle of a massive hunt, taking down several ghoul nests near a new settlement. He suspected that it was from a particular trap set on part of the cemetery, something about a family curse. It wasn’t terribly important what the specifics were.

The first change was about a month and a half after that. It had been – well. Odd, and a bit painful, but it had nothing on the Trials, or half the injuries Geralt had sustained on the Path. He’d found he was only partially wolf-like, and surprisingly lucid through the change and after. It was very lucky, really. The memory and lucidity of changed werewolves varied greatly, but usually skewed toward complete loss of control.

Geralt was in control. Totally and completely, and while there was the urge to hunt, to run and howl, it was…manageable, really. He chased a deer, caught it, ate, and hunkered down in the wilderness; when he woke the next morning, he was a little bit sore, and his senses were slightly too sharp still. Roach was slightly skittish when he found her, but Axii and some extended petting calmed her nervousness, and eventually, she got used to the smell of werewolf like she had the smell of Witcher .

After that first change, he’d just sort of…put it out of his mind, really, busy with contracts and travel and making too little coin. The second change was as simple and easy as the first, though his rather peaceful night was interrupted by a starving fleder. It had been child’s play to kill the monster in his wolf form, even easier than it would have been in his usual form, which was saying something.

So curing it hadn’t really been top on his list of things to do. It wasn’t as if it was interfering with his life, or his duty to the Path; in fact, some hunts were helped by it, being able to change on the full moon to track down monsters, even to kill them like that. And really, he’d been a monster before. Now it was just a little more literal.

Of course, meeting up with Jaskier again was a bit of an issue.

 


   

It was nearing midsummer, the days long and blistering hot this far south, somewhere in the no-man’s-land between Rivia and Toussaint. The full moon was near enough that Geralt was slowing a bit, sticking closer to the wilds than the little villages dotted along the roads, but not close enough he couldn’t go into a town for some supplies.

Which is where he’d found Jaskier, playing for a group of excitable children.

He’d never admit it, of course, but it always warmed him to see Jaskier with children. He was good with them, patient, and they loved him – loved his bright finery and dramatic flair and fun songs. Geralt stayed back to watch for a little bit.

By the time Jaskier noticed him, most of the children were being gathered by their parents and convinced to leave, coins falling at Jaskier’s feet in thanks for keeping track of the little ones. Jaskier grinned at him brightly and swept up his reward before bounding over to where Geralt was leaning in the shade.

“Geralt!” he said. “What brings you here?”

Geralt shrugged. There were no contracts at the moment; his last had been a handful of miles back, a couple of drowners harassing merchants along the Angra river, and nothing else had caught his ear or eye since.

“Just travelling,” he answers.

Jaskier beams and nods. “Of course,” he says. “I must ask if you’d like a companion for the next parts of your journey.”

Geralt almost agrees, easy and familiar, but stops.

He…hasn’t seen Jaskier since the curse. And the full moon is close. Close enough that if Jaskier follows him on the Path now, he’ll notice, or Geralt will have to tell him.

Does he want to tell Jaskier?

Jaskier notices his hesitation, of course. “Geralt?” he asks, sounding a little unsure, and Geralt shakes his head.

“It’s – I would love company, Jaskier,” he says. “But….”

“But what?”

Geralt fidgets a little. “I…some things have changed,” he says, and feels like an idiot immediately when Jaskier’s face falls.

“Yennefer, I assume,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Geralt flinches slightly.

No ,” he replies, emphatically. While he and Yennefer are still involved, more or less, he hasn’t seen her in…nearly a year, now, and even if he had been seeing her regularly, she would never ask him for something as ridiculous as exclusivity. Not when she uses her own sexuality as a weapon regularly. “It’s not – I still, uh,” he swallow, always finding it a little hard to put words to the thing between them, “I’m still interested , Jaskier. There’s…something else that’s changed, is all.”

Jaskier quirks a brow. “Okay,” he says. “What is it, then?”

Geralt scratches at the back of his neck. “I…well.”

If he tells Jaskier, he’ll have to admit why he hasn’t tried to break the curse. And he…well, he knows why he hasn’t. But he’s not sure if he can admit that out loud, and doubly unsure that he could admit it to Jaskier.

But Jaskier looks so put out, even under his curiosity, and Geralt doesn’t like upsetting him.

“We should go somewhere more private,” he says, looking around the little town. It’s late enough there’s not a ton of people around, but these things are sensitive, and he knows how prone to eavesdropping humans are.

“Alright. I’ve got a room at the inn?” Jaskier phrases it as a question, making sure that’s private enough, and Geralt nods.

“That’s fine,” he agrees, and whistles for Roach. Once she’s trotted up from wherever she was wandering, he lets Jaskier lead them first to the stable, and then the inn.

Jaskier has apparently been here for at least a day already, knowing the names of some of the people they pass on their way. Geralt remains just slightly behind him, trying not to look like a hulking shadow , as Jaskier would say it. It’s not a long walk, and Jaskier greets some more people as they traverse the first floor before they make their way up to his room. Geralt remains quiet, trying his best to keep his expression neutral, to not frighten anyone. Either he succeeds, or people are just so charmed by Jaskier they don’t notice him at all.

“Here I am,” Jaskier says as he unlocks the door and gestures Geralt in. The door doesn’t make a sound except the small click of the latch and lock as it’s closed again, and Geralt lets go of the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

Jaskier smiles. “I know you need to tell me something,” he says. “But, first.”

He steps up, just slightly on his toes – mostly just to be cheeky – and kisses Geralt. Geralt snakes an arm around his waist to hold him close, melting into the familiar kiss as Jaskier’s hand tangles in his hair. It’s simple and mostly chaste, but nonetheless Geralt feels his blood rising.

“Missed you,” Jaskier murmurs against his lips.

Geralt grunts. “Yeah,” he agrees, not quite able to speak the words, but Jaskier knows.

They share another soft kiss before Jaskier steps back a little. Geralt lets him go, but leaves his hand on Jaskier’s waist, needing the point of contact.

“So, what is this something new you were talking about?” Jaskier asks. He looks completely relaxed, no worries or expectations, and Geralt swallows down an odd pang of guilt.

“It’s…uh,” he stammers for a moment, “…I don’t want you to…to think differently of me.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows. “I watched you rip out a bandit’s throat with your teeth once,” he says, and Geralt doesn’t miss the flash of heat in his eyes when he says it. “I highly doubt there’s anything that you could tell me to put me off at this point, love.”

Geralt feels heat pooling in his belly, and his grip on Jaskier’s waist tightens. “True,” he agrees softly. “Well then. A few months ago, I was cursed.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raise again, but he doesn’t react with alarm, seemingly taking Geralt’s lead on that. “Cursed?” he asks, and he sounds calm, but Geralt can hear the minor tremor in his voice.

He pulls the bard closer and nods, kissing his temple. “Lycanthropy,” he says. “It’s – I’m not…. I have control, when I change. And it hasn’t been terrible, not very painful. It’s made a few hunts easier, too.”

Jaskier hums, and Geralt pulls him even closer, wrapping his arm around the bard’s waist again. Jaskier puts his arms around Geralt’s neck as if it’s second nature. It practically is, really.

“Well,” Jaskier says, and now there’s an edge to his voice, one Geralt recognizes. The heat in his belly intensifies. “The full moon is soon.”

“It is.”

Jaskier turns his head and mouths at Geralt’s jaw. “You said you had control, right?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” Jaskier shimmies a little, slotting their hips together tightly and wrapping his arms a little tighter around Geralt’s neck. “That’s something to consider, then.”

“Something to consider?” Geralt asks, tilting his head to allow Jaskier more access to his throat.

Jaskier chuckles, and the vibration of it makes Geralt shiver. “Just something to consider, that’s all.” He sets to sucking a mark over Geralt’s pulse, the heat of his mouth making Geralt shiver again.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, allowing himself to be distracted as Jaskier tugs gently at his hair to move his head, trailing wet kisses along the base of his throat and up to the opposite ear. “ Jaskier .”

Jaskier chuckles again and bites, not terribly gently, at the corner of Geralt’s jaw.

Fuck ,” Geralt repeats. “Need – fuck .” He sets to removing Jaskier’s clothes. Jaskier does the same, pausing a handful of times to nip more at Geralt’s neck and jaw. Geralt returns the nips, grip on Jaskier’s ass turning to bruising when the bard rolls his hips forward.

It takes some scrambling and creativity, but they manage to get down to smallclothes without separating. Jaskier tugs Geralt’s hair free of its tie before shoving him backward. Geralt could hold firm, but decides not to, stumbling back until his knees hit the bed and then sitting.

Jaskier shoves his smallclothes off and then stalks forward; Geralt leans back on his elbows to watch him, taking in the sight. The bard is as gorgeous as always, lightly tanned skin, chest covered in thick, dark hair that arrows down to his red cock, already leaking. His eyes are Geralt’s favorite part though, pupils blown wide and blue gone dark with arousal.

He stops just before Geralt and tugs insistently at his smallclothes. Geralt lifts his hips so Jaskier can pull them down and toss them away, and then he has a lapful of gloriously naked bard.

Gods ,” Jaskier pants, settling so their cocks are pressed together and then rolling his hips languidly. “I’d almost forgotten how good you feel against me.”

Geralt whines through his teeth and leans up to mark Jaskier’s throat, growling at the way Jaskier laughs and tosses his head back.

“Feel so good, Geralt,” he murmurs. “Yeah, fuck, just like that. Gonna make sure everyone knows who I belong to, aren’t you?”

In response, Geralt just sucks harder at his skin, tasting the blood rising to the surface. Jaskier laughs again, more breathless this time, and threads his fingers through Geralt’s hair.

“Mmm,” he hums, considering, still rolling his hips, “I supposed I really can call you wolf now, can’t I?”

Geralt moans, getting a hand around Jaskier’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. He collapses backward, taking the bard with him, so he’s laid flat with his knees bent over the bed and Jaskier is almost in the perfect position to ride him.

This kiss is deep and filthy, the wet sounds of their mouths nearly drowning out everything else. Geralt whimpers into it, trying to tug Jaskier impossibly closer, and Jaskier grins against his lips.

“You’re just as impatient as me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, following it with sucking on Geralt’s already-swollen bottom lip. “Gods, Geralt, look at you. The White Wolf, so pretty all laid out for me.”

Jaskier ,” Geralt pants, and Jaskier chuckles.

“Need oil, love,” he says, and Geralt groans, but lets him go.

He’s not gone for long, just grabbing his favorite oil before he’s climbing back onto Geralt’s lap, leaning down to kiss him. Geralt hums and stretches up to prolong it, sucking on Jaskier’s tongue and reveling in the weak moan it knocks out of the bard.

“Too fucking good at that,” Jaskier mutters when he finally pulls back. “ Distracting .”

Geralt just grins, and Jaskier swats playfully at his chest before shifting to the side, off of Geralt’s lap. “Up,” he says, gesturing to the head of the bed. Geralt moves obediently, until he’s laid out the right way on the bed, head and shoulders propped up by pillows. Jaskier crawls back over him then, uncorking the oil and spilling some over his fingers. Geralt takes the vial and corks it again for him, tossing it gently to the side to be grabbed later.

Jaskier just hums his thanks and reaches behind himself, eyes fluttering at the first touch. Geralt swallows the saliva that pools in his mouth, hardly blinking.

This is one of his favorite parts. Of course, he also loves opening Jaskier up himself, but there’s something about Jaskier putting on a show, letting Geralt watch , that ratchets the heat in his blood up exponentially. He’s familiar with Jaskier’s tells at this point, too, knows that the little furrow between his brow means he’s concentrating on finding the right angle. Knows that the little gasp he gives when that furrow smooths out means he’s got one finger in, knows that when his nose wrinkles slightly that it stings but not in a bad way.

Geralt smooths his palms up Jaskier’s thighs, eyes flickering down for a moment to watch Jaskier’s cock twitch and bob. There’s a slow drip of precome sliding down the head and along the shaft, and Geralt’s mouth waters again. But Jaskier is impatient , so he’ll probably have to wait.

Fine by him, at least right now.

Jaskier works quickly to open himself up, moans soft and strained and needy as he works his fingers, chest and shoulder flexing with the movement. Geralt busies himself with teasing touches, fondling Jaskier’s balls and tracing around his nipples just to see the way he jumps.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jaskier’s eyes are even darker when he opens them to look down at Geralt again. “I’m – gods, I’m ready, please.”

Geralt grabs for the oil again, spilling maybe too much over his palm and quickly slicking his cock. The touch sends lightning up his spine and he groans, reaching down to tug harshly at his balls. Jaskier makes a breathless sound and then knocks Geralt’s hand away, replacing it with his own as he lines up.

Still wet with oil, Geralt’s palm slides teasingly over the head of Jaskier’s cock, making the bard whimper and jerk.

“Fucking – hell , Geralt,” Jaskier complains, but then he finds the right angle and Geralt sinks in. Just the head, for now, but it has been months, and Geralt’s not exactly small . Jaskier is panting, eyes rolling wildly as he clenches around the head for a moment. Geralt bites back a wild sound and forces himself to hold still, to keep his legs flat on the bed instead of bending up and finding the leverage to thrust.

Slowly, so slowly, Jaskier works himself down, whimpering and whining and gasping the whole time while Geralt fights for control. The bard is so pretty like this, flushed red from his forehead to his cock, sweat beading on his lip and shoulders. His cock drools messily all over his own belly and Geralt’s, visibly throbbing and turning a ruddy red-purple color. Geralt’s fingers leave marks where he’s gripping Jaskier’s thighs, watching avidly where they’re joined.

A small eternity later, Jaskier is fully seated, making high-pitched, breathy sounds as he rocks slowly back and forth, clenching and relaxing in turns. Geralt grits his teeth and reaches up to fondle his balls again, then wraps a loose fist around his cock and strokes. Jaskier whines and jerks, thighs squeezing around Geralt’s hips.

Geralt ,” he huffs, eyes half-lidded. He looks drunk, and Geralt can’t smell anything except his precome and the spicy scent of lust rolling off him in waves. “Fuck, Geralt, yes .”

Slowly, though a little faster than he’d started, Jaskier moves. Just rocking at first, and then lifting, powerful thighs flexing and working as he moves. Geralt keeps one hand wrapped around his cock, and trails the other along Jaskier’s body, flicking at sensitive spots and tugging at the pelt that covers him.

Finally, when Jaskier is moving for real, bouncing up and down on Geralt’s cock and making the most alluring sounds, Geralt lets some of his control slip. Bringing his legs up against Jaskier changes the angle, makes both of them moan. The first thrust Geralt gives makes Jaskier keen , thighs starting to tremble and cock throbbing in Geralt’s fist.

“Look at you, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles. “So fucking pretty impaled on my cock.”

Jaskier gasps and throws his head back, hips jerking erratically for a second before he settles back down into the rhythm Geralt is setting, quick, hard thrusts up each time Jaskier comes down and light strokes over his cock. “Fuck, fuck, Geralt ,” he whimpers, thighs still shaking. “So – too good, too good , close .”

Geralt tightens his grip and thrusts harder, baring his teeth in a growl when Jaskier whimpers. “Come on,” he encourages, still mostly growl, “make a mess of me, Jaskier. Mark me yours.”

Jaskier jerks, clenching down so hard it nearly hurts, and lets out a slurred half-scream of Geralt’s name. It only takes two more thrusts before he’s spilling all over Geralt’s stomach, slicking his hand even further as he works the bard through it. Geralt tumbles after him a handful of moments later, snarling out a low sound and bruising Jaskier’s hips where he grabs them to keep the bard close.

Fuck, ” Jaskier pants, thighs trembling as he lifts just enough to let Geralt’s softening cock slide out of him and then collapsing forward onto Geralt’s chest. He rubs his face shamelessly over Geralt’s chest, mouthing lazily at his pecs.

Geralt snorts and wraps his arms around him, turning so they’re on their sides, Jaskier’s legs still wrapped around his hips. It won’t be comfortable, soon, and they’ll need to at least wipe themselves down before they sleep, but for now Geralt is content. With the way Jaskier is humming sleepily and nuzzling into Geralt’s throat, it seems he’s pretty content too.

 


 

Three days and one more village over, for the sake of Geralt’s own paranoia, he leaves Jaskier in an inn to go to the forest. It’s midafternoon, and he plans to walk until dusk, which should hopefully get him far enough from the village that he won’t be spotted.

He lets himself enjoy the scenery as he walks, taking note of the wildflowers and other wild plants with both practical interest as well as just basic pleasure of the wealth of the land. It’s not often he gets to just look around like this, usually on high alert for monsters or other threats. Trying to keep track of Jaskier, too.

But he’s already checked these woods for signs of monsters and found none. If anything shows up, it’ll be long after he’s transformed, too, and should be easy to take care of. Jaskier is safe, back at the inn, and he doesn’t have any real concerns. Just getting to somewhere secluded so he can settle down and transform for the night.

He takes a little longer than anticipated to find a good clearing, but it’s only barely past dusk. He undresses quickly. No reason to damage his clothes or armor – he’ll need them to walk back, after all. By now, he’s settled into a routine for changing, when he’s using the change for a hunt and when he isn’t. There’s no hunt here, so he leaves his things draped over a mid-height branch on a nearby tree, and kneels in the clearing. Changing, transforming, takes barely ten minutes, and by now the pain has become background noise to him.

It starts with his hands, an odd rippling sensation from his fingertips to his arms, sharp and stinging. His fingers elongate and claws sprout from the tips in place of his nails; fur appears up his arms in waves. After that, it’s all basically simultaneous, legs and trunk and face, fur growing unnaturally fast and bones reshaping, until it’s over.

Like this, he’s nearly a foot taller than normal, legs shaped more like a wolf’s and body hunched slightly. The fur us just as white as his hair when he’s human, patchy over his body and thick around his head and ears. His nose and mouth are elongated into a snout, but only just, and his ears are slightly more pointed.

He does not have a tail, and he’s rather glad of that.

His thoughts are as clear now as they are when he’s human, but they’re – slower, almost. Like it’s harder for him to think as a human in this form, which makes a certain kind of sense. And thoughts are less like words and more images and smells and instincts, all overlaid in a way that he recognizes, but just slightly off from what he’s used to. Smells are stronger, and it’s easier for him to pick out the differences, which is a feat he’d never considered possible. Sounds are the same.

Which is why it’s easy, once he’s turned, to hear and smell Jaskier in the woods.

Jaskier shouldn’t be in the woods.

Geralt can’t really speak like this, his tongue too big and clumsy in his reshaped mouth. He can make…vaguely word-like noises, sort of, but it’s…not much. So there’s no way for him to call out Jaskier’s name, to let his mate know where he is.

Wait a moment.

Mate?

That’s…new.

Geralt shoves the thought aside and tries to figure out how to lead Jaskier to him. He hadn’t wanted Jaskier out here, of course, and he’ll be angry about this later, but Jaskier is better off near him than lost by himself. Even if the woods are quiet and without monsters, there is still the threat of things like bears and poison plants.

The idea comes to him when he hears Jaskier humming softly. He’s not terribly far away, now, but still a decent way away, and he’s going in the wrong direction.

He can’t speak, not really, but he can howl. And he can howl in pitch with Jaskier’s song.

It takes a moment, but he’s able to pin which song Jaskier is humming. He tests out the notes in a small sound, almost a coo – which is wildly embarrassing – and is able to replicate it well enough he thinks Jaskier will catch the pattern.

His howling startles a handful of sleeping birds from their trees, but he ignores that. Instead, he listens for Jaskier; the humming has stopped, and the rustling of his movement, but he can still faintly hear his breathing. He has to howl the sequence of notes a few times before it seems to catch.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts, startling some more birds, and then he’s running. Geralt keeps up the howling until Jaskier is near enough to see the clearing through the trees, and then drops to a crouch so he’s not looming.

Jaskier bursts into the clearing, looking – and smelling – exhilarated. Geralt makes a low sound, not quite a growl, meant to be an acknowledgement more than anything else.

And then he smells the arousal, a sharp spike of spice in the air, and it turns into a real, proper growl.

He tries to say Jaskier’s name, and it comes out sounding more like, “aaathee,” tongue lolling out of his mouth. Jaskier seems to recognize what he’s trying to do, though, and he beams. A thought seeps in unbidden, mate happy, and Geralt would frown if he had a human mouth.

“Hello Geralt,” Jaskier says, taking a few steps closer. Geralt doesn’t move toward him or away, just tilts his head to see Jaskier better in the bright moonlight. The bard is very pretty right now, Geralt will admit – at least in his own head. (He would admit it out loud, too, but he can’t right now. Unfortunately.) Even crouched, Geralt isn’t much shorter than Jaskier is standing at full height. His head reaches almost to Jaskier’s shoulders, just because of the way his legs are shaped right now – crouching is maybe not the correct term, but it’s the best he has.

Geralt rumbles an acknowledging sound, and when he breathes in, he can’t smell anything except Jaskier. Buttercups and lemon and spicy lavender, overlaid with the spice and heat of arousal, the bright edge of excitement. He growls again, a pleased sound but involuntary, and automatically leans closer.

Jaskier makes a surprised sound, but it’s gleeful. “Oh,” he says. “I – Geralt, can I?” His hand is hovering over Geralt’s ear, just close enough that Geralt can feel the heat from his skin.

He makes a sound that almost sounds like yes, if the word had the letter ‘r’ and a click of teeth in it. Jaskier seems to catch his meaning, though, and his hand rests on Geralt’s head for a moment before he’s petting.

It feels…wonderful, actually. Geralt finds himself making a constant sort of rumbling sound, like a purr but not, and leans into the touch. Jaskier chuckles and adds a little scratching motion around Geralt’s ears.

For a moment, that’s all there is. Geralt and Jaskier standing in a clearing, Geralt’s mind slipping away just a little, going slightly deeper into wolf and away from man as Jaskier pets him.

“You don’t look like the werewolves I’ve seen,” Jaskier murmurs eventually. “You look more like a man. Maybe that’s why you have so much control, hm?”

Geralt makes a sound in his throat, one that doesn’t really mean anything, and pushes firmly into Jaskier’s hand and chest. Jaskier laughs again and the petting resumes; the words do, too, which is just fine by Geralt.

“I’d wondered,” Jaskier says. “That’s why I followed you, you know, because I wanted to see whether you were the same or different to the other werewolves I’ve seen in our travels.”

That’s…a lie. Geralt finds himself a little confused, not quite sure how to place his emotions or what words are for a drawn out moment. And then it snaps back in, and he growls softly, butting his head into Jaskier’s chest again. Jaskier makes a questioning noise, and Geralt tries to say lie .

It’s a piss poor imitation, but Jaskier seems to understand once more. He colors and looks away for a moment.

“Okay, yeah,” he says. “I – it wasn’t just curiosity about how you compared to other werewolves that made me follow you.”

Geralt settles back so there’s space between them again, though Jaskier’s hand stays on his head. He makes a soft, questioning noise – slightly too close to that coo from earlier for comfort, and Jaskier’s cheeks get even pinker.

Geralt, ” he sighs, and he sounds embarrassed too. Geralt would be grinning if he could. “Don’t make me spell it out. Certainly you can guess why I followed you, with that big Witcher brain of yours.”

There’s a jab in there, somewhere, but Geralt doesn’t bother to puzzle out how. He tilts his head and makes that same questioning noise again.

Once more, Jaskier’s blush deepens, but alongside it the scent of his arousal spikes once more. Geralt rumbles, and it happens again. There’s something there, he knows, but his human thoughts are more distant than usual. He’s still in control, but it’s as if his brain is becoming more wolf right now. Slower, and less distinct.

Mate.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs again. “I thought…. Ugh, certainly you can guess!”

Geralt makes the questioning noise, but at the same time he breathes in deep. Buttercups-lemon-lavender, spice-heat. Bright. He wants to taste it, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth again, and he’s nearly caught Jaskier’s wrist with it –

Oh. That’s what Jaskier followed him into the woods for.

He tries to say Jaskier’s name again, to the same amount of success as before.

“What?” Jaskier asks, as if he’d heard Geralt’s poor attempt at sounding stern. “You know what I’m like.”

Geralt repeats the not-Jaskier’s-name sound, and Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“I’m already here,” Jaskier says, shrugging, and starts taking his clothes off.

Geralt growls. This is dangerous, and from the way Jaskier rolls his eyes at the growl, he knows what Geralt is thinking.

His mate is such an idiot – he stops.

Mate.

What is it with that word?

“Geralt, darling.”

Geralt blinks and finds that Jaskier is naked, and suddenly all thought derails.

Mate. Mate mate mate mate –

Whoa! ” Jaskier shouts when Geralt tackles him to the ground, but laughs when he lands.

“I knew you’d see my side, you always do, but – ”

Geralt growls again, softer this time, and licks across Jaskier’s throat. He can feel the bard’s pulse, taste the arousal in his sweat, and it makes him growl even more. Mate. He licks down Jaskier’s body, rumbling at the excited noise Jaskier makes and the spike in arousal.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier pants, hips shifting up, toward Geralt’s body. “Fuck, you feel – oh, gods.

He reaches Jaskier’s cock and wraps his tongue around it, careful of his teeth, and Jaskier whimpers, hips jerking. Geralt feels his lips pull back in a mockery of a smile. He licks at Jaskier’s cock for a while, reveling in the feeling of Jaskier’s legs shaking around him. He smells divine here, his scent the strongest just under his balls, and he tastes even better.

“Oh, fuck – gods, Geralt, you’re – fuck, fuck! ” Jaskier’s words dissolve into a shapeless screech when Geralt licks over his hole. His open hole, rim swollen and winking. “ Geralt .”

He pushes his tongue inside, feeling how open Jaskier is, tasting the sharp flavor of the oil he used to slick the way. He can’t resist going as deep as he can, until his teeth are more than a threat, but Jaskier is squirming on his tongue and begging for more.

“Please – oh, fuck, gods you feel so good, Geralt, more, please, please darling, fuck – ”

Mate. He’s mine.

Geralt snarls and starts moving his tongue, in and out until the oil is gone, just his saliva and the taste of Jaskier on his tongue. By the time he’s finished, Jaskier is whimpering, crying. Geralt sits up and licks his face clean, too, and Jaskier laughs.

“Gods, Witcher, you big fucking oaf, fuck me.

Geralt rumbles, tries to say turn over. It comes out more like, “tuuurrgher.”

Jaskier seems to be able to understand him again, though, because he scrambles over, lifting onto his knees. Geralt growls, low and long, when the slick crack of Jaskier’s ass brushes his erection, and Jaskier giggles.

“C’mon, wolf,” Jaskier teases. “All yours to mount.” He wiggles his ass in the air, and Geralt huffs.

He arches over Jaskier’s back, his height in this form making it easy to cage Jaskier in, to cover his whole body.

Jaskier seems to realize the same thing. “ Oh, fuck, please fuck me, Geralt.”

Geralt shifts his hips, pushes his cock along Jaskier’s crack, growls when Jaskier whines and tips his hips up.

It takes a few more pushes, a little more shifting, but the head of Geralt’s cock catches on his hole and pushes in with a wet pop.

“Melitele’s fucking tits, Geralt,” Jaskier whines. Geralt forces himself to still against every instinct in him screaming to keep going, fuck, breed, mate. Oh, fucking gods, you’re big.

Geralt wants to ask but can’t, so instead he licks across Jaskier’s throat, over his shoulders. Jaskier clenches down on the head of him and he growls and scrapes the very edge of his fangs across Jaskier’s nape.

Jaskier shudders and clenches again. “Fuck, you’re big all the time, Geralt, darling, love, fuck but this is – oh, fuck. More, please.

It takes a moment for Geralt to find the control, but slowly, slowly, he starts to rock his hips. It’s barely even an eighth of the force he wants to use, but he forces himself to ignore the pounding in his blood, to move gently. Jaskier whines and whimpers and pounds his hand against the ground, but keeps whispering, “More, more, fuck, please,” with each little shift forward.

Geralt growls the whole time, low and quiet. He can’t stop, pleasure racing up and down his spine with each push, each new little sound Jaskier makes. It takes a small eternity, but eventually he’s sunk nearly to the hilt. Nearly to his knot, which he hadn’t noticed he had until just now.

“Melitele’s sweet perfumed thighs, Geralt, ” Jaskier pants, and he shifts his hips back, forward, then back again just a little. It’s a tiny movement, miniscule, but it feels like a fucking revelation. Geralt lets out what amounts to a very quiet howl, and Jaskier laughs, breathless. “Gods, Geralt, you’re – fucking massive , splitting me in half.”

Something about that makes Geralt’s cock throb, makes him snarl, and Jaskier laughs again.

“Oh, you like that.” Jaskier clenches, intentionally judging by the smirk he throws over his shoulder. “Fuck, I like it too. C’mon, wolf. Fuck me, know you want to. Breed me like a bitch in heat.”

Geralt wants to stop, wants to check somehow, but it’s like Jaskier’s words flip a switch in his brain, and he’s not quite Geralt anymore.

Mate. Breed.

Jaskier screams at the first thrust, screams again with the second, but Geralt can smell his precome, can feel the way Jaskier juts his hips up and back, making the angle easier. Geralt growls and sets his fangs against Jaskier’s throat, a silent order to stay still , and Jaskier obeys with a weak, shuddery sound.

“Fuck, can feel you – so fucking deep – Geralt, gods, fuck – you’re – going – to – fuck!

He can feel it and smell it when Jaskier comes on his cock, the sharp-bitter salt scent and they way Jaskier’s entire body goes limp except his ass, clenching down so hard on Geralt’s cock it hurts. Geralt snarls and digs his teeth in, just a little, and Jaskier jolts with a soft whine.

“Oh, gods, oh fuck, you’re not going to stop,” Jaskier slurs. “ Fuck, Geralt, fuck.

Geralt doesn’t stop. His body won’t let him, hips moving of their own accord as he licks gently over where Jaskier’s skin is swollen and red from his teeth. Jaskier doesn’t fight him, though, just whimpers and takes it, and takes it, until Geralt can feel him start to move in tandem.

“Gonna – gonna make me come again,” he mumbles. “Gonna – fuck –

His knot starts to swell and he shoves forward, shifting them so that Jaskier is face-down in the dirt, arms splayed out, ass high in the air where he’s impaled on Geralt’s cock. Geralt snarls and licks over his throat again, rumbles happily when Jaskier just turns his head and offers more of himself.

“Fuck, Geralt, that’s – oh, gods above, you’re going to – ” Jaskier trails off into a high, almost frightened squeak, but the smell of arousal spikes again, thick enough to taste even when Geralt’s tongue is in his own mouth. He pants against Jaskier’s ear, making all sorts of soft, animal noises, and Jaskier just whimpers his name again and again.

It takes several thrusts, and a change of angle, but Geralt’s knot finally pops inside Jaskier’s body with a slick sound. Jaskier screams again, and comes, entire body seizing before he collapses back to the ground. The movement tugs on Geralt’s knot and he growls, snarls, nips at Jaskier’s throat and then hauls him up.

Jaskier cries out, half-fear and half-pain, and then they settle, Geralt leaning back and Jaskier on his lap, impaled on his cock and slouched back against his chest. “Geralt,” he slurs. “Geralt, fuck, you’re – oh, fuck, look.”

Geralt looks down the slope of Jaskier’s body, past the sweaty, muddy chest hair to his stomach.

His stomach that’s bulging out in the distinct shape of Geralt’s cock.

Jaskier clenches down on his knot and Geralt howls, orgasm hitting him like a lightning strike.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt, I can feel – shit.

Geralt rumbles and pulls Jaskier closer, hips shifting as much as they can with Jaskier caught on his knot. Jaskier whimpers and melts back into him, reaching down to palm at his stomach. And then he presses , right where Geralt’s cockhead is bulging out of his stomach, massages around the shape of him, and Geralt’s teeth sink into his shoulder.

He tastes blood but Jaskier just moans and presses closer, still massaging the shape of Geralt’s cock through his stomach as Geralt fills him with cum.

“Gonna fill me full,” he slurs. “I’ll leak for days .”

Geralt snarls, fangs still deep into Jaskier’s shoulder, and thrusts as much as he can, growling at the way Jaskier’s hole grasps painfully tight around his knot, the sound Jaskier makes when Geralt shoves just a little deeper inside him.

“Fuck, fuck, ” Jaskier pants, squirming. “So…fucking full, gonna ruin me, wolf.”

For a moment, it’s just that; Geralt growling and shifting, Jaskier writhing wildly on his cock. And then Geralt’s knot pops out of Jaskier’s body with a squelch, and on the next thrust back in .

Jaskier wails. Geralt finally pries his teeth from the flesh of his shoulder, licking over the bloodied marks in apology, and does it again. Jaskier’s arm reaches back, finds Geralt’s side and his fingers dig in viciously.

Again, ” he pants.

So Geralt does it again, snarling all the while. In, out, in out, his knot still mostly full as he comes, popping in and out of Jaskier’s body with deep, wet sounds. If Jaskier was writhing before, he’s practically thrashing now, gasping and whimpering and screaming, legs shaking wildly as he keeps that tight grip on Geralt’s side and begs for more, more, more.

“Ruin me, wolf,” he pants, the words broken up when Geralt’s knot slides back into him and he clenches so hard Geralt sees white for a moment. “ Yes, just like that, you’ll leave me so open I’ll gape.

Geralt wants to say Jaskier’s name, wants to tell him filthy things, but he can’t. So he just holds Jaskier tighter and keeps fucking him, in and out and in and out until Jaskier seizes tightly and comes again, violent and beautiful, screaming the whole time.

He tries to pull out, to stop, but Jaskier snarls at that.

“Keep going, ” he orders. Geralt’s knot has gone down but his erection hasn’t, and he huffs, licking over Jaskier’s neck.

The bard is exhausted and weak but wanting, so wanting, Geralt can taste the arousal on him like a sweet wine. He growls and scrapes his teeth over the still-thundering pulse in Jaskier’s throat, and pushes back in.

Jaskier keens and clenches around him. “Want your knot again, wolf,” he says. “Want you to fuck me like the monster you are right now.”

Something about that hits Geralt different. Low and instinctual, like he doesn’t get a choice. Something like a howl but lower and more dangerous breaks from his throat and Jaskier whines at the sound, legs shaking. Geralt snarls and moves them, until Jaskier is on his face and belly in the dirt, hips pulled up with Geralt crouched over him just so.

He pulls his cock out and then hammers back in and this time it really is a howl that comes out of his throat.

It’s nearly drowned out by Jaskier’s screech of, “ Fuck yes, ” though.

After that, Geralt loses sense of what’s really happening, and his instinct takes over. He fucks Jaskier hard and fast, harder and faster than he ever would while human. When his knot starts to swell he doesn’t stop, pushing the girth of it in and pulling it out of Jaskier’s body again and again.

From this angle, he can see the way Jaskier’s reddened, puffy hole stretches around him, and it makes him feel good, almost better than the sloppy wet heat of Jaskier’s ass. He moves impossibly faster, listening to the sound of it, the nasty wet squelch and the way Jaskier shouts with each push in. He keeps doing that until he can’t, until his knot sinks in and is too swollen to pull back out without hurting Jaskier.

Heedless of his claws, he reaches under Jaskier’s body and palms at the growing bulge of his belly, the shape of his cock and flood of come deforming the usually-flat pane of it.

Jaskier slurs some kind of praise into the dirt, and Geralt realizes with a jolt that Jaskier just came. Again.

How many times has he come while Geralt was lost to fucking him?

He slides his hand down, more careful of the sharp edges now, and cups Jaskier’s cock. He’s still half-hard, absolutely soaked with cum, and he whimpers so sweetly when Geralt touches him.

So he doesn’t stop.

His knot pulses inside Jaskier’s body, and he carefully, carefully pulls at Jaskier’s cock, until the bard is wailing and thrashing where he’s totally caught. He can’t escape, pinned under Geralt’s bulk and caught on his knot and Geralt growls, low and pleased.

Jaskier stills when Geralt’s teeth frame his throat, but doesn’t stop making wonderful noise.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he moans, “want, want you, fuck, so full –

Geralt shifts his grip from Jaskier’s cock to his hip, holding him still and pushing, forcing his cock just a tiny bit deeper inside, and Jaskier’s chokes on his own breath, clenching down.

As soon as his knot goes down enough, he fucks Jaskier on it again, reveling in the gasps and whimpers it pulls out of the bard. Eventually, he moves back to slowly stroking his cock, and Jaskier shudders like a sapling caught in a storm.

“Gonna,” he chokes out, breathless, “gonna pass out.”

Geralt makes a low, concerned noise, and Jaskier just laughs, clearly cum-drunk and delirious.

“Keep going, ” he mumbles. “Even when I’m – oh, fuck, just like that – just…fuck me until sunrise, wolf.”

Despite the concern rolling around his gut, Geralt doesn’t stop, keeping the exact angle and grip that had made Jaskier interrupt himself. Jaskier whimpers and jolts and comes, barely and spend left, just a pathetic little dribble against Geralt’s thumb.

“I’m serious,” Jaskier slurs. “Want you – want you to fuck me til you’re satisfied, or til you change back. Whichever comes first.”

Geralt licks at his throat, his jaw. Jaskier turns and catches his tongue with teeth, just a little nip. Geralt snarls. Jaskier laughs.

Fuck me , wolf,” Jaskier says, and his voice is wavering, distant. He really is going to pass out.

Geralt just snarls again, and does as he’s told.

 


 

He loses track of how many times he comes, how many times he knots Jaskier’s limp body. Jaskier is deeply asleep, breathing deep and slow even as he whimpers at the stimulation. His belly is nearly properly round, now, not large but enough to be noticeable, and Geralt keeps touching it, feeling the way it shift under his hand. His hole is red, swollen and hot to the touch, still squeezing tightly around Geralt’s cock, around his knot.

At one point, Geralt shifts them again, pulls them to the side so he can lift Jaskier’s leg and fuck just a little deeper. Jaskier jolts and groans at the feeling but doesn’t wake, cock twitching feebly as he squirms in Geralt’s hold.

He’s so distracted by Jaskier’s body he doesn’t notice the impending dawn until it’s upon them, his body seizing as he starts to change back.

Despite the tenseness to his muscles, it doesn’t hurt at all.

Maybe Jaskier had the right idea, coming out here to fuck him.

He’s still panting when the change leaves him cold and entirely back to himself, but it’s more out of the previous night’s exertion than anything. He rolls back to his side to find that Jaskier is still sleeping soundly, mouth open and drooling.

The bard is absolutely filthy, covered in mud and grass and come, and Geralt groans when his cock twitches against his thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, and pushes onto his knees. Once there, he can see between Jaskier’s legs, and his heart skips a beat and then triples pace. He’s not just covered, he’s soaked, a puddle of cum under his ass and still leaking sluggishly from his gaping hole.

Geralt’s cock twitches again and he growls.

“Fucking hell.