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Slipping off what little clothing the bard wears to sleep takes little time and required no patience—his elaborate and many-layered clothing were exchanged for a light sleep shirt and cotton shorts when he bothered to wear anything at all during the summer nights. They had agreed on a single room at the inn.
Jaskier had shifted in his sleep when Geralt was pulling down his shorts, but eased back into a deeper sleep with a few light touches. He’s gentle sliding the shirt up, guiding his bards hands up and stroking just so, following him into a stretch—
The shirt is off, in a bundle at the head of the bed, and Jaskier laid out beautiful and naked when he yawns, eyelids fluttering open.
Those lovely blue eyes only settle on Geralt for a moment before his fingers are glowing, Axii settling in the few seconds it takes for Jaskier to blink, frown, and…
“G’ralt? Are y…”
The look of sleepy puzzlement fades from his face, mouth opening in a small gasp as Geralts intentions flow through the spell.
Geralt settles himself between his thighs, runs callused fingers across the insides of his thighs and watching with interest as that lovely cock plumps, curving up against the dark treasure trail below his belly button. Hums, pleased, when those milky thighs flex, feels it when ankles cross behind him, Jaskier arching with a pretty gasp.
Likes it when the bard squirms oh so prettily when he trails his fingers to the crease of his thighs, then down. Likes the way those blue eyes gaze hazy and heated while he strokes that little pucker.
Geralt gets the oil from where he’d set it on the bedspread, popping the cork on the vial and slicking his fingers.
“Jaskier,” he keeps his voice low, hardly a rumble in the darkness, keeps his tone even. “You’re so relaxed for me, aren’t you my sweet thing? Not one tension in your body.”
“Mm… mhmm…” Jaskier’s head drooped back, eyes going lidded even while they stayed focused on the witcher, eyes dilating when slick fingers rubbed against him.
“Completely and utterly relaxed,” Geralt repeated, slipping one thick finger inside, “not one muscle tense,” another finger, “not one worry in your mind. You’re going to take a deep breath in…”
Jaskier did, cock twitching while Geralts fingers twist inside, pumping.
“…and out.” Geralt scissored his fingers, watching the twitching in his thighs as his body fought to stay relaxed. Geralt stroked his free hand down his side, gentling him, thumbing over his nipple. “Never felt so relaxed and empty in your life.”
Geralt rubbed inside, stretching, before flexing the hand inside his bard and recasting the spell, watching those hazy eyes abruptly widen, focus, before the bard arches his neck back, eyes drifting closed while Geralt slips another finger inside. He has to grip his hip to hold him steady to his thrusts, leaning over that lean, writhing body to lap at the dampness that pretty cock is leaving on his stomach, mouth migrating further up to pay attention to those stiff pink nipples. “You’re so relaxed, Jaskier,” he rasped, lipping at the soft hair on his chest, leaning into the feeling of Jaskiers hands coming up to weakly cup the back of his head.
“S’relaxed…” Jaskier sighed, arching his neck when Geralt kissed up to that lovely hollow in his throat, hungry for a taste, fingers flexing in his hair in the lightest of scratches.
“You feel so empty, Jaskier, so empty and relaxed.”
“Geralt, ah… Geralt, I’m…”
Jaskier turning to him isn’t coordinated, nuzzling into him and gasping into his ear, arms and legs fighting against that state of relaxed in an attempt to pull him closer. When his bard arches against him and rubs his prick against his stomach, rubbing slick against his abs, Geralt presses one last kiss to the hinge of Jaskiers jaw and leans back, breaking free from the loose grip easily.
Pulls his fingers free, watches his bard flush and gasp, catching his hands when they drift down to clutch where he’s hard and drooling. Shifts to grip them both in one hand, positioning himself with the other. “You can’t touch there, bard. You know you can’t touch your cock.”
“Can’t,” Jaskier pants, then again, plaintive. “Can’t?”
Geralt pressed those hands back up, pinning them down against the bards chest, letting his eyes drift back down to where he’s rubbing his cock against Jaskiers pucker. “You can’t touch your cock, you’re too relaxed,” Geralt watches where he’s wet and open flex against his cockhead, “and it’s my turn to look after you.”
Jaskier moans when Geralt presses just inside, only just rubbing until his stretched rim is teasing around his crown—
“Yours,” Jaskier gasps, and, “y’look after me, Geralt, you, ah!”
He rocks forward, keeping Jaskiers hands pinned, eyes watching his bard arch and fight weakly against his grip. Pulls out to the tip, slowly, before changing focus to watch where Jaskier is stretching for him. “That’s right,” he says, and carefully lets go of his hands, gripping his hips instead. “You can’t touch your cock, but you can come whenever you’d like. Doesn’t that sound good, my sweet thing?”
Jaskiers response is punched out of him, Geralt snapping his hips forward in quick, hard thrusts, feeling how his bards thighs grip his sides, watching pre spurt from his cock—
When his bard moves from clutching the sheets to pinching and rubbing at his chest, arching his back and coming all over himself, Geralt grinds forward as deep as he can and rocks there while he comes, releasing deep inside.
Jaskier’s face is turned into the pillow, panting, eyes closed for the moment.
Geralt shifts his grip, staying inside but hooking one arm under Jaskier’s thigh and hunching over to lap up the bards spend. This pushed a groan out of him, Geralt stretching the bards thighs further—Geralt rumbling when it made silky walls ripple around his spent cock. Made him grin and bite at one rosy, abused nipple when Jaskier squirmed underneath him, still speared by his rapidly hardening cock.
“Ah! You—Geralt—”
“You can come for me again, can’t you?”
“Geralt, I really—”
The Witcher grinned and leaned back, hand already formed to the appropriate signs, glowing with magic. “You can come again.”
“Ah!”
Geralt hooked his leg over his shoulder, grinding into him steadily until they were both stiff, and rocking at a steady pace.
One orgasm down, he didn’t feel the need to rush.
“You’re going to come for me again, aren’t you? You feel so good, don’t you?”
“Good, ah,” Jaskier nodded, arms reaching for him—Geralt leaned in, swallowing the bards whine at the stretch in his legs with a sweet, sweet kiss, trailing his lips across his jaw.
“You feel so full, don’t you?”
“Mhm, fff—”
“It’s going to feel good, won’t it, when you come on my cock?”
“S’good, Geralt, so good, ah!”
He can feel where Jaskiers cock is hot and hard rubbing against him, rocks harder into him when he feels him scratch his back, now much less relaxed.
Bared his teeth in a grin, sucks a mark into that pretty, pretty neck.
Jaskiers thighs are trembling in a familiar way, breath hitching, tellingly—
When he comes it’s with a sound like he’s been wounded, legs going tight, his insides rippling around Geralts shaft in such a way that sends him right over the edge, leaves Jaskier’s insides sopping with come. Leaves the both of them groaning as Geralt does, eventually, pull out and roll to the side to not crush the bard.
Geralt relaxes in the afterglow, smiling when he hears the others breathing even out, no longer panting. Shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. Sighs at the dopey look on his bards face.
“So, bard. Happy?”
Jaskier groaned but wiggled closer, sighing happily.
“Oh, immeasurably. I have the very best ideas.”