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If there’s one thing Geralt knows for certain about Jaskier, it’s that he likes to be in control in the bedroom.
When they first started this relationship, Geralt had snapped at Jaskier’s endless prattling and pinned the man against a wall and kissed him in an effort to shut him up in the only way he’s never tried before. It had done the trick, yes, but then Jaskier flipped them around and pushed Geralt against the wall and, like it was an art, kissed and touched and talked until Geralt was panting against the bard and practically begging to be fucked. Their first time was against a wall, messy and rushed because anyone could come by and see them at any time, but the witcher found that he didn’t care much, not when Jaskier’s cock was in his ass and his dirty words were in his ear.
He’s not sure where they exactly stand on the emotional side of things, but he knows that’s not a question he’ll ask right now, bound by the wrists and kneeling with his thighs spread, naked as the day he was born while Jaskier stood close by with a robe on. The bed is comfortable, and the rope doesn’t sting too hard against his skin, but his cock is hard and has been hard for the past fifteen minutes because Jaskier just wouldn’t get on with it.
Then Jaskier is getting on with it, wordlessly moving his hand to stroke Geralt, too gentle for any real friction, and before Geralt can complain, Jaskier’s mouth is against his ear. “I was worried, you know,” He whispers, and Geralt has to suppress the shiver that runs down his back. He knows that voice, knows what that voice was used for, what that meant for him. “You got careless out there. I saw, don’t try to deny it,” But Geralt’s not denying anything and just trying to buck up into Jaskier’s too gentle ministrations, only for his thighs to be held down by the pressing weight of Jaskier’s other hand. “What is it you said, about how witchers don’t retire? That they slow,” A flick of his palm against the head and Geralt’s keening. “Then they die?”
“Please,” Geralt whines, and he should be embarrassed at how small his voice is, but all he can focus on is the light flutter of Jaskier’s oiled hand against his cock and he thinks he can’t get harder, but he continues to do so. Every part of him is aching, burning for Jaskier to do more than just touch his cock, to finger him open, touch him elsewhere, to kiss him.
The way Jaskier grins reminds Geralt of the way a predator flashes it’s teeth to prey. In this moment, illuminated by candlelight, his teeth look sharper, icy eyes blazing. “Please, what, Geralt?” He questions, coy and teasing like his palm isn’t pressing into the head of Geralt’s cock, and it’s too much, yet too little. “You have to use your words, my dear.”
“Fuck, you know what I want,” He says, a curl in his stomach that comes too early yet comes too late. He breathes in sharply when Jaskier grasps the base of his cock firmly, and he knows he has to play the game right if he wants to get what he wants. “Please- I-” The grip on his cock is tight and his ears are ringing, “I want you to fuck me, please, Jaskier.”
He doesn’t have time to miss the warmth of Jaskier’s hand on his cock when Jaskier finally, finally gets on the bed with him, robe discarded on the floor and revealing his pretty, pink cock, gorgeously curved upwards and almost touching his stomach. Geralt’s mouth waters at the sight, eyes fluttering as he gets a good view of Jaskier’s cock.
“I’m pleased to know you can ask properly,” Jaskier says, leaning down to kiss the head of Geralt’s cock. Nevermind what he said before, the ropes against his skin burned as he practically rubs his wrists raw from how much he thrusts up at the kiss. “As long as you promise to stop running so recklessly into battle.” He adds, and Geralt is conflicted for a moment.
“I-..” In the back of his mind, he muses how he had never stuttered like that in his life, until he met Jaskier. “I can’t, it’s what I have to do—”
He feels a mouth on his cock, and he’s whimpering at how Jaskier sucks the head. He doesn’t venture lower though, and pops off after. Geralt could die. “I don’t remember it being the witcher’s code to be underprepared for a fight with a monster you easily could’ve prepared for,” And there’s truth in his words, but Geralt really just wants his cock in his ass and he knows that won’t happen until Jaskier stops chiding him. “You could’ve taken, what, ten or fifteen minutes to ready yourself?” He continues, before leaning up to whisper in Geralt’s ear. “What do you have to say about that, witcher?”
Jaskier presses gentle lips against his cheek, and he thinks maybe, just maybe Jaskier will finally let up, until he’s moving down and looking up at Geralt with blown out eyes, taking him in his mouth. The witcher breathes in sharply, bucking up into the hot mouth on his cock almost as soon as it’s on him, a groan resounding from deep inside him. Jaskier takes him all the way, a practiced action that he’s done so many times before, and the high pitched moan punched out of Geralt should’ve embarrassed him more, but the curl at the pit of his stomach is all that he can think about, and he thinks, fuck, fuck, I’m close—
Jaskier stops.
“Jask—” Geralt grinds out, chasing after Jaskier’s mouth, only for his thighs be pushed down by firm, lute calloused fingers.
Jaskier tuts, his face betraying no emotion but for the dilation of his pupils. “I believe I asked you a question, Geralt,” He hums, kissing the areas close to his cock, but not on his cock. Geralt holds onto the last threads of his pride and control, but they’re slowly slipping from his fingers when he keens forward when Jaskier actually lightly kisses the head of his hard cock.
“I couldn’t— hah, fuck — I couldn’t let it go, it would- would’ve flown away,” He says, and he almost wonders why he’s so masochistic to not just fold and bend to Jaskier. The bard looks at him with a glint in his eyes, and his lips press into a firm line.
“Turn over,” He instructs. Geralt surprises himself with how quickly he complies, shuffling so he’s pressing his shoulders and face against the sheets and ass in the air, and if he smiles when he hears Jaskier softly curse behind him, he hides it against the bed. The smile disappears the instant he feels Jaskier sidle up behind him, kneading at his cheeks and licking a stripe from the underside of his balls to the pink circle of his hole, before that tongue sinks into his hole in a lewd muscle of just wet.
It’s not often that he's the one getting his ass tended to by a tongue, but he certainly doesn’t turn it down, pushing against the heat and moaning freely into the sheets, silently thankful they’re in Jaskier’s Novigrad home rather than some inn where anyone could hear them. Behind him, his arms ache as he writhes and shakes at the messy exploration of his hole, descending into a wordless but noisy pile of mush when Jaskier slips a finger alongside his tongue.
The ministrations stop before they can get too far, however, and Geralt doesn’t stop the whine that rises in his throat. He pushes back for more, only to meet the cold air as Jaskier pulls back. “No, please, Jaskier, I’ll be good, please— ” He starts, but stops when Jaskier shushes him gently, the bard pressing a kiss against his ass. It’s gentle enough that it grounds Geralt, reminds him what’s happening, that this isn’t a punishment.
“Are you alright?” His bard asks, hand gently kneading at his ass. Geralt breathes in deeply, nodding as best he can against the mattress, and he hears the uncorking of a bottle, then an oiled finger slipping into his hole. He’s long forgone suppressing his noises, knowing what it does to Jaskier, and groans; a guttural sound, especially when he realises he’s still very hard and very horny.
Jaskier’s relatively silent, thinking, until he sticks another finger alongside the first one. “Oh, bollocks to telling you off.” He mutters, planting kisses on Geralt’s ass as he stretches his hole. For the first time since they started, Geralt feels a flood of relief. A third finger joins the fray, and by then, he thinks he can probably get off on this alone.
“Jask, please,” He outright begs, any form of shame or embarrassment flung out of the window. “I need you, in me— right now.”
There’s a whispered curse behind him, and he knows he wins this time. He hears a bit more sloshing of liquid behind him, then follows the direction of Jaskier’s hands pushing him lower on his knees, until his thighs touch his calves. There’s the loss of fullness when Jaskier retracts his three fingers, a feeling Geralt misses instantly, until it’s replaced by the head of Jaskier’s cock.
He hisses when he sinks into Geralt, a breathless laugh on his lips. “Ah, fuck, you feel so good,” He mutters, pushing in to the hilt. Geralt whines below him, almost completely nonverbal as he loses himself in Jaskier. Staying for a moment for the both of them to adjust, soon Jaskier’s moving, trying to find Geralt’s spot with every thrust. “Always wanted to do this ever since I met you.” He continues, and fuck if that adds more to Geralt’s arousal. The rope is a dull, muted burn against his wrists compared to the drumming of his heart, the fullness in his hole, and the feeling of Jaskier’s hands spreading his ass open.
Geralt’s already unbearably close, and when Jaskier finally finds that spot in him, he’s pushing forward against the mattress, the tip of his cock jolting against the soft sheets. He tries to chase that feeling against his cock again, tries to rock against the sheets, but Jaskier tuts him again, lifting his hips with surprisingly stable hands. “None of that, darling,” He hums smoothly, but Geralt can hear the breathiness in his voice. “If you want to cum, you’re cumming without touching your cock,” Then Jaskier pushes in sharply, hitting Geralt’s bundle of nerves with so much intensity that the witcher chokes out a needy, fucked-out sound. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, yes!” Geralt exclaims, and the words are barely out of his mouth when he cuts himself off with a moan as Jaskier picks up the pace he set before, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin alongside Geralt’s moans and Jaskier’s heavy panting ringing through their ears. Geralt feels that twisting inside him and the wave that threatens to consume him with every punctuating thrust of Jaskier’s hips, cock masterfully hitting his spot every time. “Fuck, fuck, Jaskier, I’m close, I’m—”
Jaskier’s own thrusts become desperate and erratic, and Geralt feels that tightness in his balls and the rushing wave that throws him off. “Yeah? Why don’t you cum for me, then?” Jaskier asks him, and the rasp of his voice is something Geralt knows will ingrain itself into his mind. “You can cum like this, come on,” He coaxes, and the roughness of his words is countered by the gentleness in his tone, and it’s too much for Geralt.
He feels the overwhelming flash of bright in his body, and soon he’s spilling onto the sheets, letting out a choked sob. He spends himself on the sheets, and Jaskier’s pace is brutal . It almost gets too much until he buries himself to the hilt and cums into Geralt’s hole, the sensation making the witcher arch his back and whine.
As a witcher, his stamina is far greater than that of a normal human, but he feels like he’s run multiple marathons, slumping into the bed when Jaskier’s done. The bard catches his breath behind him, before pulling out slowly, a hand rubbing at his ass. The hand removes itself, and soon Geralt feels the rope loosen from his wrists before falling away completely. Geralt thinks he should move more, but he’s quite honestly spent from both fighting a griffin and fighting another cock entirely, so he lets Jaskier tend to and dote on him.
“You did so well, my dear,” He hears Jaskier say from behind him, and follows his tugging on his legs and stretching them out. The circulation returns to his legs as Jaskier gets up from the bed. He’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but they stay closed when Jaskier returns, pressing a wet cloth against his ass to wipe him down. He makes a sound that must sound like discomfort when Jaskier changes the angle of how he’s lying down to press fingers into him and clean him out, because the bard is quick to soothe him with quiet words and kisses against his neck. Everything is too soft and gentle right now, and it honestly scares Geralt, but he says nothing.
“Bath?” Jaskier asks him, even if he already knows the answer, because he’s pulling the sheets beneath him and removing them so they can crawl into something that wasn’t sullied by sweat and cum. Geralt shakes his head, and Jaskier takes this opportunity to turn him around to face him.
Now this was new. When Geralt blinks his eyes open, the question he was going to ask is lost when he stares into ice blue eyes, and before long, he feels those soft lips against his own. Despite himself, despite how much he wants to convince himself that this was just sex and nothing more, he leans into it, and loses himself in the taste of Jaskier.
The kiss is broken by Jaskier, who smiles at him with too much emotion that Geralt feels guilty looking at, but the witcher manages a small smile anyways. Jaskier moves to press a kiss against his sweaty forehead, before pulling him closer to him and intertwining their legs together. He hums a low tune, the night wind through the open window cooling the both of them down, and Geralt realises what he feels in Jaskier’s arms.
He closes his eyes again, drawing closer to Jaskier, and falls asleep to the sound of his humming.