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Jaskier knew he was… different.
From what he was able to gleam from conversations and sneaking looks into Geralt’s bestiary, he was some kind of incubus.
His biology craved sex, which explained a lot about him, but the downside was that he would never be able to go without it, ever. He had no idea how long he could put it off, but he tried not to risk it.
So, suffice it to say, when Geralt told him they were going to be spending the next few weeks tracking a Leshy through the forest, he was apprehensive.
“Say, we won’t be spending every night sleeping on the ground, will we?” He asked, feigning ignorance.
“This thing lives deep in the forest, far from any town. Yes, Bard, we’ll be sleeping on the ground every night.” The look on Geralt’s face would have made him laugh, but not today.
Shit.
He made sure to bed someone every night up until they departed, much to Geralt’s distaste.
From what he understood, he fed on the sexual energy produced, and despite the rumours, he didn’t eat their souls. At least, not from what he could tell.
He was terrified that the Witcher would find out. Sure, he and Geralt were friends, but if he knew that his companion was one of the monsters he was sworn to kill? He tried not to think about it.
The morning of their departure, he found himself babbling out of anxiety, pointing out how nice those flowers over there are, or how stale the bread last night had been, or how the breasts of one of the women he’d bedded the other night were so perfectly round.
Geralt usually put up with his yammering, but he must have been on edge about fighting the Leshy, because he cut him off soon after they left the town.
“You know, there won’t be any hapless women you can persuade into bed out there right?”
Geralt’s question was definitely a jab at him, meant to shut him up or piss him off, but it hit so close to his worries he thought the Witcher had learned to read his mind.
He spluttered, unable to come up with a proper comeback, and Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.
“Shut up.” He snapped, stalking ahead, sour. “You’re not being a very good friend.”
“I never said you had to come,” Geralt growled.
Jaskier scoffed, “Please, someone has to make sure you come back in one piece.”
The Witcher looked as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. Jaskier didn't push it and they walked in silence for the rest of the day.
In the days following, he noticed little difference in his body, only starting to feel… eager, after a week had passed.
It was, however, near the end of week two when it started to become unbearable.
The ache in his chest had started off quieter, but the longer they spent in these woods, tracking this godsdamned beast, the stronger it became. Soon enough, even jerking off couldn’t lessen the pain.
He tried his best to ignore it, but as his biology demanded it, he became more and more easily turned on.
The rough brush of fingers as a bowl of stew was handed to him was like a spark to dry kindling.
A pointed look from Geralt at something he said felt like a jab to his heart.
Foliage brushing against him as he pushed through it, akin to a gentle caress, even began to set him off.
It got to the point that by day fourteen, he was in a constant state of half-hardness. He did everything he could to keep Geralt from noticing, not just out of safety, but embarrassment. His cursed biology was humiliating. The lack of control he had over his situation combined with his heightened sensitivity made him reach a level of frustration that bled through into everything he did.
He couldn’t even play music at the end of the day.
Geralt must have noticed that something was off, but didn’t mention it, which was a small grace that did little to improve his mood.
He had to snap at some point, and in the middle of week three, when Geralt announced that he’d lost the trail again and they’d have to backtrack, he did.
He was sweating, his core hot, the feeling of his clothes rubbing against his skin was maddening, and he was almost shaking with the effort to remain in control of his urges.
“Of course you lost the trail! Again! I’m beginning to think there isn’t anything out here and you’ve just been walking around in circles for fucking weeks to drive me mad!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair, matted down by sweat.
“You’re free to leave any time you want.” Geralt spat, clearly frustrated himself.
“Oh yeah, let me wander off into the woods by myself, that’s a great plan, just like coming out here was in the first place!” He spun around, flinging his arms out wildly, starting to succumb to madness.
“I have a job to do, whether you like it or not. If you’re missing a warm bed and a quick fuck, you should have never come along!”
Geralt was in face now, gripping his shirt, snarling.
“Don’t-” He tried to pull away as his instincts flared at the proximity, but he couldn’t break out of his grip.
“You-” Geralt continued to lay into him, but Jaskier was losing control, whimpering as he clinched his fists. The Witcher pulled back as he managed to plead, “Please- stay away from me, I can’t-”
Geralt's expression changed from anger to confusion, “What?” As his grip loosened, the bard pulled away, stumbling as his legs grew weak.
For once this whole bloody trip, the Witcher looked at him, truly took in what he was seeing. A sweaty, weak, and exhausted bard, who had been complaining about the need for a cool bath for days. The pendant around his neck rattled, signaling that something more was wrong. “What’s happening to you?”
He shook his head, “I can’t- you-” He bit down on his lip as every part of his body screamed, muscles weak and aching, “You’ll kill me-”
Geralt was taken aback, “Why…”
Jaskier dug his hands into his shirt, gasping as it felt like his heart would explode as he fell to his knees.
Something clicked in the Witcher’s mind, “You’re dying-”
“No shit,” He managed, chuckling a bit. He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until he’d tipped over the edge, falling rapidly.
“You knew?” The anger was back, as Geralt rushed to Roach, to the bag that held the medicine. “You stubborn-”
“Don’t bother. Won’t help.” He gasped out. He was resigned now. He was going to die.
Geralt grew frustrated, whipping around to face him, “Tell me what’s going on-” Snapping when the bard shook his head, “I’m not going to kill you, Jaskier! Tell me how to save you!”
His mind already so clouded, his fear becoming overwhelmed by nothingness, he decided there was no risk left. He was going to tell his best friend. His only friend.
“Fuck, I’m-” He gasped, struggling to speak, “An incubus-”
He’d imagined how this would go a thousand times, he’d debated how the Witcher would react, debated whether or not to tell him, and out of all the responses, he could have never expected laughter.
The Witcher was laughing.
Geralt ran a hand down his face, “You… of course you are… why didn’t I see it sooner?”
Jaskier huffed, he was dying and Geralt was laughing at him. “Yeah- I’m a-” He coughed, “Slut, laugh it up-”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You're- a Witcher-” He was running out of breath, and decided to lay down, closing his eyes for a moment. He was so tired.
He vaguely heard Geralt swear, his eyes fluttering open when he was scooped up into strong arms.
“Wha-” He barely managed a word before he was crushed into a kiss, calloused hands cupping his face and tangling in his hair. His nerve endings lit up at the sudden contact, and he whined into the kiss.
The fire inside him burned, tearing him from his drowsiness, his hips humping up into the space between them, desperate for friction. His body screamed for one last chance to live.
He gasped as Geralt pressed his knee into him, giving him something to rut against, and the pressure caused him to jerk uncontrollably. “Ah-” He held onto him, stabilizing himself as best he could, “I need-” He keened as the knee ground into him, “Please, more- I need-”
Geralt ravished his neck with kisses, using one hand to tug on the drawstrings of Jaskier’s trousers, freeing his aching dick.
He was too sensitive, the hand that grasped his length was too much. He’d asked for more, but he couldn’t process it. His mind was already in shambles, he could barely think, much less comprehend the input as his body burned with arousal.
He couldn’t feel the difference between pleasure and pain, it was all blinding and agonizing. The punishment for ignoring his craving for too long. His heart shuddered as the hand began to pump, a rough thumb swiping over the head as it passed. He let out a pained cry, biting back tears.
The Witcher grunted, speaking through gritted teeth, “I know, just- just hold on for me. Please.”
His need was so strong, his hunger so great, that it only took a few pumps of Geralt’s hand to send him shaking, coming with a pained cry, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Geralt held him tight through the waves that wracked his body, pressing kisses into the top of his head, murmuring into his hair, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
As he came down, his mind returned in pieces, and he became painfully aware that he hadn’t softened. He bit his lip, biting back a whimper, as the Witcher leaned back slightly to look at him.
“There you are,” He muttered, his thumb wiping away tears as he caressed his cheek. “My bard.”
He blushed at the attention, embarrassed. “I’m sorry you had to…” He trailed off, nervous.
“I did nothing I didn’t want to do.”
He couldn’t tell if his heart was skipping beats due to his continued arousal or in disbelief. It must have shown on his face, because Geralt smiled.
Pressing a kiss onto his forehead, “We’ll talk about it later, you still need to feed.”
Jaskier tried to protest, but gasped as Geralt’s calloused hand returned to stroke his dick.
His head rolled back at the waves of pleasure that coursed through his body and the Witcher took the opportunity to cover his exposed neck in bites, lightly nipping at his skin. A moan rumbled from his throat, and he could feel Geralt’s lips curl into a smile as he peppered him in kisses.
Geralt pulled away slightly, letting go of his dick to reposition and his body reminded him how much danger he was still in. He grabbed at his shirt, trying to pull him back as he gasped, “Geralt-” panicked, his heart panging painfully once more.
“I know, I know,” He replied, catching one of his hands to kiss it before settling between his knees. “I’m not leaving you.”
It took only a moment to piece together what he was doing before all the air left his lungs as Geralt wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock. He scrambled to hold on to something, his nails digging into the dirt as his back arched and he tried not to rut up into his mouth.
He'd fantasized about this for years, what it would be like to have sex with Geralt. He'd been quietly pining since the day he met him, and while the reasons for his attraction had changed, the fantasies had not.
A firm hand pressed into his stomach, grounding him as he was pinned down and his dick swallowed further, teeth grazing his shaft. He whimpered, struggling to hold back as his body once again ached to come. He knew he needed it, but he didn’t want it to end.
He didn't deserve any of this, and he was afraid that once he was out of danger he would be left behind. Geralt couldn't kill him, but that didn't mean he still wanted him around. After all, it had been too easy to tell him to fuck off at the top of the mountain.
Geralt had found him at the bottom a few days later, and apologized, but if he found it so easy to say then, then surely now he would mean it for real.
He let out a pained gasp, and the hand on his chest tightened as Geralt looked up to meet his eyes. That piercing golden stare, normally dull, was impassioned, urging him to take what he needed.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself have this. It wasn’t his to take.
When he continued to fight it, the Witcher gripped his free hand around the base of his cock, pumping in unison with his mouth. Jaskier could feel the muscles of Geralt's throat swallowing as he came forcibly, a cry ripping from his chest as his vision blurred.
It took a moment to return to his body, but he realized he was crying as he did. Tears coursed down his cheeks as his chest wracked with sobs. Geralt held him close, cradled in his arms, humming. It lacked any rhythm, but the low sound was soothing.
He wanted to stop crying. He felt as if his chest was pried open and his heart laid out for the world to see and he desperately wanted to go back. Back to before any of this had happened. But he couldn’t, and he only cried harder.
“Talk to me, Jaskier, tell me what you're feeling.” Geralt ran a hand over his hair, combing through it, trying to calm him.
“I-” He gasped, trying to force his mouth to work, “I don't want to go, I don't want to go-”
Geralt’s grip tightened, pulling him closer, “You're not going anywhere.”
He didn't believe him. He couldn’t believe him. He shook his head, choking on tears, “You’ll send me away again-”
“Never.”
He continued to shake his head, and Geralt caught his chin, cupping his cheek as he tilted his head to look at him.
“I need you to know that I would never hurt you. That I could never send you away.” He’d never seen this much emotion on Geralt’s usually unreadable face. “Please tell me you know that.”
He wanted to. Gods did he want to believe him. But his heart wouldn't let him.
He turned, pulling away from the gentle caress that he didn't deserve.
Geralt made a pained noise before he pressed a kiss into his hair, “I'll keep repeating it until you believe me, however long it takes.”
“Why?” He choked out, biting back another sob.
There was a moment of silence before the Witcher answered, quiet and uncertain.
“Because I love you.”
Jaskier’s heart broke, words spilling out uncontrollably as he turned back to look at him, “No! No, no, you don’t. I- I’ve tricked you. I must have-”
He was cut off by Geralt pulling him into a kiss, holding him tightly.
He pulled back, whispering, “You don't love me. You- You told me it would be a blessing to be taken off your hands-”
“And I have never regretted my words more in my life. I did not understand how much I felt for you until I realized you weren't coming back. The moment I saw you again, I knew I could not live without you.”
Jaskier struggled to accept what he was hearing. His mind was clearer than it had been in days, but he was still drowning in emotions. Desire, fear, disbelief. Love.
“Geralt, I-” He took a deep breath, steadying himself, “I love you too. Since the day we met.”
Something indecipherable passed through the Witcher’s eyes, something akin to sorrow, and he pulled him tight against his chest, crushing Jaskier into a hug.
They lay under the canopy of trees for a while, unwilling to move until Jaskier felt his body begin to ache again.
His hunger had been tamped down but not sated. He felt it rising in him, demanding his attention.
“Geralt-” He began, trying not to squirm where their bodies were pressed together.
“I know,” Geralt shifted, laying him down as he moved to sit over Jaskier, straddling his hips.
“You… know?”
His embarrassment must have shown on his face, and the Witcher laughed, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to his chest. The amulet around his neck was vibrating.
“It warns me of magic, including yours. I was trying to use it to track the Leshy, but-”
“Oh god, we've been going in circles because of me, haven't we?”
A wry smile flashed across Geralt’s face as he replied, “Yes.”
Jaskier covered his face with arm, if he hadn’t already been blushing, his face would have turned red in embarrassment.
“Just let me die, please,” He groaned, “There’s no way I’m ever living any of this down.”
“Hm.”
Jaskier didn’t need to see his face to know the grin on the Witcher’s face. He opened his mouth to retort and gasped as Geralt ground down. The coarse material of his trousers rubbed against his exposed cock, a moan ripping from his throat.
“Fuck- Geralt-” He panted, hips stuttering as they tried to thrust against him, “I need-”
“Tell me what you need.”
“You, I need you, please-” He struggled to push his pants further down to give him room, gasping when Geralt sat back and stripped them off.
He pulled him in for a kiss, feeling as though he needed him to breathe, pawing at the Witcher, trying to free the cock that was straining against the fabric.
He felt two fingers press against his hole, pleasure rushing through him as he pushed in. He hadn’t realized it but he’d become slick somehow, a part of his biology he’d never seen before, but one he was thankful as Geralt pressed further in.
He finally succeeded, eyes widening as he took in Geralt’s dick. He’d only ever imagined what he would have, and was surprised it wasn’t bigger, but not disappointed.
He took it in hand, pumping up and down, smearing the precum across the length of it. He ran his thumb down the pulsing vein, admiring it, taking it all in.
Geralt groaned, curling his fingers, looking for something. He found it, and pressed down inside him, making him see stars.
Breathless, he buried his face into the Witcher’s neck, muffling his moans.
“Please-” He whined, legs shaking as he shifted his hold to grab onto the back of his shirt.
Geralt grunted, struggling with his own want, and lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscle. With a snap of his hips, he buried himself deep into Jaskier, wringing a cry from the bard.
Large hands grasped his buttocks as Geralt rocked his hips, sliding in and out as he picked up the pace. He dug his nails into the Witcher’s back as he struggled to remain coherent, muttering into the crook of his neck.
“Gods you feel so good, you’re so good-”
Geralt growled, grasping Jaskier's dick to pump it mercilessly, getting close to his own orgasm and desperate to get him off first. As if the bard hadn’t already come twice at his touch.
He bit down on the Witcher’s shoulder as his body shuddered and came, spilling over Geralt’s hand, and he continued to work him through his orgasm, smearing the length with his own come.
The Witcher shouted, thrusting wildly as he released into Jaskier, who was quickly becoming overstimulated, whimpering as he tried to pull the hand off. “Too much-”
Geralt growled as he forced himself to stop moving, despite his body demanding it. He slid out carefully before collapsing next to him, laying on his side to look him in the eyes.
“Okay?” He searched his face, looking for something, and relaxed slightly as he found it,
Jaskier could only nod, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.
They lay there for a moment, catching their breath and coming down from their highs before Geralt broke the silence. “Almost thought I’d lost you.” He reached over, cupping his cheek.
He let himself lean into the touch, muttering, “Me too.”
“Feeling better?”
He chuckled slightly, feeling a little drunk, “Much.”
Geralt started to smile, but stopped, touching his amulet. “You sure?”
Jaskier frowned, “Yeah, what’s wrong-”
He was cut off by something wrapping around his ankle and dragging him away from his Witcher.
“Geralt!” He shouted as he was lifted into the air, “I think we found the Leshy!”