Chapter Text
Usually, Geralt was incredibly grateful for rare moments of silence on his journeys with Jaskier. The bard was loud and extremely talkative, able to maintain hour-long conversations by himself with little to no input from Geralt’s part.
But since the morning, Jaskier had been quiet. Eerily quiet. Geralt kept glancing back to see the bard trudging along behind him and roach, eyes either on the dirt road or the slowly setting sun in the distance.
He’d hum every so often, strum a cord or two, but nothing more than that. Geralt didn’t like it. As much as he hated the noise, the silence, he realized, was even worse. He’d gotten used to the bard’s crappy jingles and dramatic stories, the constant of his voice.
Geralt also didn’t like stabbing guilt that curled around his gut that worsened each time he’d glance back to look at Jaskier. They’d both apologized and cleared up the misunderstandings between them, but that didn’t make Geralt feel any better. The bard’s throat was bruised and sore, marked with Geralt’s teeth and tongue.
He knew the reason for Jaskier’s silence was him, and it felt awful.
“There’s a small town nearby,” Geralt spoke up, “we can get a meal and lodging for the night. Maybe some quick coin.”
Jaskier frowned, “Isn’t-” he cleared his throat and tried again, “Isn’t the nearest town out of the way? We’d be taking a detour.”
“It’s not exactly on the way, no,” Geralt admitted. If he’d been on his own he wouldn’t have bothered to go out of his way for a bed to sleep in, but Jaskier looked exhausted, and the guilt curling tighter around his stomach. “Roach needs to rest.”
Jaskier blinked, “Right. Okay.” His voice was hoarse and quiet, barely above a whisper, and Geralt had to bite back an apology.
The silence between them settled back in on their way to the town, with only the soft footsteps of Jaskier and the heavy clops of Roach’s hooves to fill the space.
It was a seedy town, small and with a few muddy roads connecting the houses. Geralt noticed some drunk men stumble out of a building, and he lead Roach over to what was hopefully an inn.
The inside was just as bad as the outside. The floors and walls were dirty and grimy, with the nasty smell of drink and dirt clinging to the musky air, making Geralt’s nose twitch in disgust. He walked over to the bar and waved over the bartender.
“I need two rooms and a stable,” Geralt said, slapping down a handful of coins.
The bartender, a plump middle aged lady with curly hair, raised her brow in disapproval, “please?”
“... Please,” Geralt grumbled through gritted teeth.
She gave him a big smile, showcasing her two missing front teeth, “That’s a good boy.” She pocketed the coin and turned back around to continue pouring drinks, “Your mare will be cared for. But there’s only one room available. The bed is big enough for two, it will do.”
Jaskier made a squeaking sound of concern that sounded like a cat being strangled, and Geralt groaned, “I’ll pay to empty a room.”
“No can do, darling,” She hummed, handing out an ale, “One room, take it or leave it.”
“Fine.” Geralt would just have to sleep on the floor, then.
The room was surprisingly clean, with no nasty smell lingering in the air besides the faint scent of wood and dust. The bed was made and there even was a bucket and a tub to wash off in.
“You can take the bed,” Geralt grunted, undoing his various straps and buckles to free himself from his heavy leather armor.
Jaskier frowned, “And you?”
“The floor,” Geralt shrugged off the breastplate and sighed in relief, rolling his stiff shoulders.
“You can’t sleep on the floor!” Jaskier argued, “you paid for the room, if anyone should have the bed it’s you.”
Geralt glanced back at the bard, who was kneeling on the bed and looking at Geralt like a distressed pup.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” Geralt tried to assure him, “it’s fine. Just rest.”
Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, and plopped down on the floor, “No! If you’re not gonna sleep on the bed, then neither will I.”
Geralt blinked, “are you serious right now?” Jaskier didn’t budge. Geralt sighed and rubbed at the space between his brows, “Fine, we’ll both sleep on the bed. Happy?”
Jaskier’s eyes widened, “Um, what?”
Geralt kicked off his boots and crawled onto the bedstead, the wood frame creaking under his weight. The mattress was stiff and the furs were dirty, but it was much better than what Geralt expected. The room was well worth the coin.
He turned to Jaskier, who was still sitting awkwardly on the floor, “Well? Get up here.”
“Um,” Jaskier awkwardly scrambled up, undoing the laces on his doublet and shrugging it off. “Thank you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt replied, resting his head on the soft pillows. He felt the bed dip and groan as Jaskier settled down next to him. His scent was familiar and annoyingly relaxing, fresh and sweet like grape wine and mint leaf. Geralt listened to Jaskier’s soft breathing, hearing his heartbeat slow as he fell asleep. The witcher usually had trouble sleeping, but the bard’s rhythmic heartbeat eventually lulled him to sleep.
Geralt woke up to the smell of wine and mint, and he blinked wearily, taking account of his surroundings as his body shook off the drowsiness. He was curled around a warm body, his nose pressed against the back of someone’s neck. Jaskier . Geralt took in a shaky breath, feeling his head swim as he inhaled the bard’s sickly sweet scent. It reminded him of rich grape pastries, the ones served at fine dinners, full of sugar and cream.
He wanted to snuggle closer, wrap his arms around Jaskier’s waist and press soft kisses to his bruised skin.
They’d both promised to forgive and forget and move on from the previous events, but it was rather difficult when Jaskier smelled so fucking good, and he was pressed flush against Geralt’s body, hip slotted against his own. He tried to move away, but noticed his arm was pinned under Jaskier’s body.
He sighed, “Jaskier, wake up.”
The bard mumbled something unintelligible, snuggling further into the covers.
“Jaskier,” Geralt poked his back, “get the hell off me.”
“Mhmm,” Jaskier grumbled, “S’ not even light yet, Geralt, and I’m warm.”
Geralt rolled his eyes and shoved at Jaskier’s back, “At least get off me.”
“Hm? Oh!” Jaskier seemed to realize their closeness and quickly scrambled up, moving away a tad too fast and tumbling over the edge of the bed. “Ow, shit!”
Geralt peered over the edge in concern, “You alright?”
Jaskier was sprawled ungracefully across the floor, his shirt riding up to reveal his torso, and Geralt couldn’t help raking his eyes down the bard’s body, stopping where Jaskier’s happy trail met his underwear. He forced his gaze away shamefully, heat rising to his cheeks.
“I’m fine,” Jaskier groaned, defeated, “not the best way to greet the day, though.”
“I’m gonna bathe,” Geralt said, getting off the bed and rolling his shoulders to try and alleviate his sore muscles.
“Wait, I need to bathe too,” Jaskier piped up from the floor, “d’you think they could heat up some water for us?”
“Doubt that.” Geralt muttered, walking towards the somewhat secluded room with a tub and bucket of water.
Jaskier, who had at some point gotten up and was now peering at the tub over Geralt’s shoulder, made a face of disgust, “That water looks cold and old.”
Geralt kind of missed the bard’s angsty silence, “what were you expecting?”
Jaskier looked miffed, “I am not cleaning off with that. Let me go get some hot water-”
“I truly couldn’t give less of a shit,” Geralt sighed.
“A hot bath would do us both good,” Jaskier argued, “and would do a better job of getting you clean.”
Knowing that the conversation was going nowhere, Geralt sat back down on the bed as Jaskier waddled off with the bucket, water swaying and spilling with each step.
He returned with a triumphant grin and Geralt rolled his eyes at the bard’s enthusiasm.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier set the large bucket down, hot steam rising from the water, “Help me fill the tub.”
Geralt raised a brow, “Why?"
“Because we’re going to bathe…?”
“Together?”
Flush slowly rose to the bard’s face, coloring his cheeks a peachy pink hue that looked quite dashing. He stuttered awkwardly, waving his hands in the air as if to convince Geralt of his innocence.
“No, well, yes, I mean, I had that in mind, the water isn’t enough for-” He stared at the floor, flustered, “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade you privacy-”
Geralt jerked back, “What? No, No, I didn’t mean it like that.” He pursed his lips, “Jaskier.” The bard glanced up at him awkwardly, and whatever words Geralt was about to say died in his throat. He hesitated, then swiftly picked up the bucket and poured the steaming water in, the small room heating up quickly around them. The tub was big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, but in very close quarters. Geralt didn’t really know how they were going to arrange themselves, but by that point, it was Jaskier’s problem.
He stripped and stepped in, the water deliciously hot, and he sunk down with a satisfied groan. Okay, yeah, maybe a hot bath was a good idea after all. Geralt rested his head back against the edge, closing his eyes and letting himself relax for once, lowering his guard, shoulders dropping in relief. He felt the water ripple and rise as Jaskier stepped in, maneuvering around Geralt to sit across from him.
A sweet smell of olive oil and grape filled the air, and Geralt lifted his head up to see Jaskier humming softly to himself and rubbing a bar of soap across his skin, dark purple in color.
“That smells expensive,” Geralt mused.
Jaskier looked up in surprise, “oh, this?” He held out the soap for Geralt to inspect, “your nose would be right, my friend. I am a man who enjoys the finer things in life, and the small pleasures one achieves with hygene.”
“Hmm.”
“You would say that,” Jaskier sighs, “you like in dirt and gore. Come here,” he wriggled forward, beckoning Geralt closer. “If the soap isn’t to your liking, I’ve got some lovely oils and bath salts-”
“I’m good.”
“Absolutely not,” Jaskier huffed, “you reek of death and decay every day! Isn’t it nice to be clean?”
Geralt shrugged, but didn’t stop Jaskier from plucking up a small jar from the ground and pouring some earthy looking salt into the warm water. It smelled like lavender and the sea and made the water feel soft and velvety around him.
“Turn around, I’ve got this amazing sandalwood oil that smells divine and it will clean all that muck right off.”
Geralt did as told, not really caring by that point, because the water was warm, and it felt nice to really relax for once in his life. Jaskier started rubbing the oil against his neck and shoulders, scratching the dried mud out of his hair and caked blood on his skin. His hands were small and deft, with calloused fingers and soft palms. They rubbed the oil expertly onto Geralt’s skin, the soft and milky scent of wood surrounding him. It was pleasant, and Geralt couldn’t help but sigh as Jaskier’s hands started kneading his sore muscles, working from his shoulders and slowly making their way down his back.
“Last time you did this, you used chamomile oil,” Geralt murmured, leaning back into Jaskier’s touch, groaning as the bard rubbed at the knots in his shoulders. Damn, he was good. Geralt rumbled low in his chest, leaning back against Jaskier and murmuring soft praises. He was too relaxed, too focused on the scents of wood and lavender and wine, and the hands kneading into his rough skin, he almost didn’t notice the scent of arousal heavy in the air.
Geralt’s eyes flew open as his brain processed the scent, cheerfully reminding him of the last time he’d smelled Jaskier’s arousal, after he’d drank the potion. But this time, it wasn’t laced with that dirty smell of magic and irresistible need, it was all Jaskier.
Geralt growled, cock twitching as his body reacted to the scent of arousal flooding his senses, animalistic and primal in all the ways Witchers were supposed to be. He turned around, water spilling over the edges as he crowded over Jaskier and raked his eyes down the bard’s naked body. His face was flushed, pink dusting his cheeks and bringing out his blue eyes, which were heavy with lust, the pupils blown out. The soapy water did little to hide the bard’s erection.
“Geralt!” Jaskier squeaked, clearly taken by surprise, “I- um-”
Geralt didn’t wait for him to finish, instead leaning forward, dipping his head to brush his cheek against Jaskier’s neck and press his nose to the bard’s jaw, breathing in the smell of fresh grapes and sugar and the finest of wines. He mouthed at Jaskier’s skin, tasting the salt on his skin, how good it felt to feel the bard’s pulse under his tongue.
Jaskier squirmed under his touch, throwing his head back and moaning quietly, “c-careful with the bruises,” he whimpered, trembling as Geralt grabbed his hip, dragging him closer.
“I’ll be gentle,” Geralt murmured against his ear, peppering the bard’s sensitive skin with light kisses, making his way towards Jaskier’s mouth. “Whatever you want, I’ll give.”
Jaskier’s breath hitched, “Fuck,”, and he grabbed Geralt’s face, roughly bringing their mouths together for a deep kiss.
Geralt promised to be gentle. So he controlled his urges to crowd in closer, dig his fingers into the bard’s soft skin, bite at his lips until they bled, fuck him until he broke. He kissed Jaskier tenderly, slowly, taking his time to map out the inside of his mouth with his tongue, eating up every lewd sound Jaskier moaned out.
He broke the kiss and moved his hand further down, caressing Jaskier’s inner thigh with his thumb. Whatever expensive bath salt he’d poured in made his skin feel extremely soft and supple. “What do you want?”
Jaskier blushed a deeper shade of red, “I- um- this is a lot more difficult when I’m not hyped up on love juice-” he took a shaky breath, “touch me?”
Geralt inched his hand the tiniest bit closer to Jaskier’s dick, “I already am.”
“No- not like that!” Jaskier whined, “I mean, don’t stop- but- augh! You know what I mean!”
Geralt bit back a smirk, “I want to hear you say it.”
Jaskier’s lips parted in surprise, a soft ‘oh’ escaping him, “I… I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, “I want to feel you inside me like before, and I want you to touch me, and kiss me, and...” He broke off, too embarrassed to continue.
Geralt rumbled in approval, dipping his head to kiss at Jaskier’s neck, wrapping his hand around his dick, jerking him off slowly, grabbing his hip with his other hand to keep Jaskier still as he moaned and squirmed beneath him.
“Geralt…” Jaskier whined, running his hands through his hair and tugging insistently.
“Hmm,” Geralt replied, bringing his hands down to tug Jaskier up out of the water, pressing him against the wall in one swift movement. The bard yelped as his skin touched the cold stone and he blushed, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around Geralt so he didn’t slip back down.
Geralt coated his fingers in the nearest open bottle of oil, wasting no time brushing them against Jaskier and pressing them in, making the bard moan obscenely.
“Ah,” Jaskier cried, cock twitching between his legs and dripping precum all over Geralt’s stomach, “oh, Gods, I want your dick in me so bad.”
Geralt hummed, sliding his fingers in deeper, “Patience, Jaskier.” He took his fingers out to coat them in more oil, and Jaskier whimpered at the loss, wriggling his hips impatiently. Geralt coated his dick in the slippery oil, then rubbed at the entrance, sliding three fingers in and out of Jaskier, making sure he was prepped and Geralt wouldn’t hurt him.
Jaskier twitched with every touch, every kiss, biting his lip and averting his eyes whenever Geralt spoke, pupils blown wide and long lashes hiding the pretty blue irises that reminded Geralt of streams in spring time and skies in summer. He aligned himself and distracted Jaskier with gentle kisses to his chest, nipping at the skin and slowly lowering the bard onto him.
“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, grabbing and tugging and scratching as Geralt eased his way in, “you’re too big!”
“Shh,” Geralt soothed him, pressing his lips against Jaskier’s and kissing him deeply, “It’s okay, you’re okay, look at how well you take me baby.”
That seemed to distract Jaskier from the pain, as his eyes shot open and he stared at Geralt with a dumbfounded expression, “baby?” he asked breathlessly.
Geralt purred, feeling the base of his cock slide into Jaskier, tight and hot around him, “You like that? Want me to call you pretty names, Jaskier?” He smirked as Jaskier nodded eagerly, face flushed pink.
Geralt started moving his hips casually, mouthing at Jaskier’s neck and showering him with praises in a husky whisper, “You feel so good around me, angel, look so pretty pressed up against the wall.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier moaned, grinding back against him with equal enthusiasm, meeting Geralt’s shallow thrusts. “More, harder.”
“Relax,” Geralt shushed him, tightening his grip on Jaskier’s hips to slow down his jerky movements, “I’ve got you, baby, don’t rush it.” He brought them back to a consistent rhythm, going deeper with each gentle thrust, “Enjoy it, gorgeous, let me fuck you nice and slow.”
Jaskier’s breath hitched, and Geralt saw his adam’s apple bob in his throat, “O-okay,” he whispered, relaxing his grip on the witcher and going pliant in his grasp, letting Geralt take full control, burying himself deep and thrusting languidly against him, kneading Jaskier’s ass like one would fondle fresh soft bread.
“Oh, fuck, right there,” Jaskier cried, “Don’t stop.”
“You gonna come, baby?” Geralt growled, “gonna come just from bouncing on my cock?”
“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier panted, “Gods, you’re so big, I need you to come in me, I wanna be full of you.”
Geralt couldn’t help the animalistic snarl that tumbled past his lips, grabbing Jaskier’s hips roughly to fuck into him deeper, heat pooling in his stomach. He bit Jaskier’s shoulder, canines digging into the bard’s soft skin and threatening to draw blood as Geralt was enveloped in Jaskier’s sweet scent, spiked with arousal and his nearing orgasm, and the smell was so strong Geralt could basically taste it on his tongue, like saccharine wine.
“You’re delicious,” Geralt murmured, “I’m gonna come inside you and mark you up so everyone knows you’re mine.”
“You don’t need to,” Jaskier mumbled, staring at him with such tender longing it made Geralt’s heart skip a beat, “I’m already yours.”
Geralt groaned, burying himself in Jaskier’s ass and seeing stars as his orgasm hit him, waves of pleasure making him dizzy. Jaskier came seconds after, sobbing and mumbling and holding on tightly onto Geralt as if he was scared he would just disappear if he let go.
Geralt gently lowered Jaskier back down into the (now cold) water, slipping out and adjusting himself so he was leaning against the side with Jaskier pressed against his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Geralt gently brushed wet strands away from Jaskier’s face, brushing back his hair and analyzing the blooming bruises on his skin. It wasn’t as bad as their first time, in which Geralt had pretty much tried to eat the bard’s neck, leaving him with a rainbow of hickeys and bites.
“Geralt,” Jaskier spoke up, his voice small and tentative, “What… What are we?”
Geralt hesitated, his hand frozen over Jaskier’s hair, “I… We… I don’t know.” He muttered, resuming his soft caresses, “We’re friends.”
Jaskier turned his head to look at him, “Just… Friends?”
“No, I guess not,” Geralt replied, “Maybe something more.”
Jaskier was silent for a moment, and then, “What you said…” he blushed, “About.. Me being yours… What did you mean by that?”
“You’re mine,” Geralt murmured, running his hand down Jaskier’s cheek and tipping his head up by the chin to give him a chaste kiss, “you’re my friend, my travel companion, my lovely little songbird that sings dramatic tales of my conquests.”
Jaskier grinned against Geralt’s lips, “And you?”
“I don’t mind being yours,” Geralt replied, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He pressed a quick kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, “the water’s gone cold.”
“Mmhm,” Jaskier mumbled, “let’s just stay here for a second.”
Geralt smiled, letting Jaskier snuggle up on his side, “alright.”