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Geralt’s eyes were positively smouldering. Or at least that’s what Jaskier thought right now. His golden eyes were aflame with an emotion Jaskier had not experienced before, not it being directed at him.
The witcher had returned from a hunt for a particularly enthusiastic siren, not far from the bay they’d made camp at. When he returned, he had been wearing that expression, a look in his eyes had made him look absolutely ravishing. His pupils were blown wide, and he looked hungry, wanton even.
Jaskier didn’t know just where to look, and instead busied himself with starting a little fire with some driftwood he’d found earlier. After it got going, he sat down in the sand next to it, Geralt having plonked down at some distance to it.
He mused to himself now, what the actual fuck happened at that stretch of beach that could possibly make Geralt, the oh so tough witcher, look like that? Had he been bewitched by some power of that siren he’d set out to kill? Or was this some aftereffect of a new potion?
Jaskier stretched his legs out in front of him, quietly suffering the feelings that went along with being looked at like that. Geralt, who had been cleaning his dagger, looked up when he heard the sigh that had inadvertently escaped from Jaskier.
Oh sweet fuck, the bard thought, how can you be so menacing and enticing at the same time?
Those same golden eyes were now looking at Jaskier through half-closed lids, the long lashes painting shadows on his cheeks. Shit, I’m so far gone, was the last coherent thought in Jaskier’s mind before he opened his mouth and asked: “Geralt, what… what did that siren do to you?”.
His breath hitched in his throat, and he watched as Geralt stopped wiping the silver dagger and then actually stood up and sauntered over to Jaskier. He had the audacity, Jaskier thought, to sit down on his knees in front of the bard. He proceeded to swallow thickly, before asking again: “Geralt, are you… are you quite alright?”.
The white-haired witcher growled at that, and answered with a voice heavy with obvious need. “I am more than alright, little lark”. Jaskier was hyper aware of the heat radiating from Geralt’s stare. He wasn’t sure what the other man’s intentions were, but damn it if this wasn’t exactly what he’d been pining for for months now. To have Geralt look at him, not at other people, at Yennefer, with that wanton in his eyes.
“Geralt, what –”, Jaskier started again, but the sentence halted in his throat when said witcher crawled up over his outstretched legs. They were now face to face, only a few inches of space between them, filled with what felt like a static charge. Up close like this, Jaskier could see how the black of his pupils had almost swallowed the gold, the lust in them basically palpable.
Geralt leaned in even closer, and, to Jaskier’s surprise, nuzzled at the spot where his jaw met the soft of his neck. He smells like seawater, like sandalwood and sunshine. The witcher could sense the shudder that went through the man underneath him, could sense the excitement in the heartbeat of his bard.
“All the siren did was to release me from the inhibitions I was keeping in place, the wants and needs I was keeping under lock and key.”
Jaskier pulled back a little, already missing the warm contact of Geralt’s proximity. Desirous blue eyes met golden ones, and any verbal communication was now redundant. Then, finally, finally breaking the supercharged tension, Geralt succumbed and matched his rough lips to the soft, rosy ones of the bard. Jaskier moaned, more warmth washing over him, and gave in to the kiss.
Their bodies moved almost of their own accord, sharp teeth nipping at bottom lips, tongues stroking soft insides. Geralt moved up further along Jaskier’s legs and made him topple onto the sand under them.
In any other situation, having a witcher loom over you, encasing your body with his, would be nothing but terrifying; but all Jaskier could feel in this instant was desire. He broke away from the kiss, to mumble softly, “are you sure?”.
The answer was unambiguous: Geralt rumbled a deep and heavy “yes, for fuck’s sake, shut up”, and dived down to catch his lips again. He brought his hands up to Jaskier’s sides, fumbling until fingers slipped under the silk and cotton of the doublet. Heat shot through him and pooled in his stomach, his own groan echoing a strained moan rolling of rosy lips.
Jaskier’s hands shot up too, eager, so eager, to take the leather armour off of his witcher, to get his hands on those expanses of skin; only now for a wholly different reason than usually.
Geralt was still mercilessly kissing him, desperate as if the both of them had been drowning. Jaskier could feel something akin to fangs drag over his bottom lip and moaned again loudly.
“Hmm, that please you, little lark?”
And before the brunette could do as much as take a breath, he felt those fangs on his neck, biting down not all that softly, and the shudder that followed rocked his whole body.
“Oh, fuck”, he uttered, head falling back onto the sand, back arching, and the excitement in his groin growing hot and tight. He could feel himself straining against his breeches, with only the barest amount of friction formed by the cloth and the muscled body on top of his. He wanted to buck up into that heat still radiating off of the other man, but Geralt had captured his hips between his knees and he couldn’t bloody move. A whine escaped his lips.
Geralt meanwhile was tracing a path with his lips and teeth, inching lower with every bitey-kiss. Goosebumps arose at every spot when he left it, the bard squirming and mewling beneath him. His own arousal was making him lightheaded, and with every kiss it only managed to get worse.
After what seemed like an eternity to Jaskier, Geralt moved off a little, keeping his hands on his body however, evidently interested in removing as many clothes in as little time possible.
Everything after that was just hot hands, and hot lips and even hotter bodies. Together, together, together, they chased a satisfaction of those needs that had been simmering under the surface for so long, too long. With cries and moans and growls they hit a blinding high, hit a release of every inhibition and repression. It was a moment of pure bliss.
After, when they had both caught their breath and laid down on the cool sand, Jaskier finally got an answer to his question of what the hell had happened on that other beach. The siren had tried to draw Geralt in, had sung to him of physical pleasures at first, but when that had seemingly no effect, she had sung of a deeper satisfaction, an emotional component to the physical. With the last of his will Geralt had managed to overpower her, but her demise was mirrored in the crumbling of the restrictions he and others had put upon himself. His walls had come tumbling down, and well…
…that had led to the state they were in now.
Jaskier listened to it all, and heard even more behind those words. He inched closer until he was enveloped in the safety of Geralt’s arms. He sighed and closed his eyes, head resting over a slow heartbeat. Geralt rested his head on Jaskier’s hair and closed his eyes as well.
For now, this was all these two needed.