Chapter Text
The walk home was harder than Geralt had anticipated. Instead of trooping down the hall to bed as they had at the villa, he had to guide Jaskier out of Eglantine House, down the hill of Mont Nuit, and partway across the seedy district that surrounded the Night Court to find the bridge which concealed their passage to the townhouse. They had made good time on this route before, but that was in daylight when few hedonists roamed and Jaskier had not been addled by overindulgence.
This time, Jaskier was inattentive and dreamy, moving languorously through the market. He stopped often to stare at shiny baubles or touch soft fabrics displayed in the many merchant carts and more than once Geralt had to double back and pull him away from watching water splash in a fountain. He got a firm grip on Jaskier’s arm and moved them briskly past the distractions of Night’s Doorstep.
Geralt himself felt a bit overwhelmed with so many people pressed close. The movements and flickering lights danced at the corners of his eyes, pulling at his focus. Worse than the sights were the smells; uncountable people jammed together in the streets and spilling out from every building. Food, perfume, sweat, and sex all melded together into a thick fog that threatened to choke him. Reaching the smugglers’ tunnel was a blessed relief and he tried to be gentle while coaxing Jaskier forward to where the passage widened.
Jaskier’s nerves about the small space seemed to rouse him a bit. They kept a much quicker pace along the last leg and even the musty smell of the tunnel was preferable to the pungent city streets. Geralt entertained himself lighting and dousing the torches as they passed and Jaskier’s delighted smile was worth the wasteful use of magic.
One last distressing turn around a tight corner and they were able to slide back the trick wall, stepping out into Jaskier’s entirely-too-large closet. Geralt closed the secret door while Jaskier stumbled immediately out into the bedroom, unable to stay in the enclosed area any longer. The closet was nearly as big as the room he and Eskel had shared, but it wasn’t worth mentioning to Jaskier.
“Don’t get comfortable down there. You and I both need a bath.” Geralt felt itchy and drained, certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep with the scents of the Night Court on his skin. He was starting to smell Jaskier now that they were back in their own space and the sweat and sweet oil would prove even more upsetting in close proximity.
Jaskier ineffectively tried to strip his clothes off while laying flat on the floor. He quickly gave up and threw an arm over his face. “Go on without me, brave wolf. I must return to the bosom of Mother Earth.” He pretended to die, dramatically.
Geralt respected his commitment to a joke, but not enough to give up on their bath. He hauled Jaskier into a seated position and quickly stripped his shirt off. “You won’t reach her from here. We’re two floors up.”
“Leave it.” Jaskier pushed his hands away. “You’re too rough. I know I taught you better than that.” He yawned and started undressing himself, and Geralt left him to it. He removed his own clothes then crossed to the bathing chamber and pumped water into the tub. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the tubs at the villa. Geralt blinked, realizing he might have grown a bit spoiled as well. Odd. He heated the water and stripped, gathering their necessities and fresh towels.
“Jaskier, did you fall asleep?”
“No-no, I’m up!” There was a panicked note in his voice. “Ah, m-maybe we should take separate baths tonight… that way you can stretch out. I’ll go second.” Jaskier stood in a corner of the bedroom which was out of sight from the bath.
Geralt sighed, shaking his head. “What are you—”
He came through the doorway and caught sight of Jaskier. He was naked, standing in front of the full length mirror. There were several candles lit, casting a golden glow across his body.
His lovely soft skin was marred by bruises.
“What happened?” Geralt rushed forward but restrained himself before he laid a hand on Jaskier. “How— I was right outside! Aiden did this? Why didn’t you—” His heart was beating too quickly. He wanted to run back into the city. He would find and kill Aiden, and then hunt down the second man and kill him as well. He would never leave Jaskier’s side again. “Lambert said— he said Aiden didn’t like to hurt—”
Jaskier put both hands on Geralt’s face and the sudden touch silenced him.
“I’m alright.” He didn’t seem to be in distress. He was smiling faintly, breathing normally. His heartbeat was steady. “Sometimes we get carried away. I didn’t notice how rough we were because it didn’t hurt at the time.”
Geralt noticed the careful use of ‘we’ but wasn’t sure he believed the other men left with marks of their own.
“Please don’t kill Aiden. I thought I was finally winning Lambert over and it would put a real damper on our relationship.”
“Where was Lambert, anyway? I never saw him.” He smelled Lambert, vaguely. It was hard to concentrate when he was so busy memorizing the fingerprint bruises on Jaskier’s hips.
“There are two doors to the room. He must have stayed on the patrons’ side.”
Geralt nodded and abruptly swung away from Jaskier to grab his satchel and collect a healing salve for bruises. “Go. Get in the bath. You shouldn’t have tried to keep this from me.”
He saw Jaskier cross the room in his peripheral vision and tried to gather his thoughts. Geralt couldn’t close himself off… Jaskier needed his warmth. But how could he remain gentle when his emotions were raging unchecked, a flood of guilt and shame smothering him. He should have been there to protect Jaskier. He had been there to protect Jaskier. Yet here was his ward, battered and bruised like he’d picked a fight in every tavern between here and Eglantine House.
He heard water splash. Jaskier needed him, that was a certainty. Everything else would have to wait. Focus only on Jaskier and get him ready for bed. That was something he could do.
He took a deep breath, thinking himself ready. Then he turned and his eyes locked onto a sliver of red along Jaskier’s neckline. He was alongside the tub and hauling Jaskier up before his bottom touched the water.
“Geralt! You’re going to pull my arm off!” He couldn’t force himself to loosen his grip on Jaskier’s arm. The fingers of his other hand brushed lightly across the scarlet indents of what was obviously, unmistakably, incomprehensibly, a bite wound. He traced around it again, and his hand was slapped away.
“Ow! So it’s okay for me to hurt as long as you do the hurting?”
He felt like he was outside of his body, a silent observer as he drew Jaskier closer and sniffed over the bite mark then his fingers, going through the motions of assessing a victim to determine the creature he needed to hunt. There was a woody herbaceous scent all over him, obscuring the other person’s saliva.
“Are you smelling me? Let go.” Jaskier tugged and Geralt released him.
“Who was the other man?” The bruises were large and the bite was on his back, making it unlikely to be a woman.
“I don’t know. Aiden said I should only call him ‘Sir,’” the word rippled through Geralt unpleasantly, “and he never spoke. Don’t cause any trouble. I’d be happy to serve them again.”
Geralt growled, hackles raising at the thought of Jaskier returning to someone who put marks on him.
“Settle down or go away. A bath is supposed to be soothing.” He flicked water at Geralt’s face, breaking his concentration.
“I need a different ointment for the broken skin. Mouths are filthy.”
“Mine sure is.” Jaskier laughed at his own joke and Geralt pretended not to hear.
He returned with a second jar and climbed into the tub, taking the washcloth from Jaskier. Helping him bathe would make it easy for Geralt to inventory the marks. It would please Jaskier as well, which suited him nicely. The bruises had only begun to darken, he would surely be a patchwork of black and blue by tomorrow. As he gently spread lemongrass suds he washed away that strange smell… a particularly cloying and heavy perfume, almost smoky. It coated his mouth and the back of his tongue, masking the scents of Aiden and the unknown man. He worked over Jaskier’s back, leaning close to steal another whiff before washing the perfume away.
“Odd, isn’t it?” Jaskier had noticed. “Far too strong for my tastes, and my nose is nothing compared to yours.”
“It covers him up.” Geralt immediately regretted speaking.
Jaskier turned around and Geralt started washing his chest, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. “Good. If I knew who he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Not only because I respect his right to privacy, but also because I cannot have you beating my clients bloody if we bump into them at the market.” He tipped Geralt’s chin up, tearing his gaze away from the discoloration on his chest. “I’m fine, Geralt. Hurt but not harmed. And I’m only hurting because you’re scrubbing so hard.” There was a hint of scolding in his voice but he didn’t pull away from Geralt’s hands.
By the time Geralt finished with Jaskier’s hair, the heavy perfume was gone. He let his muscles uncoil as Jaskier returned the favor, humming and gossiping to fill the silence. Once he was done, Geralt reclined against the side of the tub with his eyes closed, trying to muster the energy to haul himself out and use the ointments on Jaskier’s skin. He could hear Jaskier splashing a bit as he worked on cleaning the last evidence of his lovers away, water pattering on the floor when he leaned out of the tub in search of more soap.
Geralt sat bolt-upright and lunged for Jaskier, pinning him to the side of the tub.
“Fuck! What are you doing?” Jaskier squawked indignantly.
He tried to wiggle away but Geralt held him firmly, hands a nearly perfect overlay on the reddened skin of his ass. He was almost certain that if he looked, his fingers would fall right atop the marks on the other side of Jaskier’s hips. Geralt realized there were new scents in the air and that must have been what caught his attention. He could just barely detect the essence of Jaskier’s patrons.
Jaskier pushed back, trying to shove Geralt away. “Get off me, you brute.” He elbowed Geralt in the gut. “What is wrong with you?” Despite his protests, the smell of Jaskier’s arousal drifted away from his skin. Geralt ignored him and flexed his wrists, spreading Jaskier a little wider. One of his thumbs was quite close to Jaskier’s rim, though Geralt wasn’t entirely sure how it had gotten there. The tension of his finger against Jaskier’s soft flesh tugged slightly at his entrance and Geralt watched as a pearly droplet snuck out and trickled down Jaskier’s inner thigh. He had the strangest urge to lick Jaskier clean... Perhaps it was some kind of animal instinct instilled by the mutations and now dredged up from the depths of his mind.
He mentally shook himself and tried to focus. Who had been with Jaskier? Who had hurt him like this? He clenched his hands over the bruises and the stranger-smell was swamped by Jaskier’s lust.
“Stop, Geralt, stop.” Jaskier rocked forward to slide over the slick wall of the enameled tub and then pressed back into Geralt’s hands, letting another dribble of spend escape. “You’re playing with fire.” He rolled his hips forward and back again.
Geralt was transfixed.
“Fuck, please. You’re killing me. You don’t realize what you’re doing.”
Geralt pressed his fingers into Jaskier’s bruises, making him gasp.
“I’m sorry, I know you aren’t doing it on purpose, but it feels— I can’t help it. I’m so sorry.” Jaskier stuttered to a halt and hung his head down between his shoulders.
“It hurts?” Geralt felt like he had to dredge the words up from a deep pit.
Jaskier laughed, bitterly. “It feels good, Geralt. Fuck, it’s so good. You’re holding me down and spreading me open, looking at what they’ve done to me.”
Geralt’s cock throbbed and he liked the idea of checking Jaskier over, as if he were a favorite horse that had been loaned out.
Jaskier craned his neck and stared at Geralt over his shoulder, over the bite mark, and his cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated. “It’s a sex thing, Geralt.” He had tried to put on a serious face but the effect was ruined by the little tremor in his voice.
“You want me to see what they did?” The words ground out of him.
“Don’t say it like that!” He turned away and tried to slip sideways, but Geralt couldn’t seem to let him go. Jaskier hung his head again as he blew out a sigh, and his breath smelled like Aiden.
A growl ripped out of Geralt’s chest.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?” Jaskier’s voice was very quiet, as though he didn’t want to startle Geralt.
“I don’t like when you smell like them. Anyone.” He plastered his body against Jaskier’s and hid his face between his shoulder blades.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” He knew.
“Tell me or let me go. I can’t play this game anymore.” There was steel in his voice now. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hips and wrapped his arms around him.
“I want you to smell like me instead.” He didn’t like the way his cock twitched when he said it, and he hated the way Jaskier went still after it nudged against him.
“Geralt…” Jaskier whispered, as though someone could overhear, “Is this a sex thing?”
He groaned into Jaskier’s skin and Jaskier shuddered head to toe. “Is it a sex thing to be angry someone else had their hands all over you and I haven’t?” He stroked over Jaskier’s chest and belly, trying to erase the knowledge that others had done the same. “I know they were inside of you. I want them to open you up and know that every part of you is mine. Mine to protect, mine to touch, mine to keep.”
Jaskier whimpered. “You can’t talk like that and not know how it sounds.” He was shaking all over and his skin was hot against Geralt’s cheek. “What do you need? You have to tell me. I can’t— Your vows—”
“My vows—” Geralt broke off and something suspiciously like a sob rattled out of him. “My vows are to you. To protect you and care for you and love you above all others.” He was blindsided by the glacial presence of Cassiel flowing through his veins. Perhaps it made a kind of twisted sense; Cassiel had turned away from his duties and the One God to follow Elua, whom he loved more than anyone. The coldness slowly ebbed away, leaving him lighter than he had ever felt.
He backed off slowly, letting Jaskier turn toward him. Geralt took his time looking Jaskier over in a new light. From his ocean-blue eyes, down his shapely neck to where thick hair grew across his soft chest and belly, to his cock, thick and wet.
“I would give you all of me, and I would have all of you. If you’d let me.”
“Speak plainly. I fear I’m misunderstanding you.”
“I want to fuck you, Jaskier.” Jaskier made a choked noise and clenched his eyes shut. “Or I want you to fuck me. I defer to your expertise.”
“Oh, my expertise, is it? Well it’s too late to deflower you like a maiden; we’ve skipped quite a few steps already.” He was smiling and laughing and grabbing Geralt’s hair. “Kiss me once for good luck, and then take me to bed.”
Geralt leaned in, faster than Jaskier could draw him forward. Their teeth clashed together and there didn’t seem to be anywhere for their noses to go, but Jaskier didn’t pull away. It was an odd thing to do, just pressing their mouths together. It felt nice but Geralt wasn’t sure it was worth all the poems and songs Jaskier had penned. Then Jaskier gently tugged Geralt’s bottom lip with his teeth and slipped his tongue along the inner edge where Geralt’s lip was wet and slick. He moaned and Jaskier moved his tongue a little deeper, then flickered away.
“Do that more, I like that.”
“Not here. If I wait any longer to have you inside me, I’ll combust.”
Geralt grabbed Jaskier under the rump and hauled him up out of the bath. Jaskier yelped and clung to Geralt’s neck. He skidded out of the tub and into the bedroom, kneeing up onto the bed with Jaskier still in his arms. He lost steam there, bravado only able to take him so far.
“Lay down, love. We’re starting at the end, very advanced techniques.” He winked and pressed Geralt’s shoulders gently to the mattress. “Don’t tell the instructors at Eglantine House, they’d be appalled.”
Geralt didn’t know where to put his hands, where to look. He had been close to Jaskier like this before, but never while nude, never with intent. Jaskier was pouring oil into his palm and spreading it between his hands. Geralt watched, trying to predict Jaskier’s next move.
“Would you like me to talk, or not?”
“Talk. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Jaskier smiled sweetly down at him from the edge of the bed. “I’m warming the oil. It’ll feel much nicer for both of us. Can I touch you?”
Geralt nodded, expecting Jaskier to warm him up as well. Instead, Jaskier went straight for his cock, giving him a slow drag from root to tip. Geralt arched off the bed, appallingly close to spilling and ending the lesson prematurely.
“The oil’s nice, isn’t it?” Jaskier said, mildly, and gave him another slow stroke. “Don’t worry, I’m almost as excited as you are.” He gestured towards his own erection. “You have no idea how long… well, perhaps you do. Either way, I want you now, and now I get to have you.” His grin was predatory as he threw a leg over Geralt’s waist and used the remaining oil to rub over his entrance, releasing a little more of that stranger-smell into the room.
Geralt’s mind flashed back to how they got here and he grabbed Jaskier’s thighs firmly.
“Normally I’d want you to prepare me,” Jaskier paused and clarified, “to use your fingers to make sure I was stretched and slick, but I’m quite stretched out already.” He had a brief faraway look in his eyes and made a noise that Geralt did not appreciate hearing when it wasn’t caused by him. He gripped Jaskier’s chin and turned his focus back to the present.
“I want to. May I?” He liked the little noise Jaskier made after that.
“Well, alright, but only for a moment and only because you asked so nicely.” Jaskier poured a little oil over Geralt’s fingers. “Rub them together to warm it, and then reach behind me.”
Geralt spread the oil but made a detour to gently toy with Jaskier’s foreskin and to tease his fingers over the shaft. Despite their hurry, he didn’t want to be considered a selfish lover.
“Is this what you’d prefer? I only want what you want.” Jaskier’s hips were restless in the air over Geralt’s belly and his cheeks were flushed.
“No. I want there to be no part of you I haven’t touched. I want—” he was deeply ashamed but forced himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes as he said, “I want to fill you up until there’s no room for anyone inside you but me.”
It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Jaskier collapsed against him, licking into his mouth and sliding his belly over Geralt’s prick. Jaskier pulled away with a gasp and grabbed Geralt’s wrist.
“Now. I need you now, or I’ll do it myself.”
Unwilling to miss his chance, Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier and slid two fingers over his tailbone. He greatly appreciated their closer arrangement now that he could feel every tremor in Jaskier’s body as he circled his entrance. He thought of his own body, the difficulty of entering himself, and tried to be gentle with Jaskier. He pressed one fingertip barely inside, watching Jaskier’s face for any sign of discomfort. Instead, Jaskier grinned and rolled his eyes fondly.
“That’s lovely, my darling, but not now.” He pulled Geralt’s hand between them and added more oil. Geralt could smell the other men on his fingers and his free hand pressed bruises into Jaskier’s thigh. “You’re going to take care of that, aren’t you? Make it like they never had me?” Jaskier looked down at him with pleading eyes, as if he needed this as much as Geralt did.
He didn’t know if it was a ploy or not, but he fell prey to it either way. He reared up and took Jaskier’s mouth for his own, licking inside as if to lave away the taste of anyone else. He turned and pressed his face into Jaskier’s neck to feel the pulse beat against his cheek. With two fingers pressed against Jaskier’s entrance, he paused.
“Geralt!” Jaskier sounded exasperated, and Geralt felt foolish. He was usually a quick study but he felt ungainly and skittish, and now he’d probably ruined this for Jaskier. Before he could apologize, Jaskier grabbed his chin the same way Geralt had done to him earlier. “Get out of your head! Be here with me. Hold your hand still.”
In one easy movement, Jaskier pushed back onto Geralt’s fingers. The heat and tightness was intense and Geralt couldn’t imagine how he would survive having it around his cock. He rocked his fingers in and out, trying to get used to the idea of being inside Jaskier.
“Do you feel how slick and open I am? That’s how they left me.” Jaskier shifted forward and back, and Geralt chanced adding another finger. Jaskier moaned, and thrust back harder against Geralt’s hand. “Rode hard and put up wet.” Geralt’s fingers flexed and Jaskier let out a little cry. “They didn’t take good care of me, not like you do.” He fluttered his lashes and pulled his wrist to one side, tugging himself open so Geralt could smell the others.
Any remaining nervousness or concern for propriety vanished in a heartbeat. He shoved his fingers into Jaskier as deep as he could and twisted them, loving how it made Jaskier writhe against him. His only thought was to scour every trace of Jaskier’s patrons out of his body with ruthless care.
“Please, please don’t make me wait. I need you. I’m so empty without you.” Jaskier had a hand behind himself, bracing Geralt’s cock against his entrance. Geralt skimmed past it as he worked his fingers out of Jaskier and for one last breathless instant he held back, on the precipice of the unknown.
Then Jaskier begged, “Make me yours.”
And Geralt was gone. He reacted on instinct, pulling Jaskier down and bucking upwards to sheath himself in one brutal movement. He tried to hold himself still, to try and gather his wits, but Jaskier took over, rolling his hips and forcing Geralt in all the way to the hilt.
“Don’t stop. You said you were going to fill me up.” He braced his hands on Geralt’s chest and squeezed his inner muscles tightly, and Geralt couldn’t help but moan.
Geralt tried to brace his feet on the bed and buck upwards but he couldn’t get the leverage right. The violent need inside him was building. The thick smell of Jaskier’s arousal was still tainted and Geralt felt bloodthirsty and vicious with the need to own and claim and mark this beautiful, perfect man so plainly he could never be mistaken for someone else’s. He grabbed the scruff of Jaskier’s neck and shoved him sideways, bullying them over so he was pinned underneath Geralt. He kept his hand clamped under Jaskier’s skull and fucked forward, pulling Jaskier into the movement.
Jaskier howled, his fingers clawing into Geralt’s back. “Fuck, yes, please. Fuck them out of me. Mark me, give me your scent.” He was rutting as best as he could under Geralt’s weight and clenched tight on every outward slide. “Fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours.” He bit hard on Geralt’s neck and Geralt’s snarl was more animal than man. “C’mon, you don’t want someone else to think he can collar your bitch, do you? Give it to me, breed me. I want to overflow with your—”
Geralt returned the bite to Jaskier’s neck, tugging at the skin with his teeth until a drop of copper crossed his tongue. He felt it sizzle, a trail of fire burning down his throat and through his gut, urging him to give in to untamed desires, to take.
He grabbed Jaskier hard behind his shoulders and dragged him down into punishing thrusts. Pleasure erupted through him, spilled out of him, and he shook apart, not recovering until well after Jaskier had gripped him with every muscle and poured heat between them.
Jaskier was still clinging when Geralt finally drew in a breath and began the slow process of reconnecting mind to body. He was helped along by the gentle hands stroking through his hair, the little melody hummed in his ear, the sucking kisses along his shoulder, the endlessly blue eyes looking up at him when he finally gathered the strength to peel himself away from Jaskier’s chest.
“There’s no rush, my love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“How about the bath? Is it normal to be slimy and sticky?”
Jaskier cackled. “It’s not all wine and roses, sometimes it’s handcuffs and cheese.”
“Remind me to skip lessons that day.”
“Give it a fair chance, love. You never know until you try!”
Geralt shut him up with a kiss, and was very pleased to do so.
***
Much later, they had cleaned up and Geralt had managed to get salve on most of Jaskier’s bumps and bruises. He had been oddly evasive about the bite Geralt had left, but otherwise he had been a surprisingly good patient.
They curled up together in bed, pressed closely like children sharing secrets under the covers. Geralt was easing towards slumber when he finally registered a sense-memory that had been evading him all night.
He snorted a laugh into Jaskier’s face, rousing him.
“What’s so funny?”
“I know who fucked you.”
“Oh..?” Jaskier seemed uncertain. “What’s funny about it?”
“We’ve finally got something in common— we’ve both been balls deep in this sweet ass.” He gave Jaskier a playful slap. It was surprisingly fun to be vulgar.
“Finally?”
“Well, other than the cat eyes.”
“Cat eyes… no. Geralt, no. It can’t be! Was it really?”
“I’m sure of it. He didn’t share a room with me, but I still got a whiff of his seed more than once.”
“How? Why?”
“Dozens of young men, cooped up in the mountains.” He shrugged. It was pretty self explanatory, he thought.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me about your early years in the Cassiline Brotherhood. I have a feeling there might not be as many differences between our childhoods as I once believed.”
He smothered Jaskier’s blasphemy with a kiss.