Chapter Text
Geralt was in a foul mood. He was carrying the head of a gryphon he just managed to slay at the request of the inhabitants of a local village. The beast has been getting bolder, hunting closer and closer to the settlement, even snagging a sheep or two.
Despite the terrified accounts of the villagers describing the gigantic monster, the fight proved to be a quick one – the beast was only a juvenile, fast and agile but ultimately lacking the experience and cunning that came with age. It managed to land only two swipes with its claws, shallow cuts that the potions, and Geralt’s faster healing, were already taking care of.
He could hear gasps and muttering as he walked through the village, gryphon head dripping with blood, black veins creating a striking contrast with his pale face, reminding everyone of exactly what he was.
The village elder – a man in his forties – looked up from where he was currently writing something down when Geralt entered his hut. His eyes went from the witcher’s scowling face to the head in his hand.
“I see you’ve dealt with the gryphon, master witcher.”
“Obviously,” Geralt grouched.
The man walked closer, inspecting the gryphon head closely.
“Thought it would be bigger.”
Geralt frowned. He knew this dance too damn well. People often tried to pay him less than what was the original agreement, and he was getting damn sick of it.
“It was a juvenile.”
The man hummed, walking to a chest, taking out a pouch that was heavy with coin.
“Well, juvenile or not, you pulled a thorn out of our side. Here,” he gave Geralt the money. From the weight, it seemed to be the amount he was owed, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Could you take the head to our healer? He’s always been fascinated by monsters and would love to see it for himself.”
“Sure,” Geralt nodded, already turning to leave.
“Thank you again, master witcher. May the gods shower you with good fortune.”
Geralt ducked his head, not used to this kind of gratitude, and left.
When Geralt finally managed to escape the healer and his incessant questions, his head was throbbing. Everything was so much brighter, sharper – the potions that were supposed to help him survive a fight now making him feel overwhelmed and antsy.
Quickly he moved through the town, towards the inn and to the upstairs room he had rented with Jaskier.
Once the door fell closed behind him, he allowed himself to breathe in deeply. The bard’s scent, while still intense, worked like a balm on his nerves, helping him relax. He leaned against the door for a moment, allowing himself to close his eyes and simply exist.
Jaskier still hadn’t noticed him where he was fluttering around the tub, humming a tune Geralt didn’t recognize. He was so pretty, the autumn Sun bathing him in a warm glow – how did Geralt manage to get so lucky.
“I’m back,” he said after looking his fill, chuckling as Jaskier whipped around, a huge smile on his face.
“Darling! You’re yearly. The hunt went well?” Jaskier walked over to him, a slight worry in his gaze as he scanned Geralt for injuries.
“I’m fine. Beast was young, didn’t know how to fight yet. Took too many potions.”
Jaskier winced in sympathy and with a click of his tongue ran his gentle fingers across the black veins still adorning Geralt’s face.
“Go take your potion, love. The bath will be ready in a bit,” Jaskier said, pecking Geralt’s cheeks quickly, proceeding to make preparations for the bath.
Geralt moved to his bag where he kept all his potions, searching around it for a while, before cursing loudly. Jaskier’s head snapped up.
“What’s wrong?”
Geralt growled, mad at himself, and set the bag down, with less care than he normally would have.
“Ran out,” he forced out, trying to get his frustration under control. Getting angry wouldn’t help him get rid of his headache – plus it was nobody else’s fault he forgot to stock up on white honey when he was making his potions last week - again . Closing his eyes, he tried to will the pain away. He would just have to wait until the potions ran their course. He growled softly. He was so looking forward to just spending a nice evening with his bard after spending most of his year without him.
Distantly he could hear Jaskier rummaging through his bags, muttering under his breath before a little triumphant ah-ha could be heard.
“Here you go, dear heart.”
Geralt opened his eyes to see Jaskier offering him a small cylindrical vial with shimmery white liquid. White honey. Without thinking twice, he took it, drinking it without hesitation. It was one of the few witcher potions that didn’t taste like monster guts – just honeysuckle and alcohol – and he sighed at the taste, knowing that soon it would take effect.
“Better?” Jaskier asked with a gentle smile as he watched the veins slowly fade, the witcher’s complexion turning to a much healthier shade of pale.
Geralt hummed, swiping his tongue over his teeth, chasing the aftertaste – and frowned.
“Jask? Where did you get that potion?”
Jaskier’s eyes grew large, heartbeat picking up.
“Why? Is there something wrong with it?”
Geralt shook his head distractedly, still frowning.
“Eskel adds honey to his potions. And Lambert puts too much alcohol in his. This one was exactly as the recipe at Kaer Morhen describes it and I don’t think you met Vesemir before meeting up with me.”
He looked at Jaskier, yellow eyes boring into blue ones, the bard wringing his hands nervously.
“Well, I – you three often forget to make it, always focusing on the other potions first, so I thought I might learn how to make it?”
Jaskier squeaked as Geralt suddenly moved, pulling him by the nape of his neck into a heated kiss, melting into it once the initial shock melted away.
“Have I told you recently that I love you?” Geralt asked, in a rough voice that made Jaskier’s knees grow weak.
“You might have, don’t mind hearing it again though,” came the dazed reply, Jaskier’s eyes glazed over slightly. Geralt smirked, leaning in for another kiss, humming as Jaskier opened his mouth willingly, letting out soft moans that the witcher swallowed eagerly.
Geralt attempted to steer his bard towards their bed, however, Jaskier hummed in protest, pushing at Geralt’s chest until they finally broke the kiss.
Jaskier looked stunning – his pupils were blown wide, almost hiding the blue of his eyes, a blush high on his cheeks, his lips red and kiss-swollen.
“No. I am not letting you fuck me while you’re still covered in blood,” he said sternly when he caught his breath. Geralt just raised his eyebrows and a wide grin spread across his face. Jaskier rolled his eyes with a small smile, slapping Geralt’s shoulder with a chastising smirk.
“I’m not letting you fuck me while you’re covered in blood - again. Now, shoo. Into the water you get.”
Geralt knew when it was best to do as his bard said, so he started the well known task of removing his armour. Truth be told, he wasn’t that dirty – he had worse days. But the prospect of a hot bath and his bard’s pampering was always something he had trouble saying no to.
An appreciative hum escaped him as he sunk into the warmth, his muscles untensing.
With closed eyes he let Jaskier wash him and his hair, purring under the attention, the bard chattering away easily.
“You said you didn’t get hurt,” Jaskier chided as he found the scratches the gryphon left on his arm and back. His eyes opened a tad, hooded gaze turned to the frowning bard.
“They’re not deep,” he rumbled, catching one of Jaskier’s hands and placing a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist. Jaskier sighed, cupping Geralt’s cheek.
“Wish you had told me though.”
Geralt hummed, catching the front of the bard’s shirt, pulling him into a soft kiss. His other hand reached out for the nape of Jaskier’s neck, thumb brushing at the soft skin below Jaskier’s ear, a spot that always made the bard melt – this time not being an exception to that rule.
Once more their kiss deepened, Geralt’s still wet hands reaching for Jaskier’s torso, feeling the muscle hiding under his soft shirt.
“Geralt! You’re making me wet,” Jaskier whined, referring to the state of his clothes. Geralt just grinned, all sharp and predatory, making Jaskier shiver.
“I sure hope I am,” he growled playfully, nipping below Jaskier’s ear, the heady scent of Jaskier’s arousal filling his nose.
“You know – full well – that’s not – what I meant,” Jaskier stammered through gasps and moans he couldn’t hold back as Geralt placed kisses and nips along his neck, trailing a path down towards his collarbones.
“Out. You need to get out and fuck me. Yesterday was too late.”
Geralt snorted a laugh as he let the bard pull him to his feet, throwing a towel at the witcher before starting to strip himself frantically, almost falling when one of his feet got caught in his trousers.
Geralt was incredibly in love.
They met halfway in a kiss, Jaskier curling his fingers through Geralt’s damp hair, tugging at them, smiling against Geralt’s lips at the groan the action pulled out of him. Gently he nudged the witcher towards their bed, giddy when Geralt went willingly, sitting on the edge once it hit the back of his knees.
Jaskier immediately climbed onto his lap, licking into his mouth, taking the lead, keeping Geralt where he wanted him by the grip on his hair. He trailed kisses down a strong jawline, one of his hands trailing down to Geralt’s hardness, stroking him once firmly.
“Fuck, Julek,” strong hands tightened their hold on Jaskier’s hips.
“That’s the idea, love,” the bard murmured against his skin, a smile playing on his lips as he teased Geralt’s prick, keeping his touch feather light.
“Jaskier,” Geralt growled warningly at the teasing, but the bard simply smiled sharply in return, a challenge glinting in his eyes.
“Yes, my darling witcher?”
He let out a startled yelp as strong hands suddenly gripped his narrow waist and in a blur he found himself splayed on the bed, a smug looking witcher hovering above him. Strands of silver brushed against his skin, making him shiver.
“You can tease later. Need you now,” Geralt rumbled, pressing a trail of wet kisses down the bard's throat, delighting in the way the pulse quickened under his touch.
“Anything you want, dear heart,” Jaskier breathed out, letting his legs fall open in invitation… only to frown slightly in confusion when Geralt pulled back.
The witcher let his eyes and hands roam, brushing against Jaskier’s skin until he grazed one of the scars that were under the bard's pecks. Jaskier tensed for just the briefest of moments, more so from years of habit than any real discomfort as he kept his eyes locked into Geralt’s still elusive gaze.
“Want you to ride me.”
Now, Jaskier was no blushing virgin, not by a long shot. But the easy, straight to the point way Geralt talked about sex, no theatrics, no unnecessary bullshit, well - that made the bard wet with want embarrassingly fast.
He surged up and forward, stealing a needy kiss from the witcher as he pushed at one muscular shoulder, hoping the other would get the message and lie back down. Thankfully, Geralt simply smiled into the kiss and followed the bard’s attempts at manhandling him indulgently.
For the second time that day, Jaskier climbed into the witcher’s lap, and without wasting any more time he lined them up, sinking down on the other’s length in one fluid motion that left them both breathless.
Geralt's hands had flown to his hips, holding him still as he battled with the urge to shove the bard back down and fuck him silly, a barely audible fuck leaving through his clenched teeth.
Jaskier was not doing much better. He had been wet and it didn't hurt but getting filled with witcher’s cock without any sort of foreplay was a lot to take in. The bard let out a shuddering breath, trying desperately to calm down enough so his thighs would stop trembling.
“Fuck,” he moaned as he finally rolled his hips, his mind momentarily reduced to using monosyllabic words as the motion drove the cock even deeper inside him.
Geralt to his credit had shown incredible restraint as he held still until the bard got used to him, but once Jaskier moved he couldn't help the involuntary twitch of his hips, driving himself deeper into the tight heat, a deep groan rumbling through his chest.
He could see the sliver of blue eyes watching him, a wicked grin spreading over his soft features and Geralt's mind briefly flashed with the question of how he could have ever thought the man was a mere human. Then his mind went blissfully blank as the bard raised his hips and fell back down, setting a slow torturous pace.
Geralt growled.
“Thought I told you to stop with the teasing, Julian.”
Jaskier laughed, bright and carefree and slightly breathless and Geralt thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
“You wanted me to ride you and I'm doing just that,” the bard chirped, grinding his hips down which punched another deep groan from Geralt's lungs, fingers twitching where they were still resting over Jaskier's hips.
“Bard,” the witcher growled in warning, sending a shiver down the other’s spine, deciding to finally have mercy on both of them
Jaskier's fingers spread over Geralt's broad chest, digging slightly into the muscle and bone underneath as he used him as leverage so he could speed up, steadier in his movements, able to adjust the angle that left them both reaching their peaks at rapid speeds - having not seen each other since winter definitely didn’t help in that department either.
“Dear heart, I’m-”
Jaskier didn’t even have to finish the sentence before Geralt’s hand flew to the bard’s clit, thumbing focused circles that brought him over the edge with a sharp cry.
Through the trembling Jaskier could hear Geralt calling out his name before tensing with a deep moan, twitching as he spilled inside of the bard, holding him close.
Jaskier collapsed on the witcher’s chest with a whine, as his thighs still trembled, unable to keep himself upright no longer. He struggled to catch his breath as Geralt let his hands wander over his back, fingertips brushing along the notches of his spine and tracing his ribs.
“Oh, I so have missed you, darling,” Jaskier whispered, pressing a gentle kiss below the witcher’s ear. An affirmative hum was his answer and he smiled.
“Promise next round will last longer.”
Another hum, this time an amused one and his own smile grew into a grin as he pressed another fleeting kiss to the witcher’s skin before forcing his arms below him so he could get up to clean himself before two strong arms slithered around his torso, pulling him back down with so much strength it had knocked the breath out of him in a huff.
“Darling, as much as I love how clingy you get after fucking my brains out, I need to clean myself before it gets gross.”
A third hum, a thoughtful one, and then Jaskier was getting deposited on the bed with the witcher kissing his way down his chest, looking up at the bard with a smirk that made the fae’s breath hitch.
“Not if I clean you up first.”
And Jaskier couldn’t really think of any good arguments against that particular idea.