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Jaskier makes the most interesting noises when Geralt’s hands are on him.
As the Omega’s pregnancy progresses, Jaskier’s midriff grows heavier by the day. The stress it puts on his back leaves him exhausted on even the good days, but today is an especially bad one. The duties as a noble’s widow are relentless, calling him to run around the estate from the crack of dawn. As the evening approaches, Jaskier all but collapses onto the small fainting chair in his study, groaning pathetically. The only thing that seems to alleviate some of the back pain is Geralt’s daily massage.
“Oh yeah…” Jaskier moans loudly as Geralt digs the heel of his palm into a particularly sore spot. “Just like that, yes… Geralt, yes, right there…mmm, so good…”
Jaskier continues to let out persistent sounds of enjoyment, burrowing into the soft, velvet pillows, his limbs going boneless. Geralt doesn’t mind him being loud, no, but these exclamations of pleasure also seem to be causing the tightness of his trousers.
Geralt kneads the small of Jaskier’s back with increased pressure and gets another moan that rather resembles the noises made in a much more intimate situation. On top of that, Jaskier’s eyes are nearly rolling back in happiness.
“You know,” Geralt says, his eyebrows raised, “there are other things I could do to help with the stress.”
“Hmm? Like what—ah, yes. Keep going, Geralt, yes… Just like that. Oh, darling, you are so good to me…”
Jaskier’s breath hitches in that sweet way of his when he’s in the throes of pleasure. Geralt’s cock throbs on its own volition.
“Like this,” he answers, hands moving up Jaskier’s flank, pulling him closer.
Geralt leans down to kiss Jaskier behind the ears, teasing gently, and feels Jaskier’s back arch in response.
“Oh…” Jaskier breathes, turning to wrap his arms behind Geralt’s neck before letting out a surprised sound. “Well, I mean… I certainly won’t be complaining.”
From the change in Jaskier’s scent, complaining is the last thing on his mind. The rich, honey-sweet pheromones of a pregnant Omega intensify, threaded with ever-growing arousal.
“Trust me, you won’t be,” Geralt teases, his thumb brushing across Jaskier’s lips. “If you are already making those sounds for me, you might as well have a reason for it.”
“Your magical hands are reason enough, dear witcher. I’d sing for you any day.”
With that, Jaskier catches Geralt’s lips in his in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, his fingers buried in Geralt’s hair. Geralt remains careful with Jaskier’s delicate conditions, supporting his own weight with a hand against the back of the chair to avoid pressure on Jaskier’s round belly. He kisses Jaskier until the Omega has melted into a puddle of happiness before pulling away, letting them both catch their breaths.
“Hmm, would you?” Geralt pants. “Tell me then. What do you want?”
Jaskier’s cheeks are the most beautiful kind of red, the blush spreading down to his neck and the shells of his ears. He contemplates for a moment, biting his lips.
“If you ask me—” Impossibly, the blush darkens. Jaskier looks down as if in embarrassment. “—I would want… Well, do you remember the thing you did the other day? With your mouth?”
Does he remember it? Geralt’s mind goes to the other night when he made Jaskier come twice on his tongue, the Omega’s legs wrapped around his head, trembling from overwhelming pleasure. He will remember it for the rest of his life.
“Yes, of course.” Geralt swallows, mouth watering. “Do you want me to use my mouth again?”
To his surprise, Jaskier shakes his head, still not looking at Geralt directly. “Actually,” he answers, hesitating with every word. “I’m thinking of the opposite.”
Geralt’s mind goes blank very quickly.
“The opposite?”
“Yes, that is to say, I can, um, perhaps, use my mouth on you? If you want, that is.” Jaskier hides his beet-red face behind a hand. “I’ve been thinking about how good you were to me, and I would quite like to return the favor.”
Geralt’s blood sings at Jaskier’s words, a deep growl rumbles from his chest on primal Alpha instinct. The sound should make any Omega scared, but Jaskier only preens at the response he gets out of Geralt.
“I—” Geralt’s throat is still incredibly dry. “I didn’t do it so you’d, um, reciprocate. Jaskier, you know you don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.”
“And that makes you all the more lovely, which makes me all the more wanting,” Jaskier whispers, pressing a small kiss on Geralt’s cheek, his fingers combing through the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Would you let me, please?”
And Geralt is powerless when Jaskier asks him like that.
“Alright,” he says.
“Alright?” Jaskier perks up.
“Mm-hmm. Here, be careful.”
Geralt pulls Jaskier up so they are both sitting on the chair. Jaskier lets out a labored sound, reaching back to support himself with a hand, so Geralt massages for a few moments longer, rubbing the soreness away patiently. Jaskier observes him in the process, stealing kisses from time to time.
“I’m fine now.” Jaskier licks his lips, his eyes full of softness. “But before…um, before we start, I must ask you to promise me something.”
The uncertainty in Jaskier’s voice alerts the protectiveness at the back of Geralt’s mind. “Anything.” he frowns.
“You must promise to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like.” Jaskier is a bit too serious for Geralt’s heart to break, just a little. “From what I’ve told you about my past, you must have gathered that I’m not the most experienced when it comes to certain things. Yes, I’ve been with plenty of Alphas, but they rarely asked for much more than popping a knot in me. Even when they did, I don’t think I provided enough satisfaction anyway, especially when it comes to using my mouth. So, well, here we are. If I do anything wrong, Geralt, I ask you not to keep it to yourself.”
Here Jaskier is, selfless and sincere and so incredibly sweet, and yet, his eyes dim with doubt. Doubt put there by all those Alphas who don’t know how to appreciate a good thing when they see it. The pleasant hum in Geralt’s blood turns to simmering rage.
“What do you mean by not enough satisfaction?” Geralt asks, somehow knowing the answer will make him want to chase down all those Alphas and breaks all their bones very slowly, all the while enjoying the process greatly.
Jaskier rests against Geralt’s chest, sighing softly. “It’s just that…I’ve not been asked to use my mouth often. If they did ask, it’s when my hole isn’t enough for an Alpha in rut, so I’d use my mouth too. It was never right, always made them pop the knot too quickly, and that can’t make a happy rut. I’ve received…complaints.”
Geralt has to breathe very hard to hide the anger within him.
“And when that happened,” he asks, voice low and dangerous, “were you also in heat?”
“Sometimes? More often with my late husband. He’d use herbs, so it hit at the same time for both of us. He had the most notes for me, actually.” Jaskier muses, his brows furrowed. “Why?”
Breaking all the bones isn’t enough. Geralt would need to resurrect the dead noble Alpha and kill him all over again.
His anger must show from the rumbling in his chest, making Jaskier flinch, but Geralt soon recovers and gathers Jaskier in his arms again. He strokes the Omega’s back soothingly, reassuring him with all the gentleness he can muster.
The unfairness of it all sits wrong under Geralt’s skin, but he channels it into how he can make it better right now.
“Jask,” Geralt murmurs, his heart in pieces. “It wasn’t you, you have to know that. They had no right to make you feel any less than perfect.” His chest twists painfully. “Gods, you were in heat yourself. Fuck them. They should have been there for you. They should never deserve to spend a rut with any Omega, let alone you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t you. It was never you…”
The desperation in Geralt must shine through, because Jaskier melts into Geralt’s arms, letting himself be soothed and kissed all over. Geralt ignores his own desire and just focuses on making Jaskier feel good, until he has a lap full of happy Omega, humming contently and drunk on kisses.
“Do you think, perhaps, you have too much faith in me?” Jaskier climbs on top of Geralt to straddle him, his weight resting pleasantly on Geralt’s thighs. “What if he was right? I mean, what if—”
“No what ifs,” Geralt interrupts, rather urgently. He holds Jaskier’s gaze without wavering, knowing he’s never been surer of anything else. “Fuck all of them. It wasn’t your fault. We’ll prove it.”
“We will?”
“Yes, because you are perfect. You are beautiful and selfless and so wonderfully loud. I’ll love anything you decide to give me.”
Jaskier’s breath fans over Geralt’s cheek, his lips tugged into a smile. “But you’ll still tell me, right? What you like, what you dislike. So I’ll learn about you now.”
Geralt tugs open the lace at Jaskier’s collar and trails kisses down his sternum. “I will. Don’t worry. I’ll be there for you through it all. Forget about anyone else. It’s just me.”
“Just you…” Jaskier tips his head so Geralt can pepper kisses across his shoulder, lingering at his neck where the pheromones are the strongest. “I’ll make it good for you, darling. Just like you did for me.”
When Jaskier tilts Geralt’s chin with delicate fingers and catches him in a kiss, his lips are maddening, teasing and flirting just the right way to make Geralt’s slow witcher heart skip a beat. Geralt closes his eyes and leans back against the chair, letting his senses be filled by Jaskier.
The want in Geralt’s veins pulses, rings in his ears. For a moment he doesn’t notice Jaskier’s exploring kisses have left and the weight of his pregnant Omega has shifted from his lap to the floor. Eager hands tug at the laces on Geralt’s trousers, as desperate as the fire that burns inside him.
“Jaskier…”
A sudden gasp answers him, and it’s not a happy one.
Geralt snaps open his eyes to find Jaskier kneeling before him, a slight furrow on his brow. The heaviness of the Omega’s midriff knocks him off balance for a second, but Jaskier recovers with a hand on his round belly protectively, his side leaning against Geralt’s shin.
It’s awkward, the way Jaskier has to curl into himself to fit between Geralt’s legs, his back straining and knees bent. The floor must be hurting him.
“Now, where were we?” Jaskier looks up from under his lashes, the lust within his blue eyes burning anew, heedless of the discomfort. He tugs at Geralt’s smalls next, but his hands are caught gently.
“Wait.” The dazed look on Geralt’s face becomes a reprimanding frown. He tries to pull Jaskier up, but doesn’t want to be too forceful with his stubborn Omega. “I won’t have you on your knees.”
The back pain gives Jaskier enough trouble these days. Geralt doesn’t have the heart to add more to it, no matter how eager they both are.
“Bit of double standard, aren’t we?” Jaskier pouts, looking up from his lashes, his elbows resting on Geralt’s thighs. “You were on your knees for me the other day.”
“That was different,” Geralt explains. “You’ll be hurting later. Come on, get off the floor.”
Jaskier holds his pregnant belly, letting himself be pulled up from under the arms and hissing quietly in the process. Geralt makes sure to put two pillows behind Jaskier’s back and starts rubbing his knees in sympathy.
“Oh, stop fussing.” Jaskier swats Geralt’s hands away and pulls the Alpha over him rather carelessly until Geralt has both legs around his hips. Geralt lets out a gasp as Jaskier pulls down his smalls in one swift motion. “Let’s get to business.”
“I was trying to be gentle with you,” Geralt huffs, exasperated.
“Don’t need gentleness. Just your service, Alpha. Right now, it means letting me put my mouth around you promptly.” Jaskier wraps a hand around Geralt’s hard cock, the other hiking up his shirt and tracing the hair on his lower stomach. “Oh, look at you.”
Geralt sucks in a shuddering breath when Jaskier’s lips touch the tip of his cock for the briefest moment, his legs nearly giving out under him. He puts a hand on the back of the chair just to make sure he doesn’t topple over Jaskier.
Jaskier pauses for a moment, eyes wide with wonder, as if not believing he can have this kind of effect on Geralt. A murmured praise escapes Geralt’s lips. He returns Jaskier’s gaze with trust he’s never bestowed on anyone. It must give Jaskier confidence, because the next thing Geralt knows, the warmth of Jaskier’s mouth is taking him in.
“Fuck, that is—” Geralt feels too hot suddenly, his eyes squeezed shut. “Jaskier, that is so good. You feel so—”
A flick of tongue, and Geralt is speechless. His head bends forward as Jaskier begins sucking slowly, the wet sound of saliva and tongue building the tightness within Geralt’s core. He growls, distantly realizing that deep, animalistic rumbling is his.
“I got you.” The sensation of Jaskier’s mouth disappears for a second, and Geralt is steadied by hands around his ass, kneading gently. “Just tell me if it’s not good, alright?”
“It’s good.” Geralt cards his fingers through messy brown hair in reassurance. “Keep going, Jask. Please…”
“Oh, of course…”
Jaskier does not need to be told twice. He opens his mouth again to take Geralt in, a lot deeper this time. The tightness of his throat wrings out a shiver down Geralt’s spine.
“Jaskier. You are amazing. Just like this, perfect…perfect Omega…” Geralt groans, nearly losing balance.
Jaskier’s hands squeeze as he picks up pace, a pleased hum building at the back of his throat, the vibration going directly to the tips of Geralt’s toes. The heavenly rhythm of catch and release guides Geralt to follow, his hips swaying as every nerve in his body lights up.
“I won’t last like this…” Geralt says lowly, surprised he still has enough sanity to warn Jaskier. “You might want to—”
There is only a slight shake of head from Jaskier, almost imperceptible if not for Geralt’s senses turned onto every minute movement of Jaskier’s lips, his tight mouth, his smart tongue. Jaskier refuses to let Geralt pull out, only to take him in further, letting Geralt hit the back of his throat forcefully.
Stars fill Geralt’s vision, and he holds on to the nape of Jaskier’s neck with heaving breaths. He doesn’t want Jaskier to hurt his throat. Even though the Omega cannot play the lute around his belly anymore, he’d still hate to see Jaskier saddened if he’s unable to sing.
He pulls out, just a little so the weight of his cock sits on Jaskier’s tongue.
“Like this. Don’t want to hurt you. Yes, perfect. You are doing so good, Jask. So good to me…” When Geralt looks down, he meets Jaskier’s watery eyes. There is something in his expression above all the lust, above all the sex. Geralt doesn’t dare name it yet, not in the heat of the moment. It’s too dangerous a notion.
It would mean they are in too deep.
Jaskier breathes, his eyes determined. One of his hands trails down Geralt’s thigh and moves under his own trousers, reaching down slowly. The air fills with the enticing smell of Jaskier’s slick. Geralt’s world could end like this and he wouldn’t even care.
“Jaskier, I’m going to—” he warns with a broken voice. “I’m going to come.”
Jaskier only hums in affirmation, and Geralt throws his head back, the white, hot pleasure cresting. He spills into Jaskier’s mouth, the orgasm rolling in waves. Jaskier’s breaths come in through broken gasps as he eases Geralt down from the high, swallowing his come slowly, tasting it with quiet little hums.
“Fuck, Jask, you were so good. Hmm…so good…”
Geralt looks down to find Jaskier’s eyes closed, a small crease between his closed eyes, his hand buried in his trousers and palming in a languid pace. The world comes back into focus as Jaskier lets go of his soft cock with a pop, and Geralt sits back on his heels, hovering over Jaskier’s knees, careful not to put pressure on his stomach. Oh, Jaskier is on the edge himself.
“Geralt…” Jaskier licks the come on his lower lip with dazed eyes, and there is nothing sexier Geralt has ever seen. “Was it good enough—”
“Shh…” Geralt shushes him with a kiss at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, tasting faintly of himself. He cups Jaskier’s chin with the barest force. “It was perfect. You were perfect. I promise,” he reassures and gets a weak chuckle in answer. “Now, we must take care of you.”
Geralt moves off Jaskier’s lap to sit next to him, reaching into the Omega’s smalls to replace his trembling hands.
“Geralt, oh… You don’t have to—” Jaskier bites in a moan as Geralt coats his fingers with slick and spreads it around the Omega’s hole. “That was for you…just for you…”
“It was. You took care of me so well, Jaskier. Don’t worry. Just relax.” Geralt feels Jaskier’s hole tighten around him, and knows he only needs a little encouragement. “Let me. It’s alright. It’s just me…”
Jaskier’s chest heaves, letting out sharp little groans as Geralt works his fingers in him, his digits curling just the right way to hit that sweet spot. He peppers kisses along Jaskier’s neck, behind his ear, and then, on his swollen lips. When Jaskier comes, it is with the most beautiful soft keening sounds against Geralt’s mouth, his body shaking all over.
“Geralt…” Jaskier nearly collapses into Geralt’s embrace, his head buried under Geralt’s chin. “I—I…”
“Hey, it’s alright.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s limb body and shushes softly. It’s the kind of being overwhelmed that steals all the words from Jaskier, and it’s going to take time. “Don’t worry, just focus on me. Focus on breathing. There you go, that’s it. You are doing well, Jask. So well…”
Suddenly, Jaskier lets out a sob, followed by a choked laugh. He hides his face in Geralt’s shirt as the tears fall, soaking the fabric through.
“Oh,” Geralt breathes, blinking, not sure what he’s doing wrong. “Hey, Jaskier, it’s alright. Um, are you—did I do something—”
Jaskier shakes his head, whimpering uncontrollably, arms wrapped around his belly. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions simmering underneath. A chuckle takes over, and then a wet sniff. Geralt just holds him through the whirlwind of confusion and murmurs more soft things.
“Geralt, I—I’m okay. It’s just—” When Jaskier looks up, he’s smiling despite the tears that won’t stop falling. Geralt wipes them away with a thumb, but they just keep coming. “I meant to do this for you. I wanted you to feel good, don’t you understand?”
“Yeah?” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s wet cheek, not sure what he’s supposed to understand. “And you were perfect. You did everything for me, alright? I felt perfect.”
Jaskier’s lips wobble again. “Then how come it still feels like everything is about me?”
The question comes out quietly, followed by another sob.
“Oh.”
The unfairness in Jaskier’s voice borders on heartbreaking, and it’s all for Geralt’s sake. The situation is truly too ridiculous, Geralt could laugh out loud.
But he remains patient, settling a hand on top of Jaskier’s belly. “Are you not happy about it?” Geralt asks gently. “You make all things about you.”
“For once, I wanted to be selfless.” Jaskier’s eyes are all puffy and red, his voice hoarse. “I wanted to take care of my Alpha the same way he’s been taking care of me.”
“And you did,” Geralt says, “thoroughly, if I may add.”
“It’s not the same. Urgh.” Jaskier makes a disgusted noise as if he’s actually mad at Geralt for focusing on him this entire time. “You ruined it all, with all this—” he gestures wildly. “—with your big heart and serviceable tendencies. How rude!”
“Hmm, I’m the worst.”
“You really are. Now you’ve made me cry by being so sweet after.” Jaskier wipes his face with a sleeve, though the sadness is fading from his scent. “You make me cry too easily.”
Geralt sighs in sympathy, knowing it’s the pregnancy messing with Jaskier’s emotions. He simply waits, watching with those puppy eyes Jaskier insists he has, and kisses away the last of the tears.
Jaskier chases as Geralt pulls away, finally letting a grin tug at the corners of his mouth.
“There you are.” Geralt takes in Jaskier’s state, his hair tousled, clothes half-undone and hugging the curve of his belly, all vulnerable and open. His slow witcher heart suddenly feels too big for his chest.
“Here I am.” Jaskier closes his eyes, smiling, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder tiredly. “So stop with your big puppy eyes.”
Geralt breathes in Jaskier’s scent, now sated and content, but the smell of sex lingers around them. “Might I make it up to you, if I’ve been so terrible?”
“Not terrible,” Jaskier whispers apologetically. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just..it’s been a long day.”
“Hmm, a bath, then?”
Jaskier lets out a happy sound, his arms tightening around Geralt in thanks. “Bath sounds good.”
“Come on.”
Geralt tidies up his shirt and trousers, ready to help Jaskier get up from the fainting chair. The day is late, and tomorrow may just bring Jaskier more exhausting chores around the estate. He should get Jaskier relaxed and ready for bed soon, or the little one might act up again.
“Geralt—” Jaskier tugs at Geralt’s sleeve, not budging from his comfortable position amongst the sea of pillows, the barest hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Stay here, will you? Just a little bit longer. I don’t—I don’t want you to go yet.”
Something flutters in Geralt’s chest, knowing there is nowhere else he would be in the world apart from Jaskier’s side. He leans down to press a kiss on Jaskier’s belly.
“I’ll stay,” Geralt promises, “for as long as you need me.”
A bath can wait, when they are exactly where they belong.