It wasn’t winter, not yet. Still it was stunningly cold in the fall in Kaedwen. Vesemir had warned them as much before they set out, reminding them that they might be wise to bring an extra blanket each in their packs. Eskel and Geralt were young and hardy though, they had assured each other as they prepared to set out on their hunt to control the forktail population in the mountains south of Kaer Morhen. It was their first unsupervised multi-night excursion. That space might be better used for bombs, and crossbow bolts, in case they missed their mark. Food lest they go hungry. Oh how wrong they had been. Despite the large fire Eskel had roared to life in front of them it was well below freezing the first night they were out in the Blue Mountains.
Don’t return until you have a trophy head each, Vesemir’s words rang in their heads. Witchers were hardy alright, but it was still colder than a waterhag’s left titty out there. So Eskel and Geralt put their heads together to come up with a plan and then they put their bedrolls together. They had decided sharing heat was the best solution to not freezing their asses off until they hunted down two forktails. They’d keep the mountain passes safe, they’d live to tell the tale with all ten toes still attached, and next time Vesemir suggested an extra addition to their pack they’d damn well listen. They were not even twenty yet and he was near two hundred, bastard might know a thing or two they had to admit. They just didn’t have to admit it to him.
It started innocuously enough, huddled together facing the fire, Eskel’s bulkier body playing big spoon to Geralt’s lither frame. At sixteen years old with no real experience to speak of outside of his hand Eskel was startled to find his body reacting in ways he never realized it could to another man. Sure he’d seen the other boys naked hoping out of the baths as fast as they could in the winter to get dressed, but he’d never paid it any mind. No one did. The goal was to get your own cold body into the bath as quickly as possible. There were no women around the Kaer Morhen to speak of. When he touched himself he didn’t think of anything specific, focusing mainly on what speed, what tightness, what places felt the best. Eeking more pleasure out of those things in the limited privacy he had. He had wondered abstractly what a woman’s body might feel like, but he hadn’t have the opportunity to find out and he knew he wouldn’t so he didn’t dwell on it.
Now though, here in front of him, pressed back against him, was Geralt. Warm and firm, breathing gently, and Eskel felt himself swell. He didn’t have to wonder abstractly what this body felt like. Geralt was rearranging himself in front of Eskel to get more comfortable, scooting farther up against him to steal his heat. Worse Eskel could feel how his swollen flesh, even tightly constrained in his leathers, fit perfectly snug up against the curve of Geralt’s ass. He tried to relax and settled his mind away from his unruly body, taking a deep breath through his nose. Which turned out to be a horrible idea because then the sharp tang of his own arousal assaulted him, smelling strongly of salty fresh rain. He opened his mouth instead and breathed through it, exhaling warmly against the back of Geralt’s head, and tried to ignore how much his cock itched inside his leathers. Geralt shifted restlessly in front of him again, pressing his free hand between his own thighs for warmth. Eventually Eskel did manage to sleep.
Eskel woke up warmer, even though the fire had burned low overnight. The early morning sun was heating him up, and he could no longer see his breath in the air. He realized with a grim frustration that he was still half hard and aching where Geralt was curled back against him, but he brushed that thought aside immediately. Time to get up and get on with their task.
They broke camp, ate some of their rations, and discussed strategy for locating their target. By late afternoon they had discovered some signs of forktail inhabitation, and began gathering supplies to make a decent goat dummy. Brother Adelbert’s Bestiary recommended a live goat on a stake sure, but they would have to improvise- that was part of the point of this trip anyway. Forcing them come up with solutions that were not necessarily in the books.
Haphazard dummy in place they waited out the evening. Shortly before dusk their prey arrived intrigued by the vaguely goat shaped branches they’d bundled together and Geralt’s near comical bleating noises. They rushed out to meet it head on. It flew up into the air and they each tossed a bomb at it hoping to knock it back down. They only succeeded in stunning the forktail midair, allowing Eskel to get in a good blast of aard which finally grounded the creature. From there, with two of them both highly skilled in their swordsmanship even at such a young age, it was quick work to cut the beast down. It was a female, on the younger side. Grinning like idiots, they worked to harvest any good parts for potions and chop off the head for a trophy before dark settled in. One down, one to go.
Eskel and Geralt made camp for the night, again throwing their bedrolls together for warmth. Using water from their meager supply to rinse away the blood from their hands, Geralt commented that he did not want to get forktail blood all over his bedroll, or Eskel’s for that matter. He stripped down to his braies and shirt before climbing in.
“Maybe tomorrow we can find one of the mountain streams to rinse of the worst of it off,” Geralt commented, “Or maybe we’ll have found a second fortail.”
“Hopefully,” Eskel paused swallowing hard before following suit stripping down to his underclothes before he crawled into the bedrolls next to Geralt.
Of course as soon as he was sharing heat with Geralt inside their bedrolls Eskel’s body began to betray him and his strange interest in the situation again. Only now more it was more heightened by the lack of layers between his own body and Geralt’s. Even though Geralt had not commented at all about the previous night, Eskel was sure he’d noticed. Witcher senses were beyond keen enough, if Eskel had smelt his own arousal so had his friend. He doubted that Geralt hadn’t been able to feel him harden against him either. Maybe Geralt thought Eskel was just horny and unable to keep his mind off of girls, or was having a vivid dream.
Eskel didn’t want spend the night aching against his best friend again though. Because then that illusion might not hold. And Eskel wasn’t even sure why his body was reacting this way so there was no way he could have explained it if he needed to. Instead he decided to turn over facing away from the fire, back to Geralt, still touching but not spooned up behind him. It was easier then to fall asleep, even if it was a little colder.
And that was how it started. If Eskel looked back seventy-odd years later, and tried to lay a finger on it, he would have said it was that hunt that opened his eyes to the fact that his tastes might not run the same as everyone else. He had felt off kilter at the revelation like he’d suddenly realized he didn’t fit in the world in yet another way. It would take him years, decades to find his center again. To find a way to be at peace with who and what he was, and with others.
The next morning Eskel woke slowly, almost too warm under the bedroll cover. His back felt sweat damp and Geralt’s front was plastered against it, his moist breath exhaling along Eskel’s spine where his neck was exposed. Geralt’s arm curled low around his waist, holding Eskel tightly against him, Geralt’s knees tucked neatly up behind the backs of Eskel’s legs. Eskel felt like he was suffocating from the closeness. He tried to stretch ever so slightly in Geralt’s hold, only to have Geralt increase the grip around his waist and press up against Eskel with a groan in his sleep. Eskel stilled instantly. He was suddenly very awake. Eskel’s heart thundered in his ears. Nestled in the valley created by the bottom of his ass cheeks was an unmistakable hardness. Lying very still, Eskel panicked quietly for several long minutes. A few minutes too long apparently, because Geralt eventually stirred behind him.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you,” Geralt offered meekly, removing his arm from Eskel’s waist.
“I- I’m not upset,” Eskel rolled onto his back, once the sensation of Geralt’s hard cock was taken away Eskel could breathe a little more evenly, hell maybe even think a little more clearly.
“Don’t lie to me,” Geralt huffed out annoyed. He turned away to face the dying fire in the morning light. “I can hear your heartbeat Eskel, it’s what woke me up.”
“I-” Eskel covered his face with both hands, “-Shit! Sorry, Geralt! I’m just… confused? Don’t be mad at me.”
Geralt was quiet for half a moment, “I’m not mad at you Eskel,” Geralt’s voice was quiet in the dead of the forest. “I guess I just thought after how aroused you smelled, that you were more… open to the idea?”
“Wait. You’ve done things like that before!?” Eskel squeaked out, half horrified half in awe, upper body raising off the bedroll with the question.
“GODS NO!” Geralt practically yelled at him and Eskel shrunk back into the bedroll stunned. “I mean I’ve overheard about how things work from some of the older witchers, it's not exactly considered appropriate by any leap of faith. But we’re best friends and I trust you… and I thought- the way you smelled and your body felt.” Geralt shook his head, still looking away from Eskel, “Sorry.”
Eskel gathered all of his courage, more than it took him to face a gravehag, and reached out to put his right hand on Geralt’s hip. And this time Geralt went still.
“I wasn’t upset at you Geralt, honest.” Eskel took a deep breath, “I didn’t know, and I didn’t want you to be offended. And then I woke up and I was scared.”
Geralt rolled onto his back looking at Eskel's face. Honesty shone in his golden cat eyes, “Why would you be scared of me?”
“Didn’t want you to not be my best friend anymore.”
“That will never happen,” Geralt said it with such surety that it instantly put Eskel at ease. “So you’re not entirely opposed to the idea?” Geralt ventured.
“Um, maybe not?” Eskel hesitated, still not sure what the idea entailed. He had never overheard those stories. “I mean neither of us is a girl so I’m not sure how that would work.”
“Well from what I have heard, it’s not really any different, except I don’t have tits, and you don’t have a cunt,” Geralt laughed at himself and let his hand fall over Eskel’s in between them.
“Oh,” Eskel breathed out, letting his fingers brush up against Geralt’s. “So we would just touch each other and kiss and stuff?”
“If that's alright? Yeah. Like when you get yourself off, except I’ll touch you and you can touch me?” Eskel could hear Geralt’s heart rate quickening. Eskel rolled onto his side to look at his best friend, seeing Geralt in a different light now.
Geralt’s eyes were soft with arousal, glowing golden back at him. His lips looked soft too, and Eskel had never gotten to kiss anyone. He wanted to know what those lips felt like on his own. He leaned on his elbow as he bent over to place his lips over Geralt’s closing his eyes. Eskel stayed there for a moment, feeling like every nerve in his body was now located in his lips, they tingled as Geralt’s scraped back over them. Eskel pulled back from Geralt’smouth, and Geralt’s eyes were closed now. When Geralt parted his lips slightly licking out over them with the tip of his tongue like he was trying to taste Eskel there. Eskel made a strange noise high in the back of his throat unwillingly and bent down to kiss Geralt again. This time Eskel let his own lips fall open and Geralt’s tongue entered his mouth, seeking out a taste of him. Eskel felt himself thickening up in his braies. This felt good. This felt right. Like something he'd been waiting a long time for, which technically he had. If he weren’t a witcher he’d probably already have found a girl, at year or two older Geralt certainly would have by now. Then without Eskel realizing it was happening Geralt was pushing him over onto his back, taking control of the kiss. The hand on his chest that Geralt had used to put him there was traveling slowly lower, and Eskel’s blood was pumping ever faster with each beat of his heart.
The feel of someone else’s hand on Eskel’s throbbing hard cock for the first time was indescribable. He bucked up into Geralt’s tentative touch with a shudder and a start. It was too much and not enough all at once. Geralt’s fingers stroked lightly over Eskel’s sensitive head and Eskel groaned in pleasure, they traced down his shaft to the base of his cock and slid around to grip him not too tight, but a little tighter than he would have held himself.
Eskel was breathing heavily, through his mouth and nose, because he felt like he needed more air right now. As Geralt slowly, tightly jacked him off he reveled in the feeling of not knowing what was coming next. The sensation of how the callouses on Geralt’s hands were different to his own, because it wasn’t his hand, and before Eskel knew it he was grunting hard and spilling all over Geralt’s hand inside his braies.
When Eskel came down from his high, he realized it felt kind of gross. To be stuck in his own fluids, and that he needed to wash but he only had one spare pair of braies because he had not planned on this. Geralt had wiped his hand on Eskel’s braies too, which was fair. Geralt was making his way over to their packs to find some water to rinse his hand the rest of the way off with. He returned with Eskel’s spare braies, too. Eskel hazily realized he owed Geralt some satisfaction himself.
“Hey c’mere,” Eskel beckoned him over with his hand as he changed out his braies, wiping himself down the best he could.
“Hmm?” Geralt hummed questioningly as he knelt on the bedrolls in front of Eskel.
“Turn around, please,” Eskel asked, thinking this would feel best if it was in the same position as if it was his own cock he was touching, that was certainly the only way he had practice at it.
Geralt turned around on his knees facing the fire, away from Eskel. Eskel came up right behind him and planted his knees on either side of Geralt’s legs to get close, sliding up against Geralt. Eskel placed his hand on one of Geralt’s hips and used the other to move his hair to the side so he could kiss Geralt’s neck. With one hand on his friend’s hip, and his lips grazing at his neck, Eskel reached around in front of Geralt to squeeze him through his shorts. A little tease, just the way he liked it himself. Geralt hissed softly and pressed his cock against Eskel’s hand. Instead of putting his hand in Geralt’s own braies, Eskel pushed them down and tucked them under Geralt’s balls. He could hear Geralt’s heart pounding away. Eskel brushed his fingertips over Geralt’s length several times before he felt Geralt swallowing harshly under his lips. Then Eskel gripped him firmly, and efficiently stroked Geralt up and down, bringing him to a fast peak. Eskel marveled at how different Geralt’s cock felt in his hand, slimmer, but at least an inch longer than his own. Eskel’s cock was not short by any means, it's just that it was thick and fat, average or a bit more in length whereas Geralt’s felt so long in his hand. He could feel Geralt’s body tightening up. All of Geralt’s muscles tensed more and more in anticipation. Eskel brought the other hand from Geralt’s hip to play gently with his balls, something Eskel had long found himself to enjoy. Eskel registered Geralt tipping his head back to rest on his shoulder and then felt the full body shudder that raked through Geralt as his body let go, sending his cum shooting through the air in an arc in front of them. Not quite landing on the campfire, but impressive enough still.
Hips still thrusting blindly forward weakly, breath rushing out of him Geralt exclaimed, “Fuck Eskel. I think you jack off better than me.”