“You are in desperate need of a rebound and I just so happen to know someone who will be more than happy to be that rebound.”
“Go away Jaskier.”
The bar is shitty, definitely one of the worst Geralt's ever been in, he's pretty sure he's seen two different rats running around in the half hour he's been here, but thats fine. The owner didn't even flinch when he showed up and thats why he thinks he could grow to like this place. He's been drinking heavily, and the ale is barely a step above swill but it is better than nothing.
He was only barely drowning his sorrows. It's not like Geralt could actually get drunk, not off of this at least. His fight with Yennefer fresh in his mind.
His chest felt empty.
And then Jaskier showed up.
How does he keep finding him, why does he still bother to, questions that will never be answered but Geralt keeps asking them.
“Listen,” Jaskier posts up on the bar stool next to him and Geralt picks up his flagon and moves to a booth, a more universal leave me alone sign could not be clearer, and yet. The sound of Jaskier's lute knocking against the counter, a muffled rapid apology to the barkeep, and then Geralt is stuck staring at him again. “I'll ignore how unbelievably rude you are for your benefit.”
“You don't have to.”
“But listen,” He starts again, hands pressing flat on the table and then pulling away almost instantly, “That is unpleasantly sticky-”
“Just like you.”
Jaskier gasps, a hand to his chest and a look of shock? Outrage? On his face.
“How dare you.” Geralt waits because, this like everything else, will pass. “I swear.” He starts before dropping it just as quickly. “More importantly, ignoring my very fragile feelings, your rebound.”
“I don't need a rebound.”
“Oh, my not friend, that's where you're incredibly wrong. You are insufferable right now, because our lovely mutual acquaintance, a certain lady mage-” Geralt growls, and Jaskier's eyes go wide, fingers pointing at him. “See! That! Exactly that!”
“Fuck off, Jaskier.”
“Fuck me off yourself.”
That gets him to stop. It's quiet, the bar tender awkwardly clears his throat and goes back to pretending to clean his glasses. The few other patrons are to drunk to really care, but their knives are close beside their persons and Geralt really doesn't want to get into a stupid bar fight over Jaskier's stupid insults. But Jaskier is still looking at him, with a sort of quiet intent. It's rare to see in the man, Geralt suddenly transported to that first day in the valley staring at Jaskier be serious for the very first time. The same look.
“Are you serious?”
“Obviously.” He settles back in his seat, shoulders finally dropping (has he been tense this entire time?) hands falling flat on the table. “Well?”
“Are you going to?”
Geralt chugs the rest of his ale. Yennifer would just reach over the table, grab of a fist of his hair and tug him close and no one would even blink an eye at them. Jaskier is a softer person, delicate in a way Yenn never was around him. There's a luxury in being manhandled by someone, really.
He stands up and walks out of the bar.
“Am I meant to take this as a yes because I feel like just saying the three letter word was easier.” Geralt doesn't stop, doesn't stop until he's all the way in the stables, and even then only stops to wake Roach up, the poor girl already asleep. He pats her face gently, strokes along her mane. “Doing it on horseback? I mean alright, try anything once right-”
“Jaskier” He grits out once. As a warning maybe.
“Geralt.” Jaskier leans on one of the stable beams, “I'm just thinking about your health.” Finally, the Witcher looks at him and he almost jumps for joy. “Being so frustrated all the time, it's not healthy.”
“You're not a doctor.”
“No, never claimed to be, ugh all of the studying, but its like-” He waves a hand in the air, searching for a phrase. “Like a release. Of stress. Come on, Geralt. I've never had any complaints. Help people relax all the time.”
Geralt pets Roach, stares into her eyes searching for any kind of excuse.
And not finding any.
“Harder- Faster!” Jaskier is shrieking in his ear and Geralt rushes to lift a hand to cover his mouth.
Jaskier takes it as an invitation to lick his fingers.
For all of his years of questionable choices, Geralt's never fucked in the woods before. It seems excessively dangerous but it was the only inn for miles and not a chance in hell was he going to walk back in and order a room with Jaskier trailing behind. It's a miserably cold night too, but at some point he agreed to Jaskier's plan and there was no turning back on it. Jaskier would never let him live it down at the very least.
And he's sure Jaskier would have had a point about this being relaxing if Geralt's paranoia didn't jump at every sound in the woods. And every sound that Jaskier made. And goddess on high did he make a lot of them.
Geralt's unsurprised, it the constant string of moaning and panting seems very in character, and he doesn't know why he didn't think to shut him up before hand.
He's warm and tight and happy, cracking jokes until the moment Geralt starts fucking him at a harsh rhythm, skin slapping against skin, and then Jaskier starts begging for more and more and more.
Geralt moves him until Jaskier is in his lap, bouncing up and down on him, letting Geralt fuck up into that tight heat-
“Mmm-” The moaning is so much closer now, especially when Jaskier throws his head back, tongue lapping at his fingers. He has a tight grip on Jaskier's thigh, nails digging into the soft fat there- his mind flashes to Yennefer's thighs, to him nipping on them, to that night in the tent- Jaskier keens, an unbelievably loud sound-
“Fuck-” Geralt hisses and Jaskier's moaning turns into a breathy laugh.
“Focus- shit- Focus on me-e-” He turns his head, kissing Geralt's fingers and then kissing Geralt's temple. “I'm your rebound-”
Right, right, right, the justification-
Jaskier is good at commanding attention, he always has been in the years Geralt's known him, no matter how annoying that's been in the past. Now he's grateful for it. Every time his mind wanders back to Yenn, Jaskier is right there, loud and plush and demanding.
“How loud are you going to be-” He grits out, lips dragging against Jaskier's neck. “When you come?”
“O-O-O-Oh- Find out for yourself-!” Jaskier's legs kick out, Geralt must be ramming just the right spot to get him like that- or maybe Jaskier is just easy to please. Jaskier is laughing in his ear again clearly happy about something. His hands scramble, finally settling on Geralt's arms, and that sends him into a fit of giggles again.
“Mm.” Geralt gives a particularly strong thrust and Jaskier tips forward- Geralt catches him with an arm around his waist, shifting position again until he's basically hunched over him like an animal, chest to bare back. “My own prince Charming.”
“Shut up Jaskier.” But his lips still quirk up and he's grateful Jaskier can't see him.
“You! Asked- Nn- Close-”
“Fuck-” He curses again, licks the nape of Jaskier's neck, tastes the sweat. Jaskier is practically vibrating against him, so much energy it's dizzying- Geralt's free hand winds around his cock and with four short tugs Jaskier comes with a jerk, head lurching back and cracking right into Geralt's face.
He's absolutely broken his nose.
Geralt doesn't even need to touch it to know, blood is already dripping onto Jaskier's back, he can see that much in the dim light.
When Jaskier gets off of his slowly flagging cock and turns around to look at him, he winces.
“Whoops.” He grits out while Jaskier rushes to find a handkerchief in the pile of fabric. His dick has gone completely soft by the time Jaskier is pushing lily white against the mess of his face.
“Could be worse.” The bard mumbles, dabbing away at it. “Could have been your dick.”
“I'm not in interested in an encore.”
"Odd. Thought it was a brilliant performance."
"Fuck off Jaskier."