Chapter Text
Geralt’s has a grip made for ripping out the eyes of monsters, tearing their tongues out so he could beat them with the muscle. Right now it's curled tight in Jaskier’s hair, sending hot sparks down his body and bringing tears that are only half pain and fear to his eyes.
“Can you not keep your fat mouth shut, for two goddamn hours?” Geralt hisses as they reach camp, half dragging Jaskier there, not caring for how he stumbles over his own feet, forced to bow for Geralt as he tries to find the path forwards.
“Are you so much of an idiot that you don’t know when to quell your tongue, bard? I ought to gag you, an airhead dunce like yourself doesn’t deserve the right to speak, if all you’ll cause is trouble.”
He shakes Jaskier by his hair before dumping him on the bedroll at his feet, mouth pulled back in a furious snarl. Jaskier shivers and tries to ignore the thick tendrils of heat beginning to curl up from his belly, blinking away the hot tears in his eyes as he swallows down a sob.
“N-Now, Geralt, my friend, I think this is all a bit of an overreac-”
There’s no chance for him to finish the sentence, not as Geralt backhands him hard across the face, the crack of skin-on-skin echoing around the clearing.
“There you go, running your fool's mouth again! I didn’t say you could speak bard. Do you have no sense in that pretty head of yours, or do you just blurt out everything that comes to mind.” Geralt’s gloved fingers squeeze his jaw, hand big enough to practically encompass Jaskier’s whole face. Jasker can only breathe quick and shallow through his nose as two fat tears roll down his cheeks and his traitorous cock twitches in his pants.
“I’m not-! I don’t-!” With his mouth pinched as it is it’s hard to talk and yet, despite knowing that all Geralt wants is thrice-blessed silence he tries anyway. Melitele knows he’s always been a glutton for punishment. Above him, Geralt lets out a low, dangerous growl and he forces Jaskier’s head back, makes him stare at Geralt and his glinting, golden eyes. Fuck , Jaskier thinks, as his cock throbs and leaks a sticky glob of precum into his smalls.
Geralt opens his mouth to speak - another insult perhaps, or a threat - and then he stops. His lips purse and his nose twitches, Jaskier can see the way it moves this close to Geralt’s face. Then, his eyes widen minutely and he takes a long, drawn breath through his nose as if scenting the -
Oh no , Jaskier whimpers in the back of his throat, Geralt can smell him.
Above him, a filthy, dark grin spreads across Geralt’s face and he turns Jaskier’s head from side to side as if inspecting him.
“You little whore. You like this.” His voice is low and amused as he drops Jaskier’s face to stand, shoving his boot up against the swell of Jaskier’s cock.
“Geralt! It’s not what-” Geralt growls and grinds the toecap up under Jaskier’s balls, making him whimper and cutting his speech off once again. Will he ever be able to finish a sentence, or is Geralt going to stop him every time?
“Don’t lie to me bard. You’re too stupid to do it correctly, and besides… there’s no use denying it when you’re leaking into your breeches like a two bit whore.” Geralt’s foot raises and he shoves Jaskier back into the bedroll with it. Another choked back whine leaves him, Jaskier shakes his head as he stares up at Geralt, who looks more beast than man at the moment. His tongue feels thick and heavy in the back of his throat.
Geralt licks his lips.
“Don’t move. You move an inch, bard, and I will make you regret it.” He hisses and Jaskier would glower if he wasn’t so busy trying not to burst out sobbing with fear and humiliation. His cock, bastard that it is, dribbles more precum into his smalls and all he can do is lay there and stare up at the stars.
He doesn’t even dare to move his head as Geralt shifts away, rummaging through his packs until he returns with a shiny silver bit - not unlike the one Roach has. Fear spikes in Jaskier’s chest and he shakes his head hard.
“No, no, Geralt you can’t, please-!” The words start spilling from his mouth before he can stop them and then his body is moving, as he shoves himself up the bedroll. He tries to stand but his legs feel wobbly and weak, his knees won’t lock together the way they should. Geralt growls and grabs him by the ankle, drags him roughly back down.
“What did I tell you about moving? You really are a fucking empty headed whore aren’t you? Can’t even follow simple instructions?” Geralt’s hand is in his hair again as he wrenches Jaskier up to his knees and then suddenly he’s on the floor again from the force of another hard slap that sends him reeling backwards. He can barely see through the hot tears in his eyes and his cock is like a rock between his legs, hard and showing no signs of relenting.
“I don’t think you get it yet, bard,” as he speaks, Geralt begins to undo his breeches with one hand and Jaskier whimpers in the back of his throat “you keep talking, and moving, and doing everything I don’t want you to do, so I’m going to do exactly what you don’t want me to do.”
Geralt’s cock springs free. It’s hard and thick and longer than any man Jaskier has ever been with. His mouth waters at the sight of it and Jaskier curses himself for having a body that betrays him at every turn. Geralt stalks forwards, the bit glints in his hand and Jaskier doesn’t know where to look, between the shiny metal and Geralt’s heavy, fat cock.
“Or maybe you do want this. Maybe this is what you’ve wanted all along, you cock-dumb slut. Either way, I don’t particularly care anymore.” A choked back sniff leaves Jaskier as Geralt smears sticky precum across his cheek, dangerously close to his teary eyes. “I’m going to take what I want, and you’re… well, it doesn’t bother me if you like it or not. Now open your mouth, you’re usually good enough at that, at least.”
Jaskier can’t get his jaw to work. His teeth are clenched together, his shoulders shaking. How on sweet spring earth, is Geralt so big? It is more like a monster than a cock, and this close up, Jaskier can see the shiny metal piercing just below the head. He doesn’t get long to admire it. Impatient, Geralt wrenches him up by the hair, exposing his throat and forcing his mouth open to sob.
“Every job I give you, you manage to fuck up. I don’t understand, how one man, can be so fucking useless.” Tears roll down his flushed cheeks, red from his own exertion and from where Geralt had so roughly struck him. He can barely see through the thick, hot haze of tears, trying roughly to breathe through his mouth as his nose plugs itself up in a manner he’s always hated.
“Please, I’m sorry,” Jaskier begs, breathless and trembling, “Geralt, please don’t-”
He freezes, when something cold touches the frail skin. For a moment, the only sound that fills the clearing is Jaskier’s sobbing as he tries to breathe. Geralt looms over him like a monster and Jaskier doesn’t dare look down to see the silver links against his skin.
Then.
Then Geralt wipes the head of his cock across Jaskier lips and tightens his hold on the leather, carefully attached to the well cared for bit.
“I believe I told you to open up.” Geralt hisses and Jaskier opens his mouth and lets Geralt begin to sink inside. His head aches in a hundred different ways, between his legs his cock feels like molten iron. Below that point he’s so aroused he feels numb. Geralt tugs on-
- dear Melitele, Geralt tugs on the reins and Jaskier shoves his head forwards in shock and fear and arousal until Geralt’s cock touches the back of his throat and he shakes as he tries not to gag.
“Maybe you can do something right after all.” Geralt growls out as he grinds his hips forwards, doesn’t give Jaskier a second to adjust before snapping forwards again. Jaskier sobs around the thick head of it as he chokes, all the blood rushing past his ears.
Geralt is impossibly huge. Every time he thrusts forwards another inch slips down Jaskier’s ruined throat - he won’t be able to sing for a week, doubts he’ll be able to speak - and yet it never seems to end. The hard piercing drags along the soft inside of his mouth, grinding into the soft palate at the back of his throat even as Jaskier coughs and splutters and struggles to breathe through his blocked up nose.
His whole world seems to have narrowed to the cock gagging him, the bit around his neck, and the constant throbbing ache between his legs. Disgusting , he thinks, and filthy for liking this so much. He deserves everything Geralt gives him, even if it includes a kick to the balls - maybe especially if it included a kick to the balls.
Around Geralt his throat, his whole body, convulses as another tortuous inch is stuffed down it. Jaskier lets out a broken whine, barely audible, what with the cock down his throat.
Geralt snorts and pulls tighter on the reigns and suddenly he’s being choked in two ways, can feel the metal against his throat as it forces him tighter around Geralt.
“C’mon, a cock hungry whore like you shouldn’t struggle with this. You’ve always got your mouth open, you can’t tell me this is hard for you.” Geralt hisses and Jaskier whines as Geralt leans down and grins at him, seeing little white spots in front of his eyes as his body aches for air.
And then, in one long pull, his throat is empty. Jaskier falls forwards and chokes himself on the bit turned makeshift collar and is forced to lift his head again. Spit dribbles from his mouth, the corners of his lips ache as if they’ve split. He coughs and sputters onto himself, tears pouring from his eyes.
“Pathetic.” Another sob leaves him and Geralt pulls the reins he’s gripping tight, twisting them this way and that to make Jaskier sway. “Tell me, bard, what are you?”
“Geralt-” Jaskier chokes out and gets a sharp tug for his insolence.
“Not what I asked.” He can barely breathe again, forced up onto his knees in order to stop himself choking completely.
“Pathetic!” He all but screams, reaching up to claw at the bit, nails scratching his own throat red. “I’m pathetic, please!”
Mercifully, the pressure drops and Jaskier drops back down onto his heels, hiccuping as a fresh wave of sobs overtake him. His head feels limp, rolling from side to side until Geralt comes to cup it lightly. It’s almost gentle, could be mistaken for care, but when Jaskier looks up into Geralt’s eyes he can see the dark cruelty and he whimpers.
Geralt could kill him and Jaskier wouldn’t even have a chance to fight back. The thought shouldn’t arouse him quite as much as it does.
And yet.
It’s barely a surprise when Geralt shoves him onto his back, sending him toppling back down onto the bedroll. The reins are still tightly tangled in his hands, his body is a heavy weight against Jaskier’s chest.
“Looks like your whore mouth is good for one thing after all, bard. Gonna paint your throat white and maybe you’ll learn your place.” He hisses as he kneels and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but swallow Geralt’s cock down again when it rubs over his mouth and slides, heavy and slick, over his tongue.
The angle is worse. Geralt can’t get as deep now but gods, he doesn’t need to. Jaskier doesn’t know what he hates more, the long, deep thrusts or the short, sharp pistoning of Geralt’s hips now, shoving the head of his cock against the back of Jaskier’s throat, making him gag over and over.
His jaw aches, numb in places, feeling like fire in other spots.
If he could just reach down, touch his cock, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but one arm is awkwardly pinned beneath him and the other is trapped between Geralt’s knee and his chest. Instead all he can do is take and take, throat practically bruising under the force of Geralt’s hard thrusts.
More little white spots dance across his vision. Jaskier thinks he might lose his mind like this. Maybe he has already.
Maybe he really is nothing more than an airhead and a cock whore.