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The cave is dark, the dim light of the sunset filtering through its entrance, and it’s only with his enhanced vision that Geralt can make out the walls of the cave, and where the ground is submerged into a pool of water.
“Jaskier?” he asks, his voice echoing through the cavernous walls. When there’s no answer, only the echo of his own voice, Geralt walks forward, wading into the water. “Jaskier, are you here?”
He tries not to let fear overtake his heart when no one answers him. The locals had said that Jaskier had headed into this cave a few hours ago, and Geralt is desperate to see him, desperate to apologise for what he had said on the mountain. After months of tracking Jaskier, who’s surprisingly elusive when he wants to be, Geralt had finally caught up to him in a small village by the coast, and if the locals were right, Jaskier should be in this cave.
Geralt has no idea what Jaskier would be doing in a cave like this, with a large pool of water and a small opening to the sea on the far side, if his senses aren’t mistaken. Geralt strains his vision, tries to see into the dark, and he thinks he makes out a small cluster of rocks forming a small island some way from the shore, but otherwise, the cave is filled with nothing but water.
Perhaps Jaskier had come out to relax, and the only plausible explanation is that Jaskier must have swum to those rocks, but when Geralt is met with silence, the only sound being the soft lapping of waves against the shore, he begins to worry.
He wades further in, the water going up to his ankles, his knees, his thighs, soaking through his trousers, but he doesn’t care, needing to see if Jaskier is there, needing to see Jaskier. But something about the cave is eerie, the darkness and the silence bringing Geralt’s heartbeat up, and he has to remind himself that this is a safe place.
Or, well. It should be, anyway. If it isn’t… Geralt doesn’t want to think what that might mean for Jaskier.
When the water comes up to his neck, he’s forced to swim, his arms and legs pushing through the water as he moves closer and closer to the cluster of rocks, until he’s close enough to see -
There’s no one.
Geralt grips onto one of the rocks, regretting that he hadn’t brought his potions with him, not anticipating that he would need to see in such darkness. But there’s no one on the rocky island, and Geralt desperately casts his gaze around, trying to see if somehow, Jaskier is in the pool around him, but there’s nothing.
Geralt squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling softly. Fuck. Maybe the locals had been wrong, and Jaskier had actually left the cave some time ago, even if the locals had been sure that no one had seen him leave. Maybe they were mistaken.
Letting go of the rock, Geralt pushes himself back out to the water, preparing to swim back to the shore when he catches sight of two glowing orbs deep beneath the surface, and he freezes.
There’s something in the water.
His medallion is still, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any danger, and he reaches for the silver dagger at his hip slowly. Geralt curses himself for not bringing his swords, for not wearing his armour, for not bringing his potions - he should’ve known better than to let his guard down. A witcher should always be wary of danger, but in his haste to find Jaskier, Geralt had forgotten that.
The glowing orbs blink shut, and Geralt is left wondering if he’d somehow hallucinated that in the darkness. But no, he trusts his senses, trusts that he’d seen those orbs, an unnatural glow that’s utterly out of place in a cave like this. Geralt doesn’t know what it is or what he’s facing, and the uncertainty makes him wary, his hand wrapping around the hilt of the dagger as he focuses on his senses, preparing for an ambush.
Why had the monster, or creature, or whatever this is, not attacked him earlier, when his guard was down and he hadn’t been aware of the danger?
Thanking the gods that he’s still next to the rocks, Geralt quickly pulls himself up onto solid ground, drawing his dagger and keeping it poised to strike in his hand.
“Who’s there?” he asks, his voice echoing, his body tense and coiled to strike.
And - oh no. Had the creature gotten to Jaskier somehow? Is that why no one had seen him leave the cave? Fear races through Geralt’s heart, fear that Jaskier is in danger, fear that he’s dead, and Geralt can’t think like that. Jaskier is safe. He’s fine.
He turns in a slow circle, pushing down the terror at the prospect of Jaskier being hurt, or even dead, knowing that the fear won’t serve him well if he’s truly up against a dangerous creature. The water around the cluster of rocks is dark and still, not a hint of movement or the orbs of light that Geralt had seen earlier, but it’s dark enough that Geralt can’t see beyond a few inches beneath the surface, so he knows better than to let his guard down.
And then - a ripple of water near the back of the cave, where there’s an opening to the sea, a dark shape moving underneath the surface. The creature must be trying to escape - and normally, Geralt would let it, since it doesn’t seem to have terrorised the town. But the thought of Jaskier being hurt, the thought of his body, broken and dead, lingers at the edge of his mind, and he knows that he can’t let this creature just leave.
Taking a deep breath, Geralt quickly reaches for a throwing knife with his free hand and hurls it towards the shape underwater. But the creature reacts quickly, darting out of the way, and in doing so, its head breaches the surface, revealing dark hair plastered around blue-grey skin, and a face that Geralt knows far too well.
Geralt drops the dagger, stunned. It can’t be. But that face… “Jaskier?”
The head - Jaskier’s head quickly dips below the water, the dark shape disappearing, but it’s too late. Geralt has seen him, and even though Jaskier looks different, Geralt knows that it’s him.
This certainly hadn’t been what he’d expected when coming here, but this is Jaskier, and Geralt can’t let him go, not again.
Heart hammering, Geralt walks to the edge of the rocky island. Every instinct in him screams at him to back away onto the safety of land, to pick up his dagger to defend himself, but it’s Jaskier, and Geralt knows him.
Jaskier won’t hurt him.
“Jaskier, I know it’s you,” he calls out, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m not going to - I won’t hurt you. Please, please come out.”
The water remains still, and Geralt closes his eyes. He can’t blame Jaskier for not trusting him, not after Geralt had just thrown a silver knife at him, not after the way Geralt had yelled at him after the dragon hunt, and his heart aches at the thought of Jaskier not trusting him.
“Please, Jaskier,” he whispers, knowing that the sound will carry underneath the water. He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, but if he’s a creature that can manage to breathe underwater, he can surely hear Geralt’s voice from beneath the surface as well. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said on the mountain, and I’m sorry for throwing my knife at you. I promise - I promise I won’t hurt you. Please, please let me see you.”
A dark shape rises in the water right in front of Geralt, startling him into taking a step backwards. Jaskier emerges from the water, and Geralt blinks, shocked at how much larger Jaskier is as he looms over Geralt.
“What do you want, Geralt?” Jaskier growls, the sound so utterly inhuman that Geralt has to fight down the urge to reach for his silver dagger. He looks so unlike the human bard that Geralt had known. He’s huge, Geralt notes distantly, far larger than Geralt remembers - he’s only submerged to his waist, and he’s already looming over Geralt. His skin is an inhuman blue-grey hue and his ears long and pointed, and his face is twisted in a snarl, revealing deadly sharp teeth. His eyes are narrowed into a sharp glare, his irises glowing an unnaturally bright blue and standing out against his pitch black sclera.
And yet, his face is one that Geralt has spent decades staring at, one that haunts his dreams and his waking thoughts, one that Geralt knows as well as his own, and it’s that face that eases the tension and wariness from him, reminding him that it’s Jaskier in front of him, not some unnamed monster.
“I just want to talk,” Geralt says calmly, trying not to stare at Jaskier’s inhuman features. “And I wanted to apologise.”
“Leave,” Jaskier snarls, the sound reverberating through the cave. Jaskier sounds almost monstrous, not a trace of music or laughter in his voice, and Geralt almost recoils at the terrifying sound - but he sees the tentative way Jaskier is holding himself, the tension in his shoulders, the hesitance in his glowing eyes, and he knows that Jaskier is only trying to intimidate him, that he means no harm.
After all, Jaskier had hidden this secret from him for over two decades, and Geralt can’t blame him - he’s a witcher, and witchers hunt monsters. Jaskier has every right to be wary of him, and now, Geralt suspects that Jaskier is pushing him away not because he doesn’t want Geralt here, but because he’s afraid.
And Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier to be afraid. He wants Jaskier to trust him - and he does trust Jaskier, even with Jaskier like this, even after finding out that Jaskier had hidden his true nature from him for years.
“You don’t want me to leave,” Geralt bluffs, hoping that he’s right. When a flash of surprise crosses Jaskier’s face, Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed. He reaches out, settling his hand on Jaskier’s arm, his pale hand a stark contrast to the blue-grey of Jaskier’s skin. “Please, let me apologise.”
“Aren’t you going to kill me, witcher?” Jaskier sneers, and Geralt thinks that he detects a hint of fear in his tone, but he doesn’t shake off Geralt’s hand. He bares his teeth once again, jagged and sharp and lethal, and he sets a hand on one of the rocks next to Geralt, revealing deadly claws. It’s an attempt to intimidate, to induce fear, but Geralt doesn’t flinch back, keeps his breaths steady.
“No,” Geralt murmurs, his hand unmoving on Jaskier's arm. He keeps his eyes on Jaskier, pouring sincerity into his gaze, into his words. “I won’t kill you, Jaskier. Of course I won’t.”
“Oh?” Jaskier asks, eyes narrowing. Multiple shapes appear beneath the surface, and Geralt watches, mouth dropping open, as dark, writhing tentacles emerge from the water, some of them wrapping around the rocks, creeping onto the island. Jaskier rises further up above the surface, revealing the way his blue-grey skin darkens to pitch black past his hips, and Geralt realises with a shock that Jaskier’s legs are gone, replaced by a mass of writhing tentacles.
Jaskier sends Geralt a challenging glare, chin tilting up defiantly. “You’re not going to kill me?”
It takes everything in Geralt to keep his breathing from quickening at the sight of the tentacles, but he can do nothing for the heat that rises in his cheeks, and he hopes that Jaskier doesn’t notice. “I’m not going to kill you,” he reiterates firmly. “You’re my friend, and this isn’t going to change that.”
“I could have hurt people,” Jaskier challenges. A long, tapered tongue slithers out of his mouth to lick at his lips, and Geralt can’t help himself from staring at it. “I’m a monster, aren’t I?”
“You stayed by my side for two decades, singing my praises,” Geralt points out, forcing his gaze back to Jaskier’s glowing eyes, but the image of Jaskier’s long, sinuous tongue and his thick, twisting tentacles is seared into the back of his mind, making something heated curl in his gut. “If you wanted to hurt people, you wouldn’t have done that. You wouldn’t have treated me, a witcher, like a human.”
“You deserve to be treated like a human!” Jaskier bursts out indignantly, the way he does whenever Geralt talks down on himself, and Geralt’s lips curl into a smile at the familiar righteousness in Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier seems to realise what he’d said as he blinks slowly, something moving on the side of his neck, and Geralt realises that they’re gills. Goddamn, he has gills. Geralt thinks his mind might explode.
Jaskier swallows, the gills on his neck fluttering. “I mean - uh.”
“See?” Geralt says. He’s having a hard time focusing on the conversation with Jaskier and keeping his mind from derailing into what Jaskier’s tentacles could do to him - he wants to explore every inch of Jaskier’s body, brush his hands over pointed ears and tangle his fingers with sharp claws, wants to touch those tentacles, feel them undulate beneath his hand.
He has to shake himself before he can pick up his precious trail of thought. Jaskier is so unfairly distracting. “You’re not going to hurt me, and I know you won’t hurt people, so stop trying to get me to kill you.” He tilts his head up to meet Jaskier’s eyes, his neck bared. “I know you, Jaskier.”
Jaskier blinks slowly at him. “But I could hurt you.”
Faster than Geralt can react, a tentacle has wrapped around his waist, trapping his arms and lifting him up, and another tentacle wraps around his legs, effectively stopping him from moving. He’s lifted so that he’s mere inches from Jaskier’s face, close enough that he can make out flecks of silver in those unnatural eyes. Jaskier trails a clawed finger down his cheek, just enough to draw blood, and Geralt wills his heart to stay even.
He’s not afraid. He stares straight at Jaskier, hoping to convey it, even as part of him heats up at the way Jaskier immobilises him so effortlessly, and he knows that were he to struggle, he wouldn’t be able to free himself of Jaskier’s tentacles. That thought shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, but it makes blood rush down to his dick, and he sucks in a breath.
The tentacles tighten around him, and Jaskier’s clawed finger moves down, moving over his chest and tearing his shirt open, the fabric offering no resistance to Jaskier’s claws.
“You’re powerless against me,” Jaskier says lowly, and Geralt wants to arch into Jaskier’s touch, wants to seek out more, but the tentacles are strong, holding him still. “I could kill you. I’m a monster. And you still won’t kill me?”
“You don’t scare me,” Geralt tells Jaskier earnestly. Well, as earnestly as he can with his limbs bound up and his dick starting to push against the wet fabric of his trousers. “Stop trying to scare me. It won’t work. You might not be human, but that doesn’t mean I’ll kill you.” A deep breath. “I know you, Jaskier, you’re my best friend.”
Jaskier freezes, the tip of his finger hovering over Geralt’s chest, and something vulnerable passes through his face. “I…”
“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Geralt whispers, aching to reach out to touch Jaskier’s face, aching to get closer, but his arms are bound. “I never wanted to hurt you, and I’m so sorry. I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you, and to stay by your side, if you would let me.”
Jaskier’s sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip. “Geralt, I - you…”
The tentacles around Geralt loosen, just enough that he wriggles one arm out and cups Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier blinks luminous eyes at him, hope and pain battling in his gaze, and Geralt murmurs, “I trust you, Jaskier. Please don’t push me away.”
“I hid this from you.” Jaskier’s gaze darts away and his gills flutter anxiously. “You don’t hate me? Even like this?”
“I don’t,” Geralt confirms, his heart hurting for the uncertainty he sees in Jaskier’s expression, uncertainty that has no place on Jaskier’s bright, beautiful face. “You’re still you.”
“You don’t mind that I could - that I could hurt you? That I could kill you?” Once again, the tentacles tighten around Geralt, and the hand that had been touching Jaskier’s face falls to his side at the wonderful sensation. Heat rushes through his body, and this time, he’s unable to suppress the small gasp that comes out of him, and Jaskier’s eyes widen.
Geralt tries and fails to fight the way his face flushes, knowing that his face must be completely pink now, and Jaskier tilts his head to the side, the conflicted emotions in his eyes giving way to something more curious. Slowly, the tentacles tighten even more around Geralt, and when another tentacle rises to stroke at Geralt’s cheek, Geralt can’t stop himself from leaning into it.
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes out, and Geralt ducks his head in embarrassment at being found out. Then Jaskier’s clawed finger reaches under his chin and tilts his head up, and Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes, feeling his body flush hotter. There’s a small smile playing at Jaskier’s lips, and Geralt sucks in a breath.
Jaskier’s eyes are different now, but Geralt recognises that look - the look that Jaskier gives to the barmaids he seduces, to the noblemen he sleeps with, and now, it’s being turned on Geralt in full force, and Geralt finds that he likes being on the receiving end of that look a lot. If Geralt had thought the seductive look in Jaskier’s eyes had been attractive when he was human, it’s nothing compared to the sheer intensity of the way his glowing eyes fix on Geralt now, and it sends a shiver running through his body.
“Um,” Geralt squeaks, and clamps his mouth shut at the mortifying sound, but it only makes Jaskier’s grin grow wider.
“You like this,” Jaskier says wonderingly, and Geralt gulps as the tentacle stroking his face moves down to his chest in a slick caress. “Well. that’s - unexpected.”
“You look. Good.” Geralt manages to say, distracted by the tentacle that’s now roving over his nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down his body, but it’s not enough, and he arches up helplessly.
Jaskier raises an eyebrow, his gaze darting down to where the growing bulge in Geralt’s trousers. “I have to say your reaction was the opposite of what I expected,” he muses, sounding almost unaffected, but Geralt can hear the way his breathing quickens. “But this - this is far from disappointing.”
“Stop - talking,” Geralt pants. The tentacle is now rubbing at one of his nipples and another tentacle rises to rub at his other nipple, and it’s too much but not enough. “I - ah -”
A tentacle wriggles into his mouth, and Geralt closes his lips around it, sucking at the dark, slick skin. Jaskier is watching him, the bright blue of his iris slowly being overtaken by his pupil, and Geralt has never wanted anyone like he wants Jaskier, right here, right now.
“Look at you,” Jaskier purrs, the tentacles rubbing Geralt’s nipples dropping away, and Geralt whines at the loss. Jaskier reaches out and the tentacles around Geralt’s waist loosen just enough for Jaskier to rip his shirt off, leaving his wet skin exposed to Jaskier’s probing gaze. “The White Wolf sucking on my tentacle and unable to move, like a good little witcher. What would the people say if they saw you like this?”
Geralt moans, and licks at the tentacle in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slick length, and Jaskier shivers.
“Oh, yes.” He runs his hand through Geralt’s hair, sharp claws raking past his scalp, and Geralt relishes in the slight pain, in the way Jaskier’s hand dwarfs his head, and the tentacle in his mouth starts thrusting in and out, pulling a low groan from his throat as he almost chokes on it. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Mm,” Geralt tries to say, his words swallowed by the way the tentacle fucks his mouth brutally. “Mm, mm -”
“What a good little witcher,” Jaskier coos, and suddenly, there’s a sharp pressure against his cock. Geralt tries to look down, but the hand in his hair tightens, keeping his head still. “Ah, ah. No moving, sweetheart. You’re at my mercy now.”
Jaskier’s words send a thrill through Geralt’s body, the knowledge that he’s utterly under Jaskier’s control, only able to do what Jaskier allows him to do, and his cock jumps in his trousers, pressing against what Geralt now realises to be Jaskier’s claws.
The thought of his cock so close to Jaskier’s claws, sharp and deadly and capable of ripping him to shreds, makes him even harder, makes him strain for friction, for contact, and Jaskier chuckles.
Then he hears the sound of his trousers splitting apart, feels the way his leaking cock and his ass are suddenly exposed to open air, and he gasps around the tentacle fucking his mouth. His movement gives room for another tentacle to slip in, and his jaw aches and his mouth is stretched wide around two of Jaskier’s tentacles, both of them sliding in and out of his mouth, fucking his throat as he drools around them.
The tentacles binding his legs together loosen for a brief moment, before pulling his legs apart. The tentacles are so strong that Geralt wouldn’t be able to resist if he wanted to, wrapped taut around his legs and baring his hole between his spread legs.
“Hmm,” Jaskier hums, and suddenly, there’s something slick teasing at his hole. Geralt bucks against the tentacles holding him in place, suddenly feeling empty, needing more, needing to be stuffed full, and he feels the tentacle slip in, the tapered end thin enough and slick enough to enter him without trouble.
Geralt moans at the intrusion, and Jaskier smiles at him, sharp teeth glinting. “You’re going to take me so well,” he murmurs, and the tentacle in Geralt’s hole starts sliding in and out, burying slightly deeper each time. The tentacle is thinner at the tip, gradually thickening along the length, and each time it shoves deeper, Geralt’s hole is stretched wider and wider, making his cock swell as he clenches around the tentacle.
This isn’t an experience he ever thought he would have, but as the tentacle pushes into him, curling and twisting within him and stretching him open, he feels too hot, his breath catching in his throat at the flood of sensation.
Then another tentacle wraps itself around Geralt’s aching cock, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through him as he’s finally, finally touched.
“A witcher, being ravished by a monster,” Jaskier muses. The tentacles in Geralt’s mouth draw back, leaving him panting after them, drool dripping from his mouth. Jaskier lowers his head, capturing Geralt’s lips in a fierce kiss, and Geralt can’t bring himself to mourn the loss of the tentacles in his mouth, not if he gets to kiss Jaskier like this.
“Not a monster,” he mumbles as Jaskier bites down on his bottom lip, drawing blood. He opens his mouth wider as Jaskier’s long, tapered tongue slithers in, straining to get closer to Jaskier as the tentacle around his cock starts moving up and down, and the tentacle in his ass fucking deeper and deeper, opening him up even more. “Just - just you.”
Jaskier draws him closer, his body dwarfing Geralt’s, and it’s only then that Geralt remembers that one of his hands is free, and through the haze of desire and pleasure, he reaches up to trace his hand over Jaskier’s cheek gently.
Jaskier sighs, leaning into his touch. “I can’t believe you like this,” Jaskier marvels as he pulls back, and Geralt chases after Jaskier’s lips, his bottom lip throbbing pleasantly where Jaskier had bitten into him, but Jaskier stops him as he tightens his hand in Geralt’s hair, tugging at his scalp. There’s so much - the slight pull on his scalp, the tentacle in his ass, the tentacle around his cock - and he’s overwhelmed, and he wants more.
“You’re beautiful,” Geralt slurs out, and he’s cut off as a second tentacle enters his hole, pulling a choked sound from him. “I - oh -”
The tentacles move in and out of him, torturously slow as they open him up, stretching his hole impossibly wide, and the tentacle around his cock draws away all of a sudden. Geralt whimpers, and he tries to move, wants to thrash and seek friction on his cock, but Jaskier’s tentacles hold tight around him, leaving his cock achingly hard, curved and leaking against his belly.
“Jaskier -” Geralt gasps, and Jaskier shoves a tentacle into his mouth.
“Suck,” he commands, and Geralt closes his lips around the tentacle, sucking obediently.
“Good boy.” Jaskier’s eyes are almost completely black, barely a hint of luminous blue to be seen, and he licks his lips with that unfairly sinuous tongue. “What an obedient little witcher. I think you deserve a reward.”
Then one of the tentacles in Geralt’s ass starts rubbing against his prostate, and Geralt cries out around the tentacle in his mouth, waves of pleasure rushing through his body as the tentacles drags along his prostate again and again and again.
It’s too much, and Geralt comes with another cry, the tentacles fucking him through his orgasm as his vision goes white with pleasure.
Once he’s finished coming, Jaskier pulls him in for a kiss, fucking his mouth with that serpentine tongue, so long and thick in Geralt’s mouth, his sharp teeth scraping against Geralt’s lips.
“Mine,” Jaskier growls, the sound reverberating through his body, and Geralt pushes closer, wrapping one arm around Jaskier’s neck, feeling the way Jaskier’s gills brush against his arm.
“Yours,” Geralt confirms. The tentacles wrapping around his legs guide them to Jaskier’s waist, which Geralt wraps his legs around, pulling both of them closer together.
His cock brushes against Jaskier’s firm stomach, and he gasps as Jaskier’s hand wraps around his cock, his huge hand almost completely engulfing it, and Geralt’s cock starts hardening once more at the touch. A thrill runs through him at the way Jaskier’s claws hover just short of touching his cock, the danger of it making Geralt’s cock twitch and jump in Jaskier’s grip.
“Witchers have good stamina, I’ve heard,” Jaskier purrs, pulling back and looking at Geralt with a devious glint in his dark eyes. “How many times can you come?”
“Three,” Geralt pants, bucking into Jaskier’s hand as it moves up and down his cock. “Maybe - maybe four.”
“Mm.” Jaskier’s hand moves faster, and the tentacles start fucking him harder and deeper, and Geralt is overwhelmed by sensation, by the feeling of Jaskier surrounding him and filling him all at once, and it’s wonderful, the tentacles dragging against his sensitive rim, brushing against his prostate, and Geralt feels so gloriously full.
Jaskier bends his head, burying his face in Geralt’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there, a gesture so tender in contrast to the way his hand pumps Geralt’s cock relentlessly and the way his tentacles fuck Geralt’s hole without mercy. Then Jaskier bites down, sharp teeth digging into Geralt’s skin just as his other hand rakes sharp claws down Geralt’s back, and Geralt throws his head back, the mixture of pain and pleasure pulling yet another orgasm out of him.
His body shakes as he comes, Jaskier’s hand working him through it, and when he’s done, he slumps against the tentacles holding him up.
“So good for me,” Jaskier croons, lifting his hand from Geralt’s cock and shoving two clawed fingers into his mouth. Geralt licks his come from Jaskier’s fingers, careful not to prick himself on the claws, and Jaskier smiles sweetly at him, his teeth stained red with Geralt’s blood, and something in Geralt’s stomach coils with heat at the sight of Jaskier marking him.
“Only for you,” Geralt whispers weakly when Jaskier withdraws his hand, and Jaskier’s eyes soften as he leans in for another kiss. Geralt licks hungrily at Jaskier’s mouth, the coppery taste of his own blood flooding his tongue, and delight curls in him at the reminder that he is Jaskier’s, the bite mark a pleasant throb on his neck.
The tentacles in his ass pull out, and Geralt whines as they leave him aching and empty, his hole fluttering and clenching around nothing, and Jaskier shushes him, tracing a gentle hand over his jaw.
“I need -” Geralt arches his hips, unable to bear the emptiness within him, needing to be stuffed full. “I - Jaskier -”
“You want more?” Jaskier’s tone is slightly disbelieving, and Geralt nods frantically, hating how empty he feels. Jaskier huffs a surprised laugh. “Gods, you’re wonderful. So perfect for me.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt whines. Less talking, more fucking. Luckily, Jaskier seems to get his message, and something thicker presses at his hole, thicker than the tentacles from earlier, and Geralt grinds down on it, desperately needing the thick length inside him now.
“Please,” he begs, when the thick tentacle only circles his hole, rubbing at the rim but never pressing inside. “Oh, please, please -”
Jaskier laughs, low and husky, and Geralt shivers. “You beg so sweetly for me, dear witcher,” he purrs, and the tentacle pushes in slowly. Even after the two tentacles had loosened him up earlier, this tentacle is still a slight stretch, and Geralt relishes in the slight pain as it sinks into him, excruciatingly slow. “You like this? My tentacles inside you, around you, stretching you open while you’re completely at my mercy?”
Jaskier talks too fucking much, and the tentacle is still not deep enough. Geralt clenches around it, delighting in the way Jaskier’s breath hitches and his eyes darken further.
“Impatient,” Jaskier chides, the tentacle drawing back, and Geralt tries to move downward, tries to fuck the tentacle back into him, but Jaskier’s tentacles keep him still. He tries to fight against the bonds, but they’re strong, preventing him from moving, and the thought of Jaskier’ strength, of Jaskier completely overpowering him, is thrilling, making his cock throb once again.
“Oh, darling,” Jaskier whispers, tracing his claws over Geralt’s cheeks, over his jaw. “You love this, don’t you?”
Then the tentacle rams deep into Geralt’s ass, and he cries out as it forces his hole wide open, filling him and stretching him and making him feel so perfectly full. It pulls back, and Geralt barely has time to mourn the loss before it’s fucking into him again, hard and deep, dragging past his abused prostate and his sensitive rim, and Geralt is helpless to do anything but take it, rendered immobile by Jaskier’s tentacles, and it feel so fucking good.
“You take me so well.” Jaskier’s tone is filled with a mixture of wonder and arousal, and Geralt follows his gaze to where it’s fixed on Geralt’s stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the way his stomach bulges slightly each time the tentacle shoves into him, deeper than anything he’s ever taken, and his cock jumps at the sight, brushing against his bulging belly.
“Oh,” he breathes out, unable to take his eyes off his stomach, the way it bulges with every deep, forceful thrust, and it’s so much.
“Beautiful,” Jaskier murmurs, and rests his big hand against Geralt’s stomach. The tentacle rams deep into Geralt’s ass once more, deeper than it’s ever gone, and when Jaskier presses his hand against the bulge, he throws his head back and roars.
The cave shakes at Jaskier’s roar of pleasure, and the thick tentacle pulses in Geralt, a hot fluid filling his hole, shooting deep inside him, and the sensation of being filled up makes Geralt’s eyes roll back into his head as he comes a third time, drunk on the pleasure of Jaskier filling him, marking him, making him feel so full.
The tentacle slips out of Geralt’s ass, making Jaskier’s come gush out, and he clenches uselessly at empty air, trying and failing to keep the come inside him. His face flushes as Jaskier’s come drips down his legs, at the way Jaskier has marked Geralt as his.
“Mm,” is all he manages to say as Jaskier pulls him closer, and he smushes his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck.
“Good?” Jaskier sounds slightly breathless, his chest heaving as he wraps large arms around Geralt, and the tentacles that bind him loosen until the only one left is around his waist, holding him up.
“Mm,” Geralt agrees, and feels Jaskier drop a kiss on the top of his head. Pulling his face from Jaskier’s neck, he locks eyes with Jaskier, body heating up at the way Jaskier’s gaze roams down his body, lingering on his lips, bloodied from Jaskier’s teeth, the bite mark on his neck, his limp cock and his balls, the come that drips obscenely from his ass down his legs.
Jaskier brushes his claws over the bite mark on Geralt’s neck, and Geralt trembles at the tender touch.
“You’ve done so well, my dear witcher,” Jaskier murmurs, pinching Geralt’s nipples with sharp claws, and Geralt moans, his back arching. “But I believe you promised me four.”
Geralt’s breath hitches as the tentacle lifts him upwards until his ass is above Jaskier’s face, and he parts his legs instinctively, Jaskier’s breath ghosting over his sensitive hole. Then Jaskier’s tongue slithers in, probing at his sensitive rim, so gentle after the brutal fucking the tentacles had given him, and Geralt almost sobs in pleasure at the sensation.
Jaskier’s long tongue slides into his loose, stretched hole, probing at the walls and licking at his own come that still drips from Geralt’s ass, and without the tentacles binding him and keeping him still, Geralt writhes against Jaskier’s face, feeling the vibrations of Jaskier’s low chuckle at Geralt’s desperate movements.
His softened cock jerks weakly at the sheer pleasure that runs through him as Jaskier explores his abused hole with his tongue, and he pants breathlessly, Jaskier’s tongue filling the emptiness that the tentacles had left him with, and his hole twitches as Jaskier licks and sucks at it, Jaskier’s tongue hot and sinuous and wet inside him.
Then Jaskier starts fucking into him with his tongue, moving in and out of him at a brutal pace, and Jaskier’s teeth scrape at the tender, sensitive skin around his hole, reminding Geralt of how close those deadly teeth are to his ass, and the thought makes him reach for his cock, which is making a valiant attempt to get hard again, but a tentacle wraps around his hand, pulling it away.
“Nuh-uh,” Jaskier hums, pulling his face away from Geralt’s hole, and Geralt thrashes slightly at the horrible feeling of his hole being empty once more, but Jaskier looks up at him through dark lashes and sends him a wicked grin.
Two tentacles start fondling his balls, pulling at them as Jaskier licks a long stripe up his cock, and for a moment, Geralt lets himself drink in the sight of Jaskier’s blue-grey skin contrasting his own pale skin, of Jaskier beneath him, and he buries a hand in the wet strands of Jaskier’s dark hair.
“Come for me,” Jaskier commands, before he dives in and swallows Geralt’s cock, enveloping him in a wet heat.
Geralt’s hips buck up as Jaskier’s sinuous tongue wraps around his cock, and it’s so much and so good, Jaskier’s head bobbing back and forth as he takes Geralt in fully, the serpentine length of his tongue curling around Geralt’s cock. The tentacles continue pulling at his balls, and with Jaskier’s mouth and tongue working him over, wringing pleasure out of him, he’s pushed over the edge once more, his cock jerking as it dribbles a few spurts of come, and Jaskier’s throat bobs as he swallows.
When Jaskier pulls off his cock with a slick noise, the tentacle lowers him so that they’re face to face, and Geralt wraps trembling arms around Jaskier’s neck, weak legs going around Jaskier’s torso.
Gods, that was amazing.
“So good for me,” Jaskier rumbles against him, and Geralt sighs happily, resting their foreheads together.
“Yes, that was. Tha - good,” Geralt slurs, drunk on the remains of his pleasure, drunk on Jaskier’s attention, drunk on the knowledge that Jaskier is here, and that Jaskier is his.
Jaskier laughs softly. “I seem to have rendered you speechless, my dear wolf.”
“Hm.” Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s, demanding to be kissed, and Jaskier licks into his mouth obligingly.
They kiss for a while, wrapped around each other, and at some point, Jaskier buries his fingers into Geralt’s hair, more tentacles pulling them closer together, and there’s nowhere else that Geralt would rather be.
When Jaskier finally pulls away, lips swollen, his eyes have returned to a glowing blue, and he looks at Geralt with a mixture of fondness and uncertainty.
“This…” he hesitates, ducking his head slightly. “This was good? You didn’t... you liked it?”
“I did,” Geralt confirms, cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands. Gods, Jaskier is so big like this, Geralt’s hands seeming ridiculously small on his face, and Geralt finds that he really doesn’t mind the way Jaskier completely dwarfs him. “I loved it.”
“You don’t mind that I’m -” Jaskier swallows, gesturing to his own body. “Like this? A - a monster?”
“You’re not a monster,” Geralt says fiercely, letting his hands trail over Jaskier’s face. “You’re you, Jaskier, and just because you’re not human, it doesn’t make you a monster. Besides, I very clearly do not mind. The opposite, in fact.”
At that, a small smile, tugs at Jaskier’s lips. “Yeah, well. I could tell.” His voice falters, his shoulders hunching forwards slightly. “I just -”
It’s the sight of the insecurity lurking in Jaskier’s luminous eyes, the sight of Jaskier trying to make himself smaller, the sight that’s so wrong and the knowledge that Jaskier shouldn’t look like this, like Geralt might reject him, that makes Geralt blurt out, “I love you.”
Jaskier’s mouth drops open. He blinks. Geralt blinks back, shocked at the words that had just come out of his mouth, but the words are true, and he repeats, “I love you.”
“You -” Jaskier’s mouth opens and closes, and he blinks rapidly. “You what?”
Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s jaw. “I love you.” He can’t seem to stop saying it now that the words have finally left him, and he relishes in the way the words sound in his mouth, the sweetness of them, the truth that rings in them.
Jaskier’s tentacles tighten around him, pulling him impossibly close. “But you - how -” he shakes his head, hope and disbelief shining in his eyes. “I thought - how can you love me like this?”
“Because you’re my friend,” Geralt murmurs, thinking of how Jaskier has been the only person in his life to treat with kindness, with care, with tenderness, the only person to look at him with such fondness and adoration, the only person who’s ever chosen him. “Because you’ve always been there, because I want you by my side. And knowing that you’re not human doesn’t make me love you any less.”
Jaskier inhales, eyes fixed desperately on Geralt. “You mean it?” he whispers, soft and vulnerable.
“I do,” he confirms, and Jaskier kisses him, fierce and desperate, sharp teeth biting into Geralt’s lip, and Geralt sinks into Jaskier’s embrace.
“I’ve loved you for so long,” Jaskier mumbles when he pulls away, looking at Geralt with wonder in his eyes. “I never told you, because - well, because of this.” He looks down at his body, a self-deprecating twist to his lips that Geralt kisses away. “I thought that if you knew, you would…”
He trails off, and Geralt’s words on the mountain hang in the air between them.
If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!
Geralt cradles Jaskier’s face in his hands, hating that he’d ever made Jaskier feel this way, and vowing that he’ll love Jaskier for the rest of his life to make up for it. “Well, now I know, and I’m telling you that I love you anyway,” he declares, and Jaskier smiles, bright and joyous.
“What now, then?” Jaskier asks, leaning forward to nuzzle his face against Geralt’s hair.
“Well, we’re at the coast, aren’t we?” Geralt whispers, the future stretching out bright and hopeful before him. “We can stay here for a while. Have some fun.”
Jaskier’s low laugh brushes past his ear. “Oh, yes,” he purrs, his voice husky with enticing promise, and Geralt shivers. “We’ll be having a lot of fun indeed.”