Chapter Text
“Please!” Jaskier begged, face tucked into the crook of Geralt’s neck. It was hot and sweaty and his hair stuck to his head. His face was flushed and his eyes hazy from lust and exertion. He was almost brought to tears as Geralt continued his relentless attack on Jaskier’s cock, and on his self control.
Geralt’s reply was an infuriating smirk and absolutely no change in his hand’s pace or pressure. He seemed to know the exact point to keep Jaskier at, right on the edge but never over it. This current game had been going on for the past three nights, the teasing and toying, until Jaskier thought he might go mad from the sensations. Then, just at the point where he thought he might actually be permitted to go over the edge, Geralt would pull away, roll over and announce that it was time to sleep.
All of this because Jaskier had disobeyed Geralt’s commands a few days earlier and taken himself in hand while he thought Geralt was sleeping. Never underestimate a Witcher’s senses, even when they were sleeping. Jaskier had definitely learned that lesson. Thoroughly. He hadn’t been able to sit comfortably for days. Not that Geralt had showed any sympathy whatsoever. And now this game, the back and forth, the infuriating dangling just on the cusp of orgasm.
“Oh god pleeease!” Jaskier panted, straining into Geralt’s touch, chasing just the tiniest bit more pleasure, but Geralt had a firm grip on him and didn’t allow him to move even a millimetre more into the touch. “Master, please, I’ve learnt my lesson. The cock is yours, only yours, I’ll never touch it without permission again, just please god-!”
“I know it’s my cock, little lark, that’s why I can play with it, whenever and however I like.” He reached up and stroked Jaskier’s hair tenderly, “It’s time for you to surrender.”
Jaskier let out a small sob, “Yes master.” He conceded. Giving in to the almost painful pleasure suffusing his body; focusing only on the rhythmic stroking of Geralt’ hand and the waves of unrequited pleasure. Give up, give in, surrender.
A feeling started to overtake him, a layer over the pleasure and sensations of his body. He felt like it could suffocate him, but instead he accepted it and it welcomed him into it’s warm embrace. He floated there for a long time, feeling light and fuzzy. A thought floated up to him slowly through the hazy warmth. He was grateful to master for this, this was far better than one greedy release of lust. As this thought and feeling came to him he relaxed down into it, like a warm bath, no longer straining against Geralt’s unyielding body, just letting everything happen. Geralt was in charge and that was good, it was right.
Geralt lowered himself down to Jaskier’s ear, “That’s right.” He purred, his voice sending tingles and shivers through Jaskier’s lax body, “Such a good boy for master. Let go, surrender.”
“Yes master.” Jaskier breathed, understanding. He didn’t need to come to feel good, he needed Geralt to hold him like this, to control and own his body. It felt so damn good. Geralt hummed against him, the vibrations sending more waves of pleasure through Jaskier.
Geralt traced Jaskier’s collar bone with his mouth, breathing out as he went, his warm breath ruffling the fine hairs on Jaskier’s smooth skin as he moved from one ear to the other. There he took Jaskier’s ear lobe between his teeth. Jaskier whimpered, completely undone.
“Come for me little lark.” Geralt commanded gently in Jaskier’s ear. And Jaskier did.
When he came to, he was wrapped in the warmth of Geralt’s steady body, their limbs tangled, his head on Geralt’s chest. He sighed and relaxed again into the embrace. Geralt reached up and ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.
His brain took a minute to formulate a full thought, it was like his head was filled with honey, “That was… amazing. I felt so strange, I’ve never felt that before.”
Geralt hummed, “I know.” He said simply. Jaskier detected an odd tone from Geralt, like he knew exactly what Jaskier was talking about. Had he experienced similar things before? He cast that thought away quickly. Who could dominate the great White Wolf in such a way? Not possible; he was too strong, too completely in control. Jaskier snuggled down into the crook of Geralt’s arm and promptly fell asleep.
The next day they were sitting in the common room of the tavern. Jaskier had been performing earlier and had received decent tips. Geralt had completed a contract in town, just routine drowners, and collected the reward from the bar keep, who was also the small town’s mayor, and cobbler.
A pretty serving maid came to the table to refill their beer mugs. Jaskier inspected her perky and quite exposed breasts with interest. She filled Geralt’s mug first, but when she went to fill Jaskier’s, Geralt put a hand over the mug. “No more for him. Water, if you don’t mind.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and scurried off to fetch some water. It may have been a strange thing to do, but Geralt of Rivia wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you questioned. Jaskier glanced at Geralt but didn’t object. Geralt reached under the table and laid a possessive hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, rubbing down, quite a long way, with his thumb. The message was clear. Stop looking at pretty bar maids, you’re mine.
Jaskier was jolted out of the lusty haze he had been slowly descending into, with the gentle rubbing of Geralt’s thumb, by a commotion at the bar.
“I’m very sorry, sir.” The slightly nasally tone of the bar keep, “But we’ve no contracts for you. That was recently fulfilled by another mister witcher.”
“Another Mister Witcher?” A deep gravelly voice questioned dubiously.
Jaskier looked up to see the stocky barkeep pointing a hulking figure towards their table. The large man wore a cloak, obscuring his face in shadow, and a red striped jerkin which didn’t do much to cover how well built and muscled he was.
Geralt’s thumb stopped its lazy circling on Jaskier’s back and he froze, regarding the newcomer with a strange expression Jaskier couldn’t read. Tension? Anticipation? Fear? The man by the bar stared back. The world seemed to freeze for a minute as those two regarded each other from across the noisy room. There was a palpable energy between them which made the hair on Jaskier’s arm stand up.
Suddenly the world lunged back into motion. The shadowed figure made his way to their table with a slow and steady step. He took the seat opposite Geralt, pulling back his hood to reveal a pair of witcher eyes and a face which might once have been handsome. But the years had not been kind to this witcher; one side of his face was contorted with scars, disfiguring his lip.
“Hello Wolf.” The stranger said, his voice husky and full of self-confidence.
Geralt didn’t immediately respond and Jaskier tore his gaze away from the marred face of the other witcher to glance at Geralt. He was staring at the other witcher, slightly slack jawed, he swallowed, obviously trying to find words. He seemed to pull himself together, with an effort, and in the end, he settled for simply,
“Hello Eskel.”