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Something In The Night Is Dangerous

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Geralt wasn’t inclined to let Jaskier go on hunts with him. Even now, when it was few and far between to even have a job, Geralt didn’t want to drag him halfway across the world for a lackluster hunt. He wasn’t so much worried about Jaskier getting hurt, though the thought still haunted him when Jaskier handled his swords or moved his holsters from one table to the next. Jaskier was always deliberately careful, moving in slow, even steps and watching himself the entire time. It betrayed a fear that Jaskier had never let on about in the hundreds of years that Geralt knew him, or maybe it was something this newest Jaskier was afraid of. 

 

“Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier perks up from his place at his desk, glancing over at Geralt who’s laying back on the bed, allowing himself to relax. “There’s a hunt- did you want to come?”

 

Jaskier’s answering grin is radiant. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want to come!”

 

“It’s not going to be very exciting.”

 

“What’s not exciting about getting to see a modern day hunt?”

 

“It’s a lot of sitting around. Something you aren’t good at.” Geralt points out, smirking when Jaskier pouts, unable to deny it. The only time he can truly sit still is when he’s occupied with something, and even that doesn’t tend to last long. 

 

“I’ll bring my journal, it’ll be fine! You already offered, no take backsies.” Jaskier wags his finger in Geralt’s direction, but Geralt wasn’t planning on it. “Where are we going?”

 

“It’s in town, actually.”

 

“Awww, no traveling?” Geralt can feel Jaskier’s disappointment, but Geralt knows Jaskier is going to Europe later in the year and he’s just being impatient. 

 

“Not this time.” Jaskier blows a raspberry, laughing when Geralt throws a pillow at him. 

 

Geralt’s biggest worry in bringing Jaskier on a hunt is the lack of Jaskier’s memories. He remembers essentially everything, but Geralt has lost count of the times he’s had to catch Jaskier before he could fall when a memory overtook him, or the far off, spaced out look that came over him with a smaller memory. Letting Jaskier tag along was like playing russian roulette- what would set off one of Jaskier’s memories, and how bad would it be? If Jaskier can’t run away because he’s stuck in a memory and Geralt is too preoccupied to save him, what happens then?

 

But this hunt is as safe as Jaskier will ever be- There’s no actual contact with the monster this time, just a simple shot through a scope that Jaskier won’t even be able to see. Geralt can already imagine his disappointment in the hunt, but it’s a baby step, and if Jaskier can manage to sit through this one without getting overtaken by a memory then Geralt might let him come along to others. 

 

“When is the hunt?”

 

“We’ll leave out in a few hours, once dusk hits.”

 

-*-

 

Jaskier is practically vibrating while they ride the subway through town, heading straight for the heart of the city. He’d taken a nap before they left, brought water and snacks and anything he could think of to keep himself occupied. Geralt had said it was going to be a long night, and he didn’t make such statements lightly. His eyes keep drifting toward Geralt’s hands, silver rings adorning his fingers as they curled around the handle of a very large, very sturdy briefcase. 

 

Geralt wouldn’t tell him what was inside. 

 

The secret ate away at him while they rode the train, Jaskier slumped back into the hard plastic of the bench while Geralt sat, briefcase between his feet. He could have let go, could have held Jaskier’s hand, but his hand never strayed from the case, as if what was inside was precious. Or dangerous. Definitely both. 

 

“Where are we going again?” Jaskier asks again, hoping that the fifth time will be the charm. Geralt huffs next to him, a smile playing at his lips. 

 

“Be patient.” 

 

That’s all he’s gotten for the past forty five minutes while riding the train from their apartment into the downtown area. They’re at the second to last stop of the loop when Geralt stands, lifting his briefcase with him and reaching to take hold of Jaskier’s other hand. Jaskier clings to his hand, letting Geralt lead him from the train. The afternoon crowd heading home is thick, but the briefcase and swords on Geralt’s back creates a wave of an opening, allowing them to pass through without being jostled too terribly. It’s Jaskier’s favorite part of walking around town with Geralt. No elbows in the ribs or dirty looks, just looks of apprehension and sometimes fear. 

 

The air outside is warm, muggy around them when they make it up onto the street, the smell of smoke and car exhaust drifting past him. He can only imagine what Geralt is smelling right now, and judging by the faint wrinkling of his nose it isn’t very good. Once they’re off the train they head for a tall, glass covered building, an apartment building that Jaskier had thought about renting from before he realized how much he did not want to be this close to downtown. He did like having some semblance of quiet at night. 

 

“Do you have an apartment here?”

 

“Just access.” Well, that’s not cryptic as fuck. Jaskier lets Geralt lead him into the lobby of the building and to the elevators, where they ride it to the top floor, listening to random pop songs all along the way. One of Jaskier’s songs comes on as they step out and Jaskier mutters under his breath. He does not need to hear his own music over tinny sounding elevator speakers. Geralt is quiet as he makes for an unmarked door, brandishing a small plastic badge that when pressed up to a box on the wall, disengages the lock in the door, allowing Geralt to pull it open. 

 

Jaskier can hear the faint sound of wind and car horns, and he pads up the stairs behind Geralt, breaking out onto the roof of the building. Jaskier gasps, wind whipping through his hair, and he jogs to the edge of the building, going up on tiptoes to lean over and see. The wall comes up to just below his rib cage, high enough to make it a challenge for anyone to get over, or in Jaskier’s case, to look. The sight makes his head spin immediately, but not in a way that means anything to him. 

 

“We’re up high , Geralt.”

 

“We need to be.” 

 

does it fly?” Geralt makes a noise that Jaskier takes as a no, but he’s busy watching the cars zip by down below, squinting to try and see if he can see any people. All he sees are smears of color, a blue jacket or a bright yellow hat bobbing among a sea of dark color. Jaskier hears the clasps of the briefcase open with sharp snaps and he turns, interested. 

 

Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of Geralt’s hands, those clever, clever fingers of his assembling an absolutely massive rifle in his hands. Each piece is inspected carefully before it goes into the making of the rifle, and Jaskier feels a bolt of heat shoot down his spine, splashing into his belly and settling there. The longer he watches Geralt, watches the way his fingers twist a piece into place with a click or adjust some setting he doesn’t know, the hotter he grows, the more embarrassed he feels about staring. 

 

But Geralt knows what he’s doing, he has to, because every so often Geralt will pause, eyes flicking up toward where Jaskier watches him. Once the gun is assembled and Jaskier is properly hot under the collar Geralt rises to his feet in one smooth movement, gun in hand as he prowls toward Jaskier. Jaskier feels entirely like a deer in the headlights, heart racing, and his eyes are stuck firmly on the way Geralt's fingers wrap around the grip and hold it steady in his hands. The gun isn’t anything fancy- dull black metal gleaming under the moonlight, but it’s so Geralt that Jaskier feels dizzy with want just at the sight of him. 

 

“You’re in my spot, Jask.” Geralt’s voice is velvet, just barely caught above the wind and rushing of blood in his ears, but he jerks to the side, allowing Geralt to take his place. This spot allows him the best view of the city below, and Geralt rests the bipod of his rifle on the wall. The height proves perfect for Geralt, who’s tall enough to use it to position his rifle appropriately, cheek pressed to the stock as he peers through the scope atop it. Jaskier can feel himself throb at the sight of him, body straight and eyes intent on whatever he sees through the scope.

 

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice rasps from him, broken already, and Geralt hums, standing straight and hands going to his pockets. He holds something out and Jaskier takes it without questioning, staring down at the two pieces or bright orange foam in his hands. 

 

“Put them in.” Jaskier squishes them down, shoving them into his ears and waiting as they expand in his ears, the sound of the cars and wind dropping away from him. It’s an entirely new thing, to be relatively deaf, and Jaskier feels disoriented for a moment before Geralt motions him over. Geralt tugs him close with the arm not holding the rifle, and his breath is warm as he leans down, speaking close enough and loud enough that Jaskier can faintly hear him through the ear plugs. “Keep them in, no matter what.”

 

“That loud?” Jaskier can feel that he’s yelling, but Geralt doesn’t seem to mind, and for the first time Jaskier notices ear muffs around his neck. He can already see the orange in Geralt’s ears, and his eyes widen at the implication of Geralt needing two barriers. Geralt lets him go, nudging him back a couple steps, and he dips his head to look down the scope again. The sun has finally set all the way, leaving them operating under only the moon’s light, but Geralt reaches forward and turns a dial on his scope. Jaskier’s own interest comes roaring back to the surface, and he lets out a shuddering breath, eying Geralt’s stance and deciding for himself that there’s enough room. 

 

Jaskier moves in close again, watching as Geralt's eyes, glowing in the dark of the night, shift to track his movements as he drops to his knees and shuffles in front of Geralt. Geralt jolts, eyes widening, and he sees Geralt talk more than he hears him. “What are you doing?”

 

“Occupying myself.” Jaskier says cheekily, bringing a hand up to cup Geralt through his jeans. He delights in the sharp rise of Geralt’s shoulders and the way he twitches with interest. The fact that Geralt is half hard already sends a thrill through Jaskier, and he doesn’t know if it’s him or the gun or what that interests him so, but he knows what is going to interest him pretty soon. 

 

“I’m hunting.” 

 

“So am I.” Jaskier laughs at the way Geralt rolls his eyes, but he palms him again, watching Geralt’s eyes go half lidded. “Will this distract you too much?”

 

“No.”

 

“Really? You’ll be able to take your shot while I suck your dick?” Jaskier sees the subtle shift of Geralt’s chest as he breathes in deep, and Jaskier grins when he sees the desperate, exasperated look on Geralt’s face. “I can go get my journal, tuck back for the night…”

 

The air vibrates with Geralt’s growl and Jaskier laughs, leaning forward to pop the button of Geralt’s pants with his teeth just to see his reaction. He’s rewarded nicely by the shuffling of Geralt’s feet into a wider, more open stance, and Jaskier gets the zipper between his teeth, tugging it down and a hand coming up when Geralt’s hips twitch. He grabs onto Geralt’s hip, squeezing lightly, and feels Geralt go still, careful not to move too much. Jaskier hums happily, glancing up to see Geralt having slid the earmuffs on. He has no clue how much Geralt can hear or when he’s going to shoot, but Jaskier can be patient, just this once. 

 

He tugs Geralt’s pants open a bit more, giving himself more room to work as he brushes light fingers over the length of Geralt’s cock. Even half hard he’s a sight to behold, to feel as he slips Geralt’s cock free from his underwear. He might want to be patient, but it won’t be with Geralt covered up, and Jaskier admires the sight of him, holding him in one hand and tightening his fist, allowing Geralt’s hips to shove forward once, twice into the tight friction of Jaskier’s fist before Jaskier’s other hand clamps back down on his hip. It’s odd to do this without really being able to hear, Geralt’s sounds lost to the wind, but he contents himself with glancing up, watching the hard line of Geralt’s body, arm muscles flexing when Jaskier drags his tongue across the head in a slow, broad swipe. 

 

Heat builds under his skin at the first taste, and Jaskier can feel his head going fuzzy in an entirely predictable way. Of course a memory wants to drift in now, but it’s weak and easily pushed back down in favor of swirling his tongue around the head, flicking against a spot just under Geralt’s slit that makes the other man’s thighs jerk. Jaskier takes him in, sucking at the head and trying not to smirk at the way Geralt plumps in his mouth. It’s a heady feeling, licking and sucking until Geralt is fully hard, precum smearing over his lips when he pulls back to place a sloppy open mouthed kiss on the tip. He strokes Geralt from root to tip, thumb swiping to gather the precum and spit slicking the tip to drag it down further, smoothing his way. 

 

Jaskier faintly hears Geralt say something, but he doesn’t catch the actual words and he doesn’t care much to stop and ask him. All he cares about is the way his skin itches, like every moment he spends here not doing anything will make him burst. Jaskier tips forward, taking Geralt into his mouth in earnest and letting Geralt slide between his lips. The first pass is shallow, just Geralt pressing into his mouth, but Jaskier relaxes, bobbing his head and slowly but surely taking him deeper. Geralt’s cock is a hot, familiar weight on his tongue that Jaskier craves more than anything else at times. Just to be able to tuck himself between Geralt’s thighs, to taste and lick until Geralt squirms underneath him, fingers in his hair.

 

That, Jaskier decides, when Geralt’s hips twitch uselessly and his thighs tense under Jaskier’s hands, is the worst part about this arrangement. Geralt can’t just drop the gun in lieu of holding his hair, and he needs both to properly aim, so Jaskier is left to occupy himself, a hand dropping down to grind the heel against his own burgeoning erection. He actually hears the hiss that Geralt lets out, and he tilts his head back, pressing Geralt into his throat and blinking inquisitively as Geralt glares down at him. 

 

“Don’t touch.” He sees Geralt’s lips move with the words and Jaskier whimpers around Geralt, swallowing and hoping that will persuade him. Geralt’s eyelids flutter for a moment, but his pupils are wide, wanting, and he bears those lovely, sharp fangs of his. “ Don’t touch.” 

 

Jaskier’s hand comes back up to rest against Geralt’s thigh, fingers tapping out an apology and a promise all in one. Geralt nods in one jerky movement before resuming his vigil down the sights of the gun and Jaskier contents himself with the aching pressure of his pants, trapping himself in a layer of friction just tight enough to tease him. Geralt didn’t tell him what he couldn’t touch, and so Jaskier’s hands wander, fingernails scratching bluntly through denim as he drags his fingers over Geralt’s thighs, cupping the backs and pressing Geralt’s hips forward, nose brushing against Geralt’s abdomen. Geralt throbs on his tongue at the motion, and Jaskier begins to bob his head once again, drawing back almost to the tip and lapping at the head before sliding down again, moaning at the way Geralt carves into his mouth so firmly. 

 

Jaskier’s mind is hazy with desire, head pounding at the aching, persistent feeling of want that races through him. He doesn’t know if he’s ever, ever been quite so happy to have Geralt like this in all his years, though a memory of a day spent entirely in an inn tickles at the back of his mind. 

 

Jaskier is so finely attuned to Geralt that when his cock twitches, thighs tensing just so Jaskier pulls back completely, grinning when Geralt’s snarl reaches him through his earplugs. Jaskier sits back on his haunches, admiring the red flush of Geralt’s cock and the way that he twitches, precum dribbling from the tip. Jaskier leaves him like that, blowing a breath over him and watching the way that Geralt’s cock jerks at even that touch. Only once Geralt’s thighs relax does Jaskier touch him again, allowing Geralt one sharp rut into his mouth before he takes back over. Jaskier keeps him where he wants him, cock leaking and flushed, so close to the edge yet never falling over it. Jaskier faintly hears the click and snap of the bolt being pulled back, and that sound alone has his own hips grinding uselessly into the air. 

 

He only loaded one bullet.



-*-

 

Geralt is going to lose his mind. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he brought Jaskier, but having Jaskier on his knees, mouth hot and wet around him while he tried desperately to line up his shot? That was never part of the plan. He can’t say he minds the plan, not with the way Jaskier’s tongue presses up against him, cheeks hollowing and creating a drag so delicious that Geralt can feel his toes curling. He finds himself closer faster than he’d like, so, so much faster, but Jaskier is pulling back at the last second and Geralt can’t help the noise he makes at that.

 

Jaskier knows him, better than anyone ever has before though, because he waits, patient, until the boiling heat in his gut settles into a harsh, sweeping warmth instead. 

 

It doesn’t lessen further than that, not when Jaskier’s hot, talented mouth envelopes him again, drawing him in and lapping in long, languid swipes. Geralt has to force himself to stay still- any stray movement throws his aim off, and he’s entirely at Jaskier’s power as Jaskier works him with his mouth, drawing him closer and closer to the edge and stopping just when he thinks he’s going to get release. 

 

By the time he slots a bullet into the chamber, snapping the bolt into place to prime his shot he’s so ready to say to hell with the contract, to drop the rifle that he can hardly think . Jaskier’s arousal swirls around him, coats his tongue every time he drags a breath in through his mouth to calm the shaking of his hands. He can’t hear Jaskier for once, not even the beating of his heart, but he knows he’s going to need the protection if he wants to be able to walk home after. 

 

Geralt spots his prey at the same moment Jaskier swallows down around him, moaning and sending vibrations shooting through him. Geralt’s vision blurs briefly, but he straightens up, squaring his shoulders and tracking the beast as it slowly ambles along the street. It’s chosen a less populated area, easier to grab lone prey, but it won’t get anyone tonight. Geralt pulls in a deep breath, ignoring the very pleasant, very insistent mouth on his cock as he lines up his shot. He holds his breath, going still, and his finger squeezes around the trigger, body jerking slightly at the recoil as the shot rings out through the air, cacophonous even with his double layered protection. 

 

He watches as the beast crumples, twitching and pawing at the ground uselessly before going still. Jaskier’s arousal spikes in his nose, cloying and heavenly, and Geralt drags in a sharp breath, breathing as deep as he can to read him properly. Geralt rips his earmuffs and earplugs out, wanting to hear, and he stoops, pushing Jaskier back for a moment so he can set the rifle on the ground before he straightens back up. Jaskier whines pitifully, lips puffy and red, and as soon as he can he takes Geralt back into his mouth. Geralt doesn’t hesitate in burying his fingers in Jaskier's hair, fingers twisting and pulling at the strands as Jaskier’s hips jerk uselessly in the air.

 

Geralt drags in a breath, and Jaskier’s arousal hasn’t faded at all, hasn’t settled into the background like it usually would. Geralt’s eyes widen, nostrils flaring as he drags another breath in. “Jask, you…?”

 

Jaskier’s eyes are impossibly blue when he glances up, and something like an ashamed whimper falls from his lips when he pulls back, lapping at the head of Geralt’s cock. The sight and sound and thought of Jaskier having come, completely untouched and riled only by what they were doing makes Geralt’s knees go weak, and he groans low in his throat. 

 

“You’ll kill me, Jask- fuck that’s hot.” Jaskier’s eyes widen a smidge, as if not expecting Geralt’s passionate admission, and Geralt nudges his hips forward. “Please-”

 

That’s all it takes, Jaskier moaning and nodding his head before taking Geralt into his mouth. This time Geralt isn’t distracted, bound to stay still, and Jaskier yanks at his hips, moaning when Geralt’s hips snap forward of their own accord. He won’t ever get tired of this, the way that Jaskier’s eyelids flutter every time he presses forward, taking Geralt into his throat and swallowing him down. Jaskier alone is enough to make his cock give an interested twitch, but when he flicks his tongue on the drawback, hollowing his cheeks as Geralt presses forward? It has Geralt’s thighs quaking under Jaskier’s hands, and his own need for release raging through him.

 

Geralt can’t hold on for long, not after the way Jaskier dragged him close over and over again, and his nails scratch at Jaskier’s scalp as he moans, the sound deafening in his ears. Geralt grinds forward, hips stuttering, and Jaskier whines around him, swallowing him down when Geralt finally comes, shuddering and fingers twitching uselessly in Jaskier’s hair, riding out the waves of his orgasm as Jaskier bobs his head. His vision whites out completely, sounds drifting in and out of his mind like water under a bridge. He pulls back when he can’t take the overflow of sensation anymore, tucking himself away haphazardly before crouching to yank Jaskier into a kiss. Jaskier moans against his mouth, the sound cracking in his throat, and Geralt drags him up higher on his knees, Jaskier arching up into him.

 

“Geralt-”

 

“When we get home, you aren’t going to be able to walk.”  

 

Please- ” Geralt silences him with another kiss, lapping into his mouth and tasting himself on Jaskier’s tongue.