Chapter 4: Number Five with a Mallet
It had taken a bit for Jaskier to right himself. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't exactly been planning on a burly barbarian witcher to have popped into his room, thrown out his bedmate, and then kissed him.
Why had he kissed him?
He was more than familiar with Geralt making very little sense in his thoughts or actions, Yennefer being more than enough to testify to that fact, but it was quite another matter when that impulsiveness had been thrust upon him. Literally. There had been tongue. Quite a lot of it in fact.
Jaskier's fingers went to his lips, still tingling as he wondered if some of Geralt's tonic had been left over when he pressed against him. That would at least explain the kiss. The witcher had been out of his mind, or whatever happened to him when his eyes went beetle black. It hadn't meant anything. It certainly hadn't meant what he wanted it to. That would be preposterous.
He had taken his time in gathering their things, having heard a commotion from down the stairs. He really liked to involve himself in witcher affairs when there was a story to be told, but when it came to the tedious part of getting thrown out of town after town because of small minded idiots, well, he would definitely pass almost every time.
It was exhausting to hear the constant jeers thrown Geralt's way as they passed. He had done what he could to help with the witcher's reputation, but it was impossible to sway opinion in every village simpleton. They would think what they would of the white wolf, and in turn, he would save them as always while collecting his coin. They may sometimes give it begrudgingly, but it didn't change the fact that Geralt always managed to get paid in the end—one way or another.
Jaskier needed only to follow the trail of disaster to find his missing companion. The bar they had spent the night in was an absolute mess. Stools were upended, all of the glasses were smashed as he tip-toed around the wreckage. The man he had chosen to bed, he couldn't quite remember his name, was currently nursing his broken nose in the corner. His once attractive face was now swollen and lumpy from being crushed across the door frame. The bard placed his hand against the side of his face, moving quickly to sneak passed that awkwardness. The last thing he needed was to be called out for getting a witcher's wrath poured upon him. Besides, he was never really one to linger once the deed was done.
It was tedious, really.
He hadn't ever wanted to escape Geralt, though. No, he corrected his thoughts. Of course there had been times he had wanted to escape the surly brute. When he was screaming at him. When his mood was particularly foul. When he was covered in viscera and expected Jaskier to help him scrub it off him. Though, that lended itself to interesting opportunities. But he had always liked the quiet moments. Those times around the fire when they had just woken up, and Geralt would cook them breakfast. Jaskier would eventually end up talking the witcher's ear off, as was his nature, but there were moments when he was just fine basking in the weight of that silence. It hadn't been suffocating. It had been liberating. To finally feel comfortable enough around another person to not think he had to fill the air with words, or risk the other realizing how truly dull he could be. It was his greatest fear, but Geralt had never seemed to care. Until he had. Until he had told Jaskier just what a burden his company had been, and every bit of anxiety he had felt had washed over him.
Perhaps it had been those moments of silence.
Perhaps Geralt had seen how little of shine he truly had when he was just trying to bask in someone else's glow.
He shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he followed the trail of blood heading out of the village and down towards a cave. He didn't even need a creepy super human sense to track where Geralt had gone. Why was he bleeding, though? Was it his blood? No, he didn't think so. He had seen all those misguided peasants in the bar. They wouldn't be able to hurt him, and the moon wasn't out for the wolf to turn.
Jaskier stretched and yawned as he padded down some stone steps to what appeared to be a creepy cellar. He wasn't even a little surprised to see the unconscious man who was bound and gagged in the corner, and he noticed the bandaged shoulder from what he was guessing was a stab wound. The villagers must have tried to slay their wolf when he wasn't a wolf at all. Leave it to Geralt to interfere and save him.
The witcher himself was busy in the corner, trying to fit an iron door into a frame. There appeared to be a cell of a room behind the door, and Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he looked back and forth from the unconscious man, to the makeshift prison he was about to be shoved into.
"Geralt, what are you doing?" he asked unnecessarily, just trying to break the silence as his mind flashed to the bedroom, when the witcher had grabbed him with such possession. When the witcher had yanked him forward without abandon into one of the best kisses of his life.
"Wolf cage," the other answered, not bothering to look back as he began to pound on the hinges with a mallet.
"Ah," he murmured, getting closer than what was probably necessary as he felt awkward. "I packed our stuff when you're done with your little project." Geralt didn't reply, pounding out iron latchings as he began to work on pulling the door open and closed. "I haven't fed Roach yet this morning. Suppose I could go do that. Also didn't pay for the bath I took, but then, after seeing downstairs, I don't think they really want our money at this point."
Geralt ignored him as he seemed satisfied with the door's readiness, walking over to the man and throwing him over his shoulder to carry him over to the cell. Jaskier winced as he was dropped down onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.
"Poor bloke," he sympathized. "Would not want to wake up in there. Though I have had experience being locked up in a cell in my life. I just knew there was going to be somebody around to let me out." He motioned to the man. "Those villagers weren't too fond of him. How do you know they'll let him out once the full moon is over?"
"I don't," Geralt answered with a gruff, and Jaskier shifted uncomfortably as he could hear the irritation in his tone. "I told the barkeep he would be here. She said she would let him out once the danger had passed. She said they would make sure he came here during the moon."
"You're not one to usually be so trusting," Jaskier mused. "Must be impatient to get on the road to find your king."
Geralt grunted under his breath, locking the cage and hanging up the key before he headed back up the stairs. It may have been because he was oversensitive to such things, but the bard was positive he had yet to even glance in his direction. It stung more than it rightly should. Geralt hadn't been in his right mind when he kissed him. He had just gotten back from a hunt. To think he could have actually been jealous was laughable.
"Right," Jaskier murmured to himself, always following after his Witcher as he carried their gear and supplies, not surprised to see Geralt beelining to the horse. Jaskier slowly handed over their things as Geralt loaded everything without a word, practically squirming now with the awkward silence. He felt like he was teetering on the thin edge of a coin, and it could tip at any moment and spill out the witcher's temper. Geralt's back was taught, his jaw set in a hard line as he took Jaskier's lute and loaded it on one of the saddle bags.
"You're fine with walking?" Geralt questioned him, pulling Roach's head out of the grain feeder as he led her to the trail.
Jaskier tried not to flinch, but wasn't sure he quite succeeded as it felt like icy water had been poured down his spine. His jaw set in a hard line as he tried to keep the hurt off his face as he had let himself become complacent in whatever this half ass apology/kidnapping had been. "No witcher, I don't mind walking." He did nothing to hide the iciness in his tone, and upon hearing it, Geralt finally turned to look at him.
"I just thought you'd be too sore to ride," Geralt replied back, and Jaskier felt his cheeks light up in a shame he hadn't felt toward intimacy since he had been a teenager.
"Right," he replied, anger overtaking him. "Well you see I've just had so many cocks up my arse that I'm now immune to the travesties that come from horse travel after being just such an enormous slut!" He realized he had yelled that last part, but couldn't keep his ire at bay as he glowered at the witcher who had the audacity to shame him.
"How many?" Geralt questioned, and if Jaskier hadn't been so angry, he might have seen how those yellow eyes were practically glowing in anger.
"How many cocks?" Jaskier asked back, voice incredulous.
"How many men have touched you?" Geralt snapped back at him, voice a dark growl. "How many?"
"Including yourself?" the bard questioned, motioning back and forth between them. "Or are we still pretending that you didn't kiss me?"
"I'm not pretending anything," Geralt assured him, those burning eyes were still focused on him, and Jaskier didn't quite realize how overwhelming it was to finally be the source of his attention. "Answer the question."
"What does it matter if they're guy or girl?" he questioned. "Don't see me asking you how many whores you've bedded, your sorceress very much included as one of those, I assure you."
Geralt's jaw set in a hard line at the insult. "Why don't you like Yennefer?"
"Why don't you like people fucking me?" Jaskier countered, because if Geralt was going to dare shame him, he wasn't going to hold back on the depravity. "You want to know about the men I've bedded, wolf? Does there have to have been penetration, or could I have also gobbled them down until they came all over my face?" The murderous look Geralt was giving him normally would have frightened him, but he was already too far gone. "You want to hear about my threesomes that involved both genders, or does it only count when I'm being spitroasted from both ends? Please tell me at what level your judgement starts for whom I choose to bed?"
The witcher's hands flexed at his sides and Jaskier could actually hear him gritting his teeth, before he exhaled some of his fury. "Enjoy your walk," he stated, turning away from the fight and practically launching himself onto Roach.
Jaskier was practically slack jawed with the nerve of the brute to assume he'd still be willing to trail after him. "I'm not going with you, witcher."
Geralt snorted, and then motioned to the lute already secured on Roach's pack. "You will, if you want this back." Jaskier's eyes widened as he realized his mistake, lunging to grab the instrument at the same time that the witcher kicked at Roach and took off at a canter down the trail.
It took hours before he caught up to him, and even then, it was just because the sun had set and Geralt had set up camp for the night. The ass. Jaskier was exhausted, dirty, and his throat was absolutely parched from thirst as Geralt hadn't thought to leave him any water when he had taken the lute he had gotten from the elves as hostage. The lute he had gotten from the white wolf as his penance.
Jaskier was silent as he stalked over to the man who was currently roasting some sort of bird over the fire. Those yellow eyes practically glowed with the flame, glued on him as he came to stand in front of the man sitting on a log in front of the fire. He grabbed for the water skin he held in anger, upturning it as he gulped it savagely, trying to quell his thirst.
When he was satisfied he was no longer going to die of dehydration, Jaskier ripped the skin away and wiped his mouth on the back of his dusty sleeve. "Five," he started, looking down at Geralt. "Five, including you."
"Jas—" Geralt warned as Jaskier hadn't let a day's journey put out the fire behind the witcher's earlier slight.
"No, let me finish since you seem to be so curious." He motioned dramatically around. "Indulge me, my beautiful white wolf, while I stroke your wildly inflamed ego." Jaskier reached out and grabbed that stern chin, dragging Geralt's attention up to him as he pushed closer to practically stand between his legs. "The first man who touched me was the night after the elves. I couldn't stop thinking about being tied up against you...about being pressed against you as you bled for me. As you protected me. I sang your praises to the patrons at that pub, and as they tossed you coin I let him toss me some. I breathed your praises on his inadequate form, and when I woke up beside him I realized that I would follow you forever if only for the thought of waking up finally satisfied."
He thought he might be going mad as Geralt didn't push him away at his words, instead letting a hand draw up the back of his thigh, fingertips splaying in encouragement. "The second was a fleeting fancy. A way to forget you as I hadn't run into you for over a year. I wanted to fall in love. I thought I had, but he too managed to disappoint me."
Jaskier's eyes were half lidded as Geralt's hands began to move, massaging his sore muscles from a day of walking, traveling up over his glutes, grasping him as Jaskier pushed his fingers into the wild tangle that was the witcher's hair.
"The third you'll find interesting, I daresay," he started, breathing quickening as Geralt's other hand came to the ties on his tunic, tugging at them as he continued to massage, eyes guarded and locked with his own as Jaskier made him focus for the tale. "It was after you sent me away. I was crushed. I was aching," he stressed as Geralt used both hands now to slip the shiny green fabric off his shoulders so that he was just in the loose fitting shirt. "I found someone as big as you...as brutish as you...and I let him do whatever he wanted to me, because I knew…" He leaned in, both hands fisted in that hair as he brought them a breath apart. "I knew the one I wanted was sure I was just a burden on him. After all we had been through...and all I had done for him...I was the monster in his story."
"You're—" Jaskier didn't allow him to finish, too scared of what the answer would be of what he was to Geralt. He kissed him instead, all but yanking the witcher's mouth to his, not giving him a choice to reject him.
Jaskier's mind soared the instant their lips touched as it had the night before, and pressed closer, practically whining in need as his arms wrapped around Geralt's neck. The witcher kissed him back, taking everything he couldn't help but give as he sank onto the other's lap. He straddled that strong waist, kissing Geralt deeper as he pushed his tongue into the witcher's mouth, tasting him, claiming him as he lapped at the monster hunter's tongue and forced him back until he submitted to the skill he knew he had.
He had made countless women fall in love with him by the way he kissed. He had inspired songs as well as written them. He needed Geralt to feel those skills. He needed him to feel this overwhelming sensation of desperation now that they were finally connected after all this time. All the years of pining after him. All the years of begging for any scrap of affection, when all he needed to do was force him to submit to his lips as he had forced him to endure his tongue for years.
He broke away from that mouth for need to breathe, taking a deep shaking gulp of air as Geralt's hands scrambled to the back of his shirt, ripping it up over his head, before yanking him back to kiss him again.
Powerful fingers sunk into his bare back, pressing into his spine to pull him closer as Jaskier clasped at Geralt's chin, not allowing him to escape as he trembled against his mouth. He moved on top of the witcher, rolling his hips along with the roll of his tongue, feeling Geralt's cock began to harden underneath him in his leather trousers.
Geralt growled into his mouth at that, arms wrapping tight as he pushed up to his feet. Jaskier took the hint as he was lifted easily, legs wrapping around the witcher's waist as the other stumbled forward with him. Geralt sunk to his knees, pressing him back on the ground with the fire crackling next to him. He pulled away from him then, and the witcher's eyes were molten with danger and lust as his hands came to his trousers. Jaskier grunted as they were yanked down without a care, and his cock was exposed to Geralt, already hard and aching against his belly.
"This for me," Geralt growled, calloused thumb tracing over Jaskier's cock as he shifted from him in the dirt to get away from prying eyes.
"Geralt—" he pressed, trying not to let a desperate tone leave him as that thumb stroked teasingly along the vein.
"Jaskier—" the witcher mocked back with playfully, and his heart clutched in his chest as a smile actually lit up Geralt's face, before he cupped both sides of his face and leaned down to kiss him.
Jaskier melted almost instantaneously as Geralt took control of the kiss, blanketing his body as the bard's bare legs wrapped around him. Why did the witcher still have so many clothes, when he was about to lose it at just feeling him finally above him?
He reached between them, desperately shoving at those leather pants to get them down over his hips as Geralt's hands came underneath his hips, lifting him up as he thrust between his legs.
He barely managed to get those pants down over Geralt's encouraged member, before his hips were grabbed and he was flipped, as if weightless, over onto his stomach. He moaned as he was dragged up onto his knees, and he heard Geralt spit before two wet fingers were pushed into his spread entrance.
Jaskier cried out at the intrusion, knees scraping along the floor as Geralt pressed deep inside him, spreading those fingers and making his elbows slip along the ground. "Forgive me," Geralt spoke, and lips pressed against the back on his shoulder as he fucked his fingers in and out. "Thought you were spread enough from number four." As he spoke those fingers spread wider, and another slipped in as Jaskier's face fell to the ground.
"T-think you're going to be number f-five?" Jaskier managed, stuttering through the words as he actually thrust back into those fingers, body covered in sweat from the fire and how turned on he was to have Geralt of Rivia finger fucking him out in the open road where anyone could walk by and see.
"Think there's only going to five," Geralt assured him, pushing in harder as he spun his fingers, pressing against something inside of him that caused him to cry out. Geralt seemed to have realized what he had done, for he pressed over and over again, relentless as Jaskier spread for him, cock straining as he tried to push him away as the pleasure became overwhelming. "Tell me." He reached underneath him, wrapping a hand around his neglected cock as Jaskier was practically crying with how much he needed to cum. "What do you want?"
"You," Jaskier replied dumbly, screaming as he was rewarding with furthered fingers. "Always...Geralt just…"
"Ask me," Geralt demanded, pulling his fingers out, leaving him empty and aching as he continued to pump his cock. "Come now, bard, I've never seen you at a loss for words."
Jaskier tried to press back against him, rubbing desperately against the head of Geralt's cock, realizing how big he actually was now that it was pressed against him. "My white wolf...my butcher...my fucking witcher…" Jaskier glanced back, and moaned at the utter want he saw on Geralt's face. "Ravish me...claim me...own me...but for all things holy...just fuck me."
Geralt reacted then, grabbing Jaskier by the hips as he lifted him up into the air. He leaned back on his knees, lowering him backwards onto his cock, lowering him inch by inch as he turned his face to kiss him once again and swallow up his pain as he was split open.
They kissed desperately as Jaskier realized the hurriedness of their situation. Geralt hadn't even discarded his shirt. His pants were down around his thighs as he had been too fevered to bother in his need. It made the pain almost bearable to think that he had caused the Butcher of Blaviken to be reduced to such a state.
The pain didn't last long. Jaskier had always been sensitive to pain versus pleasure, and the lines started to blur as Geralt lowered him up and down on his cock, fucking him hard, that enormous organ pressing so deep inside of him he could practically feel it in his belly. He reached behind him, pulling him close as sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder, marking him before sucking on his neck as he pounded inside him.
Geralt made a ruin of his neck and shoulder, Jaskier crying out in ungodly pleasure as he marked him, cock bouncing against his belly as the slap of skin was deafening in the still of the night.
The witcher shifted while inside him, and Jaskier was convinced he might split open yet again as he reached back to feel that organ sliding in and out of him. His voice was a string of moans and praises as with a shift he was once again pressing against the bundle inside of him, and Jaskier knew nothing after that beyond the witcher's cock.
He didn't know how long it lasted, only that when he finally came it was in rivelets that splashed his chin, and caused Geralt to let out a groan behind him as warmth flooded his insides. His vision whited out as he collapsed back against him.
Jaskier was gasping for breath, hardly able to comprehend the apologetic kisses being pressed all over his neck, or to how Geralt's arms were wrapped almost desperately tight around him. He turned his head, moaning as he met his witcher's mouth in a sloppy kiss. He cupped his cheek, laying their foreheads together as he finally opened his grey eyes to meet molten yellow. "Geralt—"
"I'm sorry," Geralt interrupted him, kissing him again. "I never meant it. I was angry over Yennefer, but I shouldn't have sent you away. I'm so sorry Jas," he spoke, before kissing him again almost desperately, and Jaskier had no choice but to follow his witcher's call.
Geralt of Rivia...number five with a mallet.
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