"Bravo!"

"That was excellent! Encore."

"Well done, my boy, well done."

The scattered applause for Jaskier's song dies away. The bard looks around. Triss is beaming at him, and the only one still clapping. Ciri's face is alight with laughter. He's seen that expression on young faces; it's the look of their imagination carrying them off and only giving them back to reality grudgingly.

The Witchers are another matter. Most listened to Jaskier's performance politely enough, and joined in with the applause. But talk already starts up again, and Lambert, who didn't crack a smile, mutters very audibly, "All very well for Geralt's little pet to sing his praises in the ale houses."

Jaskier's heart falls. He seeks out Geralt, who sits in the shadows at Ciri's table, and who seems to not have heard Lambert. Which is a relief, because Jaskier doesn't want his Witcher distracted and grumpy tonight. He wants him content. He wants to go upstairs as soon as possible and close out another day with excellent fucking.

Their gaze meets, and he knows he'll get his wish. There's a small smile on Geralt's lips, and he raises his goblet towards Jaskier.

Jaskier gives a little bow, his heart full of joy. Who cares about that jealous old fart Lambert? He's finally got Geralt, who will do anything to make Jaskier happy. Nothing else matters.

Jaskier takes his lute over to the table. Triss smiles at him. "That was really great," she says. "I love Toss a Coin to your Witcher, it's very catchy." She gives Geralt a mischievous and meaningful glance. Jaskier is surprised to see Geralt turning faintly pink.

"Thanks." He hasn't told them about Burn Butcher Burn, and he plans to keep it that way. He'll take that song to his grave.

Ciri yawns widely.

"Right, time for bed." Triss sounds decisive and gets up. "I'll walk with you. I have to finish off in the lab." The girl pouts a little but pushes back her bench without comment. Jaskier watches them go, calling good night to the other Witchers.

Jaskier has noticed how reluctant Triss is to leave Ciri in the great hall with the men. He guesses that she's only being overly cautious. To his knowledge, none of the Witchers have ever been disrespectful to the girl, or to Triss. He, unfortunately, doesn't get the kid glove treatment. He can feel Lambert stare at him right now.

He doesn't turn around, and instead sits down next to Geralt. "I made you blush." He knows it'll rile Geralt up to point it out, and predictably, the Witcher growls.

"That wasn't your song," he says in a low rumble. "I was just undressing you with my eyes and imagining doing unspeakable things to you right here on this table."

And just like that, Jaskier is fully hard. He grabs a goblet at random off the table and takes a deep swig, simply to give his body time to decide what way this is going to go.

A few gulps of bitter ale later – not his favourite but the Witchers brew their own and it would be unwise to complain – it's clear that his hard-on is here to stay. He bangs the goblet down and it topples against another, sloshing some ale over his shaking hand. Vesemir looks up at the noise, but quickly glances away again with a grin at the way Jaskier and Geralt look at each other.

"All right. Let's do it."

Geralt seems genuinely taken aback. "What, here on the table?"

That's a bit on the nose even for Jaskier. "No, you big doofus." He stands up and holds out his hand.

There seems to be some reluctance in Geralt as he gets to his feet too, ignoring Jaskier's hand. "Don't you want to have dinner?" He seems to want to stay in the hall for some reason.

Jaskier winces. "It was Lambert's turn to cook today. I'll pass." He's not forgotten what happened the last time Lambert was on kitchen duty. Suffice to say, Jaskier's more intimately familiar with the privy than he should be after only two weeks at the keep.

Geralt makes a face. "Fair point." He climbs over the bench. "Let's go."

As he follows Geralt through the hall, Jaskier wonders how obvious his hard-on is. It feels very obvious to him, and the more he tries to walk normally, the more he feels like everyone is staring at him. Which they probably are. Most of Geralt's brothers have been polite enough to Jaskier's face, but that doesn't stop them from making lewd remarks behind their backs, and sometimes in front of them, too. Jaskier tries to ignore all of it. Since it doesn't seem to faze Geralt, he shouldn't worry about it either.

And as soon as they leave the hall, the Witchers' looks and winks fade from his mind. He watches Geralt's back as they walk down the corridor, the impossibly wide shoulders and that tight arse in the leather trousers. Jaskier's erection, which had waned a little under the scrutiny of a dozen pairs of eyes, perks up again.

Geralt stops at the foot of the first staircase and waits until Jaskier is really close. There seems to be something on his mind, and it takes him a moment to come out with it. Jaskier waits patiently. He's familiar by now with the kinds of things the big, broody man struggles to put into words.

"D'you want to fuck me tonight?" The words are barely more than a whisper.

Jaskier stares up at Geralt, who is definitely blushing now. The Witcher won't meet his eye, but glances here and there, shifting from one leg to the other.

The tenderness in Jaskier's heart makes speaking hard for a moment, a sensation he's not overly familiar with. So he reaches out instead and takes Geralt's hand. "I would love that," he finally manages.

Geralt's eyes finally meet his. The fire that Jaskier sees there when they're alone burns bright and steady. He glances down, he can't help himself. Geralt's member is outlined full and hard in the leather. Jaskier looks behind them to make sure they're alone. Then he steps very close and stands on tiptoes, while his hand alights on Geralt's crotch. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your name."

The growl from deep within Geralt's chest is more like a moan. He presses into Jaskier's hand, and Jaskier tightens his fingers. Geralt's eyes roll back, and he growls again. "Fuck, Jask."

"Soon," Jaskier murmurs and squeezes again. The heat emanating through the leather is intense. "Very, very soon."

They don't speak as they hurry on. Walking up stairs with a raging hard-on is trickier than Jaskier imagined. But he's so eager to get to their room, he barely notices the discomfort. And with every pinch and jolt, he knows, they're closer to their union, so it's all more than worth it.

Geralt with his long legs reaches their door first. He waits for Jaskier and grabs him as soon as he can reach him. They're inside the room with the door banging shut before Jaskier knows what's happening. Geralt pushes him against the wooden door, which Jaskier appreciates as the stone walls are too rough to be fucked against. He's already ruined one shirt.

With a hungry, desperate sound Geralt crowds close. He pushes his knee between Jaskier's leg and presses his thigh into Jaskier's crotch. His muscles are hard as steel, and Jaskier is soon whimpering as the friction sends bolt after bolt of ecstasy through him. "Easy, Wolf," he pants at last. "I'm gonna come in my britches, and then what are we going to do?"

Geralt huffs, but eases back. Jaskier glances down, at their erections bulging inside their confines. He reaches for Geralt's fly. "That's gotta hurt, it's so tight," he breathes. "Let me help." Geralt gives a sigh of relief as Jaskier's hand closes on his hard shaft. He slumps forward, drops his head and rests it on Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier's pinned against the door by the Witcher's weight, his hand trapped inside Geralt's trousers. He doesn't mind one bit.

"Gods, that feels good." There's the familiar tremble in Geralt's voice. It's a signal for Jaskier to slow down or risk that Geralt comes before they're even in bed. He loves watching Geralt spurt his load while he holds the Witcher's big cock. He's determined to see this beautiful sight again today, and starts to wriggle so they can get onto the bed.

It takes a few seconds for Geralt to get the message. "All right, come on." He straightens up and begins undressing. Jaskier doesn't take his eyes off him as he undoes his own fly and shrugs out of his things. Watching Geralt's magnificent body slowly emerge is one of his favourite parts of the foreplay.

As soon as they're both naked, Geralt reaches for him again. Jaskier has grown somewhat used to the temperature inside the keep and no longer shivers like a maid on her wedding night every time they disrobe.

He gives Geralt a long look and walks him backwards to the bed. He stands on tiptoes again for a long, lingering kiss. He lets his hands glide down Geralt's flank, then reaches around until he can cup Geralt's arse. Geralt's hands begin to wander, too, and they stand for a moment, their hands busy, their bare bodies pressed together with their cocks trapped and already a little sticky with precum.

Jaskier makes sure to pay attention to Geralt's face as he reaches further and slips his fingers into Geralt's crack. The Witcher stiffens, but only for a moment, then gives a small nod.

"Do the spell."

Geralt obliges and murmurs something, and Jaskier lets his fingers wander down, until he can insert his index finger into Geralt's hot opening.

The Witcher moans, and drops his head again. He bites his lip, panting hard. Jaskier slips in further.

"Stop, or I'll come." Geralt looks up. "I need your cock inside me, Jask."

Jaskier nods. "Very soon, love, very soon."

Geralt clambers onto the bed clumsily. His arms are shaking a little. Jaskier hesitates. "Are you sure you want this? If you're nervous, we can just do the normal things." Geralt shakes his head.

"No, I want this." He hesitates. "You have no idea how much I want you. I just need to get over myself." He lies back and motions Jaskier to join him. "I'll be fine in a second. Come here."

Hoping that they're doing the right thing, Jaskier joins him. Geralt spreads his legs and scoots into position. Jaskier hadn't considered this, but what with Geralt's greater size, they can't exactly be as versatile as Jaskier likes. He finds that for an inexperienced bottom it's easier to get astride their partner because it helps them to control the pace.

But Geralt seems calmer now, so Jaskier tells himself not to worry. He crawls in between the Witcher's legs and takes himself in hand. "I'll be gentle."

"I know you will." Geralt raises himself onto his arms so that Jaskier can lean down for a kiss. "I trust you." His eyes are a deep honey, the pupils wide in the spare light from the fireplace. Jaskier has never seen his Witcher like this.

He lines up his cock with Geralt's opening, resting his free hand on the inside of Geralt's thigh, close enough to use his thumb to brush the puckered ring of Geralt's entrance. The Witcher lets out a surprised huff of air and moans so deep, Jaskier can feel the rumbling in the bed beneath them.

He glances up. "You like that?" He brushes the place again, and Geralt mutters a soft curse, throwing his head back.

"Jask, you're a torture master." He looks up, his eyes reflecting the golden flames from the fireplace. "Fuck me already, bard," he growls in his deepest, almost menacing tone.

And Jaskier is only too happy to oblige.

As the tip of his erection enters Geralt, the Witcher sucks in a sudden breath. His toes curl, every muscle clenches, ready for resistance. Jaskier stops moving at once. "Wolf, look at me." He puts a hand gently on Geralt's belly, just above where his full cock rests against the dark dusting of hair. Jaskier doesn't mean the gesture seductively, he just wants Geralt to relax, to be able to enjoy the moment.

The Witcher glances at him. Jaskier just holds his gaze for a few moments, steady, calming. Eventually, Geralt nods.

"Remember to breathe," Jaskier says in a low voice, and starts the forward motion again. Geralt's hands still grasp fistfuls of fur and sheets, but he keeps his eyes open, looking at Jaskier from under hooded lids. He swallows hard a few times as Jaskier pushes inside, but doesn't make a sound. Jaskier watches for signs of discomfort, but Geralt doesn't seem to feel pain now. Slowly, gently, he pushes past the muscles that are unfamiliar with penetration. Soon, with his shaft nearly buried inside and rubbing past the sensitive tissue of his prostate, Geralt's eyes widen. He makes a small sound, not quite a growl, and Jaskier is reminded of a young dog, still inexperienced with the world and mesmerised by new experiences. With a jolt, he realises that he loves this man.

He leans into the thrust now, burying himself up to the hilt. Leaning forward, he places one hand on the mattress, and caresses Geralt's flank with the other. The Witcher shudders with pleasure, whether from the touch or the messages from his prostate, Jaskier can't be sure.

He holds still for a moment, then he asks, "How does it feel?"

Geralt moves his head back and forth, skittish, breathing hard. Then he opens his eyes. "It's good," he says at last. "It hurt a bit, but now…like you said the first night, I can feel everything. Like I can see you moving in there."

"Excellent." Jaskier smiles. He looks down and sees that Geralt's cock is already leaking. He closes the caressing hand around the shaft. Geralt whimpers again. Jaskier makes eye contact once more. "You ready for me to move?"

The Witcher nods, biting his lip in a way that sends a shockwave of desire through Jaskier and right into his cock, which twitches. Jaskier closes his eyes and breathes slowly. He'll have to focus, or he'll come too fast.

Slowly, he picks up a rhythm. He keeps his eyes trained on Geralt's body language and his expression. When he sees no frown, no sign of pain or hesitation, he picks up his pace.

Geralt isn't normally noisy in bed. But now, with every thrust, he growls or whimpers very quietly. The sounds drive Jaskier wild with desire. He thrusts harder, pumps Geralt's cock faster.

Soon, Geralt throws back his head. "Jask, I'm gonna come." His hand envelops Jaskier's on his cock, and Jaskier puts all his effort into long, deep thrusts.

"That's great," he pants. "I'm nearly there too. Come for me, Wolf."

With a cry, his hand clamped over Jaskier's wrist, Geralt spurts cum onto his belly and chest, and the sheets as well. Jaskier is vaguely impressed and a little envious, before the sights and the sounds of Geralt's writhing, glistening body careen him over the edge, too. He slumps down, half resting on Geralt's chest, the stickiness and Geralt's softening member trapped between them. He's certain that he's never come this hard in his life.

Geralt throws an arm around the bard's shoulders and holds him while their heartbeats slow and they catch their breaths. When Jaskier slips from his hot, wet entrance, Geralt pulls him onto the sheets and rolls over onto his side, cradling Jaskier close. He gathers the blankets and furs and builds them their usual nest. When he sees the dismayed expression on Jaskier's face, he grins. "You do know that I can clean everything with a single spell, right?"

Jaskier's eyes widen. "Then why on earth did you make me drag these sheets down to the freezing wash house twice this last week?"

The lazy laugh that rumbles up from Geralt's chest is so joyous, Jaskier's anger has nearly vanished before the words are out.

"I was enjoying your martyr-like display." Geralt tugs playfully on the strands of hair that surround Jaskier's face in a sweaty, post-coital mop. "But I started to feel sorry for you after the second time, and you just gave me the best orgasm of my life. So consider the information your reward."

"Well, maybe, could you perform the spell now?" Jaskier asks impatiently.

"No." Geralt yawns. "Too tired." He closes his eyes, and is asleep before he's taken another breath.

"Honestly," Jaskier mumbles huffily. But he settles into the warm, familiar nook of Geralt's arm and closes his eyes, too. As cranky as the revelation might've made him, he'll not argue with Geralt when Geralt is clearly feeling at peace and ready to get some proper sleep.

A few moments later, the endorphins of the climax and the exertions of the day pull the bard into his own dreams.

Geralt wakes from a nightmare. It's a mild one, not one of those with full-on blood-curdling screams and endless heaps of bodies. By the time he opens his eyes most of it is already fading.

In his arms, Jaskier murmurs something, but then settles back down. Geralt lies still so as not to wake the bard. He breathes slowly, to calm his rushing blood, finding the soft sleeping face of his lover a calming tonic.

They've had a long day, and the sex had been incredible. Geralt had meant it, being fucked by Jaskier was like nothing he'd experienced so far.

He can feel some tenderness down below, but the sensation just makes him smile. He's done it, he's managed to trust Jaskier enough to let him take control. Nobody usually gets this far. Geralt never believed that being on the receiving end was unmanly or weak, but he couldn't imagine ever trusting anyone enough to submit.

With Jaskier, things already feel entirely different and new. Geralt is braver, more hopeful. He feels more alive inside. He can let himself be as human as he hasn't been since coming to Kaer Morhen for the first time. He wants to live, with Jaskier by his side, forever.

But forever seems very long to Geralt, even with such a long life stretched out before him. He's too tired and too content to lie awake worrying what it will all mean, when Jaskier ages and he doesn't, so he just closes his eyes again.

It's time to live for the here and now, where he's warm and with the person he loves. The rest can sort itself out later.