"Now...I've heard that a witcher's tolerance for pain and distress is the stuff of legends. But this-this isn't exactly inspiring confidence in me that the tales I was told are true."
Jaskier looked down at the bed where Geralt lay, shaking his head and placing his hands akimbo. They'd been here for nearly an hour, but the past three days, they'd done two and the witcher hadn't been in nearly this bad of shape. Perhaps Jaskier had overestimated his friend's endurance after all…
"Well," said the bard, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, "I can't say that I think you've earned a reward this evening."
"Mmph!" Geralt protested around the cloth gag in his mouth, arms straining against the leather bonds that trapped his wrists against the wooden slats of the headboard. If the witcher truly wanted to, he would have no trouble at all breaking the leather, the wood, or even Jaskier himself. But they'd been through this song and dance before-not to such an extent sure, but Geralt knew the prize was worth the wait, and he'd always been a sucker for a good prize.
Jaskier touched the carefully-maintained nails of his left hand against Geralt's chest, watching how the light of the candle on the bedside table cast made his pale, sweat-slicked skin seem to glisten like ice in the sunlight. He drew his nails lightly down, trailing over the peaks and valleys of scars and flesh alike, drawing goosebumps that left the witcher shivering.
"You've been...adequate. Yes, I think that's the word I'd use," Jaskier said, letting his fingers move a little farther down, past Geralt's navel, brushing over the trail of white hair that stopped just before the prize Jaskier had claimed for his own some time ago. He glanced up at Geralt's face, wanting those beautiful cats eyes to watch him, but found the witcher's face screwed up, eyes squeezed shut as if anticipating what was about to happen. Oh that wouldn't do at all.
"Tsk tsk tsk," Jaskier tutted, standing up from the bed. He himself was still fully clothed, in a comfortable pair of cloth trousers and a loose-fitted shirt that could be removed in a matter of seconds. He'd dressed this way with a purpose, one that seemed it wouldn't be fulfilled tonight. That was fine though, because as much as he made Geralt suffer, he too was forced to wait. It would be all the better in the end.
Geralt's eyes opened again as Jaskier climbed nimbly onto the bed, passing one leg over the witcher's deliciously bare thighs so he perched right atop them. Jaskier used his left hand to rub against Geralt's balls, pursing his lips slightly in approval at how tight they felt-ready for the release he hadn't decided his friend deserved.
"We have rules, remember?" he said, looking up to Geralt as he wrapped his fingers around the witcher's balls, holding them together firmly, but not too tightly. He wanted to cause discomfort, not damage. It worked, as he watched Geralt's arms flex again, outlining muscle and sinew alike, knuckles white with how tight his fists clenched. "You know how forgetful I can be, Geralt. Remind me what our rules are."
His friend glared up at him, breathing a little faster now, face covered in a fine misting of sweat that caused wispy strands of white hair to cling to his brow and temples. If Jaskier could just have a painting of his friend's face in this exact moment, he would be happy for all time…
"Oh yes, silly me," he chuckled, leaning forward and putting a little more pressure on Geralt's testicles as he removed the gag from the witcher's mouth. He tutted again sympathetically as this drew a quiet, but drawn out groan from his friend.
"Come now, the rules," he repeated, resting the pad of his thumb against the underside of the swollen, incredibly flushed head of Geralt's cock. The touch was light, but it made Geralt flinch all the same, and Jaskier could feel his friend's hips moving minutely, as if he wanted so desperately to thrust. "I want to hear them, Geralt."
It took a moment, but once Geralt had pulled himself together enough, he sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to say the first rule, if only to indulge Jaskier and make this end sooner. He'd nearly resigned himself to leaving dissatisfied again, but the thought was nearly unbearable. But he'd hardly gotten out, "First rule-" before Jaskier's finger started to move, rubbing tight, slow circles over the sensitive, hyper-stimulated underside of his cock. His hips bucked so hard that it rocked Jaskier forward and the bard had to throw his hands out and catch himself on Geralt's chest to keep from being thrown into the headboard.
"My my my," Jaskier said, shaking his head. "Adequate was too kind a word, I fear. He righted himself again, brushing his hair back from his brow.
"I'm sorry," Geralt breathed, moving his shoulders slightly, eyes glued to Jaskier's hand as if he could will it to go where he wanted it to. "I didn't mean to-"
"Oh I'm well aware you didn't mean to, yet it happened," Jaskier admonished. He took Geralt's cock again, holding it firmly as he gave a slow stroke from base to tip, letting his thumb rub right over the spot that had gained him such a reaction. He watched Geralt's eyes glaze over before they squeezed shut, watched his face screw up as he held his breath, thighs trembling so hard it jostled Jaskier again and made him have to shift his stance, sit up a little with his knees spread more firmly apart.
"Rule number one, Geralt?" the bard prompted, moving his hand in short, slow strokes over just the head.
Geralt's toes curled and he tried to move his legs, but the straps holding his ankles in place prevented it just as much as the bard sitting atop him. It must have been so frustrating, knowing that he could throw Jaskier off of him like he weighed no more than a sack of flour, but then their fun would be over…
"You're in control, I'm not," he growled through gritted teeth, breath coming harder and faster as his muscles tensed. Jaskier's hand moved expertly and smoothly, aided by the unscented, slick oil Geralt had encountered only in brothels before he started doing this with Jaskier.
"Very good, now the rest," Jaskier said, angling Geralt's cock away from his body and slowing his strokes down significantly. He could feel the tension building in the witcher, and he worried he might let him ride too close to the edge to bring him back from it. "There's only three more, come on now."
Though his expression said he'd rather rip his own teeth out, Geralt's eyes looked up to the ceiling, as if it held the answers. There was a moment where the only sound was Jaskier's fingers sliding wetly across sensitive skin, until finally Geralt said quickly, "I'm allowed to ask, encouraged to beg, but I'm not allowed to demand anything from you. I can call you sir or...gods, why do you want me to call me Maestro anyway?"
"If I'm going to spend hours stroking the lovely body you've kept to yourself all these years we've been friends, you can at least do me the courtesy of returning the favor to my ego," Jaskier said, hand pausing again. He looked down and rubbed his fingertip along the slit in Geralt's head, pulling away and watching the silvery strand until it broke and dripped down to land on the witcher's scarred belly. "Come now, the last rule. It's the most important, and the one with which you should be most familiar."
Geralt hazarded a glance down the line of his body, watching Jaskier almost seem to play with him as he waited. It had been a novelty the first night, now it was just infuriating. Especially if he was going to be left dissatisfied again. But he would play along for now, as he had no desire to see the sad, disappointed look on his friend's soft, punchable face.
"I'm allowed to bed others, but I come to you if I want to...submit," he said, voice trembling as Jaskier started stroking him again, bringing him right back to the edge where he was forced to stay, panting and twitching, cock straining for the hand that was held just out of reach if he got too close. Give him a bruxa to fight, a goddamn arachnomorph, two of the beasts he hated trying to slay most, anything but this. And he did it willingly too! Why did he subject himself to this? Because it felt fucking amazing, that's why...
"Very good, and why is that?" Jaskier asked, holding Geralt's cock as far down as it would go without risking harm before he let it go, smirking in self-satisfaction at how quickly it slapped against the witcher's lower belly. Geralt flinched hard, but refused to look up at him. So Jaskier reached out, taking Geralt's face and forcing him to look front and center. "Because I don't want you scampering off to the nearest brothel to undo all my hard work. You're welcome to anyone you like unless we're doing something together."
He studied Geralt for a moment, the strain on his face. It was all...delicious. Jaskier wanted nothing more in that moment than to pull his own trousers off and have at this wonderful, powerful man. But there would be time for that later. For now, he needed to go take care of himself so that he could be level-headed tomorrow. He'd thought at first to test his own endurance and wait as long as he made Geralt, but it had become painfully obvious after the first night that he did not have the same constitution he demanded from his witcher.
"You're good when you want to be," he mused, releasing Geralt's face. He shook his head and moved off of the bed, pulling at the ties that held the witcher's hands and feet in place.
"Jaskier, don't leave me like this again," Geralt groaned, voice becoming more forceful at the end as he sat up. But he looked away when Jaskier turned to face him.
"Oh my apologies, I didn't realize your memory was in such shambles...I think you just nearly broke rules two and three, did you not?" the bard asked, picking up a rag from the bedside table and wiping his hands with it. "You certainly do not deserve release tonight, I was right about that."
Geralt sat up the rest of the way, rubbing at his wrists so that he wasn't tempted to rub at something else. It took a great deal of self control for him to stand up and grab his clothes, heading for the doorway that led to the next room where the tub was. He was covered in sweat and thin oil, and he had a contract he needed to take care of in the early morning before his client decided to look elsewhere for help.
"Geralt," Jaskier said. "Behave in there. I shall be listening."
The witcher glared over his shoulder and growled, "Yes sir," before he stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.