Geralt woke that morning tired and uncomfortable. His muscles were stiff and tense, his head foggy with lack of sleep. He'd slept in a bed separate from Jaskier, which he thought was fortunate, as the state in which he woke would doubtlessly have prompted the bard to torture him before he'd even had breakfast.
The thought of food didn't really appeal to him just then, but he had to leave sooner rather than later, and he was already going to be in a foul mood. Best to eat now.
He sat in bed gnawing on a hunk of stale bread and a couple slices of crumbly cheese, displeased with both but ultimately more distracted than anything. His senses seemed dull and clouded, like everything else around him was so much less important than what he wanted to take care of immediately. And there was no question in his mind about what that was, as it was still staring him in the face from the tent in his drawers.
Geralt tore off another bite of bread with a growl he didn't even notice he'd let out, glaring at the bedroom door. Why he constantly allowed Jaskier to degrade him like he did was beyond him-no, no, that was a lie. He knew why, he just didn't like to admit it. Made him feel weak, small, and it frustrated him that that was the whole point of it. The only person in this world or any other he would allow to have that kind of control over him, to see him in such a vulnerable state, was the damn bard who'd been a thorn in his side since he met the man.
He finished his meager breakfast in uncomfortable silence and dressed, avoiding touching anything that didn't expressly need to be touched. Riding Roach was going to be hard enough-he wondered briefly if she thought it was weird how over the last few days he'd spent more time standing in the stirrups than sitting in the saddle…
Geralt walked down the stairs to the main floor of the inn, hoping to just leave and not have to speak to anyone, but that hope was dashed when he heard a lute being tuned. He looked over to see Jaskier standing right beside the front door, looking him over with a smirk.
"You look like you had a rough night," he said, walking jauntily over to the witcher, giving his lute a few testing strums. "Maybe you'll listen better tonight, hm? Then you can have a-"
"I'm not in the mood this morning Jaskier, step aside," Geralt said, staring the bard down. Their agreement wasn't to impact his work, and the monster he was contracted to kill was only active during the early morning hours, otherwise it would be a pain in his ass to find.
"Oh I won't stop you," Jaskier said, making a point to step out of his way, "but hurry back this evening, hm?"
Geralt grit his teeth together and opened the door, snarling under his breath at the human on the other side of it when they nearly collided. He found Roach and took off at a canter, his feet firmly in the stirrups so he could take some of the pressure off of himself while he rode.
While Geralt was off doing whatever a witcher does during his day, Jaskier left the inn briefly just after sunhigh in order to find something nice for Geralt. What could he give the man that he would appreciate...coin obviously, but no that wasn't enough. He wanted something small, a trinket or such that Geralt could carry with him without it getting in his way. Maybe a pendant or something...yes, that would be nice. He could carry it on his belt.
Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to look for long, as he heard a ruckus from the trees not too far away, faint screaming. A man and a woman dressed in simple peasant clothing sprinted into the main square, their faces drawn with terror, wailing incomprehensibly.
Logic said that he should leave it alone...he didn't need to investigate this, there were guards nearby to do it. But he felt the foolish, overwhelming desire to at least see what was going on. So he said a quick farewell to the merchant woman he'd been speaking with and trotted off in the direction of where the man and woman had come. Everyone else who had half a brain hadn't even batted an eye, preferring to leave this for the guards doubtless. But no one had ever accused Jaskier of having half a brain…
He would have preferred to stay in town, if he was honest. The sheer volume of the mess that greeted him was...horrific. Right in the middle of the street, the dirt had been churned to mud, but it had not rained in weeks. He saw puddles of black in the deepest boot prints, and if the stench was to be believed, it was blood. Meat-he couldn't think of it as body parts, or he would be sick-was strewn about in clumps, hung from trees with bones and worse dangling in the breeze. Jaskier caught sight of a hand, and it had horribly long, sharp claws-at least it wasn't human.
Jaskier shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly to get himself under control. Then he walked around the perimeter of the mud, passing through a shrub to avoid getting it on his shoes, only to hear a tiny, metallic sound. He looked down and caught a glint of light where it oughtn't be.
Leaning down, Jaskier picked up a necklace, the chain broken. And as he reached further into the leaf mulch, he produced an angular wolf's head medallion, mouth stretched wide in a snarl. This was a witcher's medallion-Geralt's.
"Oh no," he said, straightening up quickly as he looked around. What had happened to his friend? He tucked the necklace into his pocket and awkwardly hopped his way out of the shrub, face screwing up in disgust as his heel sank into a puddle of blood that splashed onto the back of his calf.
"Geralt!" he called frantically. "Where the bloody hell-" His voice cut off as he heard a beastial snarl and he whirled around, hands clutching the front of his shirt. An enormous creature with bulbous pink skin and teeth that looked as long as his forearm crouched a mere few paces away, bloody saliva dripping from its festering lips. From what Geralt had told him, this thing looked like a ghoul...and Jaskier had no sword to help him-not that he'd know how to use it well enough anyway.
He turned to run and fell face-first into the bush he'd just left, shouting in fear and lifting his arms as he saw the ghoul run toward him, but instead of feeling a heavy weight drop on him and wickedly curved claws pierce his regretfully soft flesh, he heard the heavy, meaty slap of impact and another snarl.
Jaskier opened his eyes and scrambled to sit up, just in time to see Geralt-dressed in his studded leather armor, but with both swords sheathed-throw the ghoul to the ground. It reared up toward him, but the witcher put a foot on the side of its head and shoved its face into the mud, grabbed its arm and pulled. The limb ripped free of the beast with a sickening, deep, wet crunch and the ghoul screamed.
Without making a sound, Geralt grabbed the arm by the freshly-exposed bone and took a step back, beating the creature about the head and neck with its own clawed foot until it stopped screaming. Only then did he throw the arm aside and finally removed his silver sword from its sheath, driving the metal into the ghoul's chest and silencing its horrible, burbling sounds of agony. Silence stretched between them, not even birds dared to chirp. Until finally Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, fury in his yellow, slitted eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he snarled. "I told you we were here for a contract. There are notices posted everywhere to stay off the roads because there were monsters." He sheathed his blade without wiping the grime from it, and walked toward Jaskier aggressively. "You could've gotten yourself killed."
Jaskier held his hands up in helpless surrender as he was dragged out of the bush by the front of his shirt, staggering as he was made to stand. "I...found your medallion and I thought you'd gotten hurt," he admitted sheepishly, looking up at his friend as he pulled the necklace and medallion out of his pocket and held it out to Geralt.
The witcher stared at the medallion for a long moment before he snatched it back, stuffing it into his own pocket as he growled, "Damn alp snatched it off me. Get out of here, there's bound to be more ghouls now and I've got to clean this mess up to keep them from coming back."
Jaskier started away, but looked back over his shoulder to see Geralt pulling pieces of meat down from the limbs of trees, dropping them into piles and using one of his signs to burn them. Something about this seemed strange to him though and he asked, "Geralt...is it normal for you to attack without your sword drawn?"
Geralt glanced at him and was quiet for a moment, pulling out a tin from one of his many pockets to pour a powdery substance over the bloody mud. "No," he said finally.
"Then...why?" Jaskier asked. "If I may...seems impractical."
"Felt good to do it. Been stressed lately," Geralt retorted. "I didn't realize I had to answer to you outside the bedroom."
Jaskier bit his lip for a moment before he nodded and said, "Right...I'll just be off then. See you tonight, I suppose." Then hurried off back to town before any other ghouls showed up.
Geralt returned to the inn smeared in mud, blood and worse, stinking of rot and sweat. He pulled his clothing off once he reached his own room and bathed quickly, not even bothering to heat the water up before he scrubbed himself. He was tired, but his body felt more awake than he thought it ever had. Even his strongest potions wouldn't have left him feeling this way…
The door opened as Geralt was drying off his hair, and he turned to look across the room. Jaskier stood there, looking worried and, more than anything else, apologetic. He wore a violet and magenta robe of all things-not attire he expected to find the bard in.
"Do we have to tonight?" Geralt sighed, shoulders dropping as he let his towel fall to the ground.
"Yes, but...different," Jaskier said, moving close enough to put his hands on Geralt's chest, smoothing his palms over the witcher's skin. "This is supposed to be fun. What I saw out there didn't seem like fun. It seemed like frustration, anger. It was my intention to leave you wanting more, not to drive you to such a state you felt it your only option to start destroying things to let off steam."
Geralt moved his hands to cover Jaskier's, but found himself instead led by the hand toward his bed. Geralt watched Jaskier suspiciously, not trusting the bard to not have the leather ties hidden on his person somewhere.
"Just lie down, I'm not going to tease you anymore tonight," Jaskier promised. He watched Geralt lay down on top of the covers, and once the witcher was situated, Jaskier removed his robe. Underneath, he was nude, a state he rarely found himself in when around others-especially Geralt. More often than not, he stayed at least partially clothed, not out of any sense of embarrassment, but rather because he hardly had time to get his clothes off entirely before Geralt would ravage him. Not that he minded, but he didn't feel like having to replace any of his clothes tomorrow. He'd seen the local merchants' wares and they weren't to his taste.
Jaskier moved to sit perched atop Geralt's thighs like he had just the night before, reaching into one of the pockets on his robe to fish out the vial of oil he used. He poured a small amount into his hand and let it drip from his fingers onto Geralt's cock, watching with satisfaction as it twitched from even that small stimulation. He took Geralt's length in his hand, and had hardly gotten a full stroke in before he was fully at attention. No time to waste, he supposed.
Geralt's hands rested on either of the bard's thighs, breathing even for the moment, though the idea of sitting still while Jaskier was within reach made him light-headed. Though maybe that was just the rapid change in direction of his blood flow.
"Wait, it won't cause you pain?" Geralt asked, raising a hand as Jaskier lifted himself, hand guiding Geralt's cock so the head rubbed against soft, warm skin. That sensation alone could have wiped him off the map, but he clung on, wanting his answer.
"Unlike certain witchers I know, I take the time to prepare myself before going into potentially dangerous situations," Jaskier teased, a smirk on his shapely lips. "You are welcome to do as you please-within reason."
Geralt lowered his hand again to rest on Jaskier's thigh, rubbing in slow, wide motions as he watched the bard move them both into the right position. He felt that same warmth, and then pressure, and then the warmth encompassed him entirely and he lost himself in it.
Jaskier had enough time to sink down to the hilt, to feel Geralt pressing so deep inside him he thought surely he couldn't stand it. But it drew a low, gentle moan from his lips, drawn out in a little hiss as his body stretched to accommodate. The next sound out of him, however, was a squeak of surprise as he felt Geralt's hips lift and roll, an arm coming up to wrap round his back and practically throw him into the mattress. He let out a grunt when he landed and looked up in surprise to see Geralt move his legs bodily out of the way, with little regard for what would be most efficient-just needed them out of his way.
The preparation he'd done before Geralt arrived served a good purpose, as Geralt was hardly gentle at the beginning. He pinned Jaskier to the mattress, panting with each body-rocking, bed-squealing thrust, and rocked him forward so much that he wound up with his head pushed to the side against the headboard. This was hardly a problem, as each thrust left him utterly breathless, rubbing all the right places that made his body twitch and burn with pleasure, tingling sensations shooting up and down his arms and legs, his spine. His cheeks were red as beggartick petals, his lips parted with moans dripping from them like sweet honey.
Geralt moved back and grabbed Jaskier by the thighs, pulling him closer over the bed and manhandling his legs until they were on either side of the witcher. Jaskier would have liked the opportunity to pleasure himself alongside Geralt's actions, but his friend leaned down to pull him into a kiss. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant-rough and full of nipping, nibbling teeth as much as anything. But Jaskier couldn't keep it up, he had to pull back for air, as Geralt hadn't sat still through the kiss. He turned his head to the side as Geralt's mouth moved to his neck, and he lost track of what was happening. It all felt so good, it blended together into an overwhelming pleasure that left him limp against the mattress, a moaning, trembling mess.
Growling brought Jaskier back into the moment, and he felt hands against his shoulders, pulling him down harder. He gasped as Geralt thrust hard into him-so hard their bodies slapped loudly together and it sent a shock of pain through Jaskier. He winced and tried to squirm away a bit to give himself some relief, but Geralt pulled him back in, thrusting again with a shuddering grunt this time.
"Ag-f-fuck!" Jaskier whimpered, clenching his teeth together in pain and sucking a breath in. He blinked, feeling tears in the corners of his eyes as he panted, "Valdo! Valdo-V-Valdo, Geralt."
He needn't have said it thrice, as after the first time, Geralt snapped out of wherever he'd gone. His grip relaxed on the bard's shoulders and he let out a shaky sigh. His body still ached for release, but the word had been said, and he knew what it meant. He'd done too much-had he hurt Jaskier?
"I'm sorry, are you okay?" he said, starting to back up, but he felt a hand reach for his thigh.
"I'm fine Geralt," Jaskier reassured him, "just...a little gentler. I'm only human." There was a chuckle in his voice, but this had been a good reminder that though he was only human, Geralt certainly wasn't...This had been the first time they'd needed to use their safe word, and he was glad that even with how far gone Geralt had seemed to be, he listened.
"You're sure you're not hurt?" Geralt asked uncertainly, rough, calloused hand resting against Jaskier's cheek to wipe away one of the tears that had fallen from the corner of his eye.
"I'm sure. Now keep going," Jaskier said, smiling.
Far be it for Geralt to ask thrice, but he took things more gently. A pace that still felt good and filled his head with cotton and buzzing bees, left him hard-pressed to think of anything other than the man beneath him. He moved his hand down to swipe over his lower belly where some of the oil had remained and worked it over his fingers. Then, as he straightened up, he lifted Jaskier's shapely leg to rest the man's ankle against his shoulder, kissing his calf and the inside of his knee as he continued to thrust.
He finally took Jaskier's cock in his large hand, stroking in time with each movement of his hips. He could feel himself reaching that edge, it was fast-approaching, but he could see Jaskier starting to squirm, lifting his arms over his head as his back arched. The smaller man let out a high-pitched moan that he had to cover his mouth with both hands to stifle, though Geralt wished he wouldn't have. Singing, Geralt wasn't too fond of-but these were sounds he could appreciate. Sounds that he coaxed from the bard himself, that he wouldn't soon forget.
Jaskier panted hard, shuddering as his thighs quaked with the aftershock of his climax, his belly and chest painted with semen. He watched Geralt move both hands to his thighs and close his cat-like eyes, breathing shallowly now. His knees spread a little more apart, thrusting more deeply until he lost his rhythm and then pressed as deeply into Jaskier as he could, mouth open as if to moan, but no sound came out. His face flushed and his hands moved to the bed, tightening into fists in the blanket as he remained tense for what felt like several long minutes. When finally he could release his breath, he gasped for air like he'd just run up a mountain, his hands shaking, light-headed, hair hanging loosely around his face and shoulders as he looked down at Jaskier.
"I-I've no words," Geralt panted.
"Then say none and come lay with me," Jaskier said, reaching out for the witcher. "You'll have more monsters to fight before long, and I want my time with you."