Chapter Text
True to his word, Geralt was waiting for him when he ascended the stairs and entered their bedroom just under an hour later. His eyes flicked to the tall dressing mirror Geralt had brought in from the guest room. It was perfectly positioned to reflect the activities of the large bed’s occupants.
“Feeling okay?” The silver-haired witcher grinned as Jaskier sat down next to him on the edge of the bed and leaned a bit drunkenly against his shoulder. His robe was barely tied, and the man wore a silly grin.
Jaskier’s grin widened as Geralt brushed a kiss against the top of his head. “I’m so much better than okay, Wolf. If there are words sufficient to describe how I feel right now I can’t grasp them.”
“You…speechless? Just when I thought there were no new things to discover in the world,” he teased.
Jaskier felt his cheeks warm and he ducked against Geralt’s neck, enjoying the way the soft silver strands of the man’s hair tickled against his cheek.
“The sun’s set.”
Nodding, Geralt glanced at the darkening sky outside. “It has indeed, Lark. Have you been thinking about what you want as your reward?”
Jaskier flopped back onto the bed and sucked in a sharp breath as Geralt’s fingers traced the edge of his robe up his chest, teasing, but not immediately seeking to stimulate in any direct manner.
“I have indeed, darling. With you, the possibilities seem endless, however, I’ve given it some thought, and I believe I’ve come up with something that both of us will enjoy. As I’ve done all the hard work today, it’s only fair I’m allowed to rest and let you do all the heavy lifting from here on out. Wouldn’t you agree I’ve surpassed your preconceived notions of just how much I can take?”
“You have,” Geralt answered honestly. “How should I make up this unforgivable slight to your character?
“I accept your apology, Wolf. However, for the rest of the night I don’t believe I should have to lift a finger. In fact, I’d rather not be able to.”
“Jask,” Geralt chuckled, “You’ve already got Cub calling you a princess, you want to prove him correct by becoming a pillow princess?”
Jaskier laughed lightly as he smacked the muscled arm he was leaning against.
“Not exactly where I was headed, love. You should know I haven’t missed all the little ways you’ve been working me past some of my…oh let’s call them ‘stumbling blocks’ for the moment. Subtlety is also not your finest talent."
“What is it you want then, Jask? Tell me.”
“I’ve held tight all day, mentally and physically. Now I want to let it all go. I saw the way you watched that man being bound last night. You rather like the idea of doing that to me, don’t you? That’s why you brought home that rope you’re hiding in the drawer? You want to do more than just bind my wrists, don’t you, Wolf?”
Geralt made a curious sound that sent another shiver coursing down Jaskier’s spine.
“You sure you’re ready for that, Lark? You mentioned having dreams again.” The spectre of Silas still hovered, and not for the first time did Geralt wish he could go back and kill that particular monster again.
Jaskier blinked slowly, before whispering, “I’m completely certain. I need you to…well, for lack of a better phrase, I need you to change the narrative. Why should I be afraid of something as simple as a length of rope? I want to reclaim it. This should be ours, not his.” With a sigh of relief, he realised once the words had left his mouth, his shoulders relaxed and the knot of fear in his belly began to uncoil.
Geralt nodded with a small smile, pressing a quick kiss to Jaskier’s lips, before rolling off the bed and walking to the dresser.
He watched the witcher slide open the top drawer.
“I knew you’d been eyeing this," Geralt said, turning with a coil of blue rope held loosely in one hand. “We don’t need to use it tonight…or ever, your decision. However, I chose it because it matches your eyes.”
Jaskier took a long shuddering breath. He’d seen it, touched it even; but hadn’t had the nerve to pull it out of the drawer. The memory of that other rope, stiff and coarse, cutting into his skin cruelly, leaving him bloodied and sore, had been haunting him since this had made its appearance in their play drawer, and Geralt had basically just acknowledged that he knew it.
That rope had been black, however. Black and coarse as the monster who had bound him with it. An involuntary shudder slid down his spine. Jaskier’s scent soured slightly and Geralt instantly turned to return the rope to the drawer. “It’s too soon, Lark. I have your leather…we’ll find a compromise.”
“No. Don’t put it away, Wolf. I…I want it…I do. I just…”
Geralt turned to see Jaskier staring intently at the blue coil in his hand and he held it out in front of him. Long fingers danced over it lightly as though music could be coaxed from its twisted length.
“It’s beautiful, thank you, darling,” he murmured, but his breath still caught at the end as he fingered the twisted fibres.
Rationally he knew this wasn’t an impulse buy. Geralt would never make the kind of rash drunken mistake Silas had one afternoon in a sketchy back-street shop near the university. The choice of this rope had been made carefully, lovingly, knowingly. Geralt was not Silas. Silas had been a monster who’d cared not one whit that Jaskier had impulsively selected was the wrong kind of rope. His concern only lay in how completely he could humiliate and dominate him.
This rope was soft and blue…blue as the sky…blue as the Forget-Me-Nots in the garden. It was sturdy, but had been chosen with care, and more importantly, with him specifically in mind. Geralt understood that despite the memories associated with that rope, here there was nothing but a desire to see him happy. Here he had an out, with a word, he’d be free to change his mind.
Geralt knew exactly what he was doing when it came to the art of bindings and knots. Yen had confided this one afternoon as the two of them had lazed in the sun together, entirely too many empty wine bottles lying between them on the beach.
‘Of course I could have simply waved a finger and escaped them, Songbird. That’s hardly the point. He’s a master,’ she’d stressed with a slight slurring of her words. ‘Only man I’d ever trust to tie me up and hold me down while he absolutely fucked me into another sphere. Geralt, the King of Knots…’
Her burst of sudden laughter, and the way her violet eyes sparkled with mischief, served as the perfect bait for a naturally curious bard.
“I have only one stipulation, my beautiful wolf."
“Name it.” he said, crawling up the bed toward Jaskier, with a wolfish grin.
Jaskier blinked lazily and lay back with his arms extended in front of him. “Make sure I can watch us in the mirror, then for gods sake, let me come.”
He wasn’t sure when time stopped exactly, but the last thing he remembered clearly for a very long time was watching his lover’s calloused fingers unlocking the accursed cage and setting it aside.
With a sort of fuzzy detachment, he remembered seeing Geralt begin to weave lines of blue magic across his body. There was a moment he wondered if it somehow had been enchanted, as with every loop and knot he felt freer, safer and more cared for than he’d ever known.
Securing the younger man’s hands behind his back, Geralt wrapped and criss-crossed the taut lines of rope across the man’s chest. His nipples, pinched and swollen, throbbed as Geralt continued down his torso and the rope pulled against them.
“Ger,” he forced from lips and a tongue that felt thick and foreign. “Want to come so bad…”
“Just a couple more knots, baby. Open your eyes. Look at how beautiful you are. This isn’t just for me, though you’re so pretty all tied up for me. A perfect present, indeed, but this is for you too. I want you to see yourself as I see you. I want to worship you as you deserve to be worshipped, my sweet lark.”
Whimpers filled the room as Geralt finished knots down the centre of his chest before threading the tails down between his spread thighs. He paused on his torturously slow journey to situate a knot just behind Jaskier’s balls, and another at the base of his leaking cock.
“Fuck…”
“Soon…”
Once his calves were secured to his thighs, and all voluntary movement was rendered impossible, Geralt sat back on his heels and admired his work. He hadn’t exaggerated, Jaskier was fairly glowing in the soft light of their room. No god ever deserved the kind of devotion he felt for the man kneeling in front of him and he found himself swallowing hard around the sudden tightness in his throat.
Jaskier couldn’t tear his eyes away from their reflection in the mirror. His heart, which had been pounding loudly in his ears since they’d begun, gave a lurch as Geralt moved to kneel directly in front of him.
Calloused thumbs stroked across the plains of Jaskier’s cheeks, gathering a stray tear that slid from the corner of one eye. Rough fingertips stroked down his neck, eliciting soft sounds from his lover, followed by a hiss as they trailed across his chest.
“More beautiful than I’d dared dream,” he murmured softly, his breath feathering across Jaskier’s throat as he bent to lick and nip at the long column.
Dropping his head back, Jaskier’s lips curved up drunkenly and he rolled his head, silently offering better access to his throat. A low rumbled growl vibrated between them. Jaskier’s cock jumped, a steady stream of precum dribbling down its length.
“Ready for more, baby?” Geralt murmured against his jaw. When Jaskier whimpered at the touch, the sound was swallowed in a kiss that left him dizzy.
Jaskier moaned and sucked at Geralt’s tongue as it swept across his own. Desperately hungry for more, he whined when it was removed.
“You’re nearly there. Take a deep breath for me, baby, and use your words. Can you do that?”
It wasn’t much of a sound, but Geralt nodded as the bound man kneeling in front of him whispered, ‘Yours.’
Reaching to the bedside table Geralt opened the bottle of oil and poured a liberal amount into his palm.
Grasping the knotted blue rope decorating the centre of his chest, Geralt tipped Jaskier backward, ignoring the slight grunt the man made with the change in position. Holding him suspended over the bed, balanced on knees, the witcher reached his oiled fingers between them, down past Jaskier’s throbbing cock to press against his fluttering hole.
The activities of the day had left him loose and pliant, so two fingers were greedily accepted.
With a twist of his hand he found Jaskier’s prostate and gave it a couple firm strokes, smiling as whimpers became whines of need .
Effortlessly, Geralt hauled him up to straddle his thighs.
Jaskier relaxed, slipping deeper, weightless and secure in the knowledge that from here on, Geralt was in complete control. He let himself drift along the slow rolling waves of pleasure being created by Geralt’s tongue and lips. Hot and restless, it trailed down his neck, across his shoulder, then dipped to the nearest nipple. His entire body bucked once as though hit with a jolt of electricity when it was drawn into the witcher’s mouth. Jaskier groaned and let his head fall back, as Geralt continued on his meandering path at a maddeningly slow pace.
Fire, banked low all day, suddenly ignited and Jaskier gasped.
A chuckle, smooth as melted chocolate, sounded against his chest. “Like this, hmm? I know I do. You are so beautiful, Lark. Like this…all for me...so perfect for me.”
A desperate groan tore through him at the praise. Instinct had him attempting to arch into the touch. The ropes pulled gently against his chest and thighs, but didn’t allow even such a simple act. Tethered only by the heat of Geralt’s steady hand in the centre of his chest, and where his hot breath ghosted across his skin, waiting it seemed for him to answer. Words held no meaning suddenly. Jaskier let himself fall into bliss.
Spreading his thighs when Jaskier went limp against him, Geralt stretched him wide, and let the man sag against his shoulder. Their cocks, jutting up between them, slid against one another, dragging whimpers from both of them.
“Ready for your reward, baby? ”
Jaskier's mind registered the question, only vaguely, but his body had an instant answer. Between them his cock gave a particularly enthusiastic nod, smearing them both with precum.
Geralt chuckled softly against his throat, where his teeth were worrying a mark against his pulsepoint. “I’ll take that to be a very enthusiastic ‘yes’.”
Sinking impossibly deeper into the warm haze of being at his wolf’s mercy, Jaskier merely hummed, hoping he was understood. Even if he could have formed the words in his head, he doubted his ability to spoil this moment by asking for Geralt to speed up his glacial pace of tormenting him with tenderness.
With one last kiss that may have lasted hours, or a fraction of a second, Geralt seemingly read his mind, and extended his arm, lowering Jaskier back to the bed to balance on his shoulders.
“So good for me all day, now it’s my turn to be good to you, baby. Let me show you how proud you made me today.”
A fat tear rolled from the corner of his eye, followed by another. His heart thundered in his ears as they were gathered on the tip of Geralt’s finger.
“Really mine,” he rumbled with wonder, looking down across Jaskier’s bound body, rubbing his hands greedily across the rope-covered landscape.
“Always yours…” Jaskier’s voice was thready, barely recognizable, but firm. “Now please…”
Geralt grinned at the attempt his lover made to focus his eyes and glare at him. It may have missed by a mile, but he took the hint. Pillow princess status achieved, but one he’d indulge considering how well he’d performed all day.
Pouring oil into his palm, he warmed it for a moment before grasping the younger man’s weeping cock. Irregular gasps quickly turned to desperate pleas as Jaskier began to toss his head, the only part of his body he had any control over.
“Impatient thing, aren’t you?” With no further warning, Geralt grasped the rope and hauled the younger man back up against his chest, and settled him across his thighs again. Reaching around and pressing his cock against Jaskier’s hole, he rocked up, burying himself inch by inch.
“Look at us, Jask.” Jaskier rolled his head from where it had fallen against Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re so beautiful like this. Riding my cock just like you’d hoped to do all day. You want to come like this, me filling you up, or should I make good on my intention this morning? Make you come with just my tongue?”
A punched out sound came from the man impaled on him. Jaskier’s mind spun at the memory of Geralt’s tongue working magic inside of him. There was no way to choose, neither would prove to be the wrong decision, but the thought of losing Geralt’s cock was unbearable.
“Wanna come on your cock,” he slurred, feeling grateful for the rope. Without it he knew he’d fly completely apart. With a shuddering breath he forced himself to continue, “Then on your tongue.”
“Greedy thing too,” Geralt growled low, and rocked again, burying himself in the younger man’s hot channel. The sigh next to his ear was long and completely devoid of artifice. He did it again…and again…not hurrying, not even trying yet to bottom out. Just rubbing across the bundle of nerves listening to the sounds of Jaskier’s pleasure build.
He’d asked so much of the younger man today, and at every turn he’d surpassed Geralt’s expectations. He wondered if Jaskier even knew how perfectly they fit. For all of Destiny’s torments, it seemed she’d finally granted him one exquisite treasure. For far too long he’d believed he didn’t deserve anything nice, let alone a love like this.
Jaskier’s eyes were heavy with heat when he leaned back and gazed at Geralt. Blue had all but disappeared, swallowed by need. “More…” he breathed.
“Anything for you, baby. So good for me all day, and now, here in your pretty ropes.” Geralt whispered against his lips. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re so beautiful like this. Like you were made just for me.” Rocking a bit more firmly, he let Jaskier settle further down his shaft before hauling him back up by the harness of rope.
A high pitched whine accompanied Geralt’s next thrust.
“That’s it baby, let yourself go. Want to feel you come undone, and when you do, I’m going to come with you. You’re going to do that to me. Make me fill you up again.” Jaskier’s entire channel fluttered as the words penetrated the haze and Geralt bit back the gasp that rose in his chest at the sensation.
Yen hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d called Geralt the King of Knots. The placement of each was strategic, as was the way the rope criss-crossed his chest and torso. Pleasure thrummed along every nerve in unceasing waves, gathering, it seemed, under the knot Geralt had placed just behind his balls. Every stroke of the witcher’s cock brushed against his prostate. Every time he bottomed out, he rocked against it and explosive little bursts of light exploded behind his eyelids.
Nothing existed but the desire for one more burst of that golden light, one more brush against his core. The fire in his belly blazed suddenly and he wailed.
“There you go,” Geralt whispered. “That’s it. Sing for me, little lark, let go.”
White light filled his vision, his cock, trapped between them throbbed hard against Geralt’s calloused hand and somewhere in the distance he heard a long broken cry of surrender.
He drifted warm and completely boneless. He thought maybe Geralt was whispering against his temple, but he couldn’t make out words, so he focused on the way the tiny puffs of breath caused his hair to flutter in response.
Words were overrated, he thought, with a touch of burbling humour. Nothing mattered but the feeling of Geralt’s strong hands against his sweaty skin, soothing him, touching him everywhere gently. Was he moving? He hoped he didn’t have to move anytime soon, he never wanted to leave here…wherever ‘here’ was exactly. Something to think about another day he decided with a little giggle.
Soft fingers scritching against his scalp felt nice, and he floated toward them with a hum of contentment. If he turned his head just a tiny bit…yes… there . Something akin to a purr bubbled out of him. He heard Geralt snicker from somewhere nearby as stray curls were swept back from his face.
Blinking his way through the levels of haze that had enfolded him he gazed up at Geralt, feeling his face stretch into a slow smile.
“There you are. Thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Geralt said leaning down and kissing him softly, letting Jaskier continue to rise slowly. Kisses were pressed against his eyelids, his cheeks, finally stopping when they found his lips, lax and soft now. They were sweet, slow, languid things with no heat behind them.
“Mmm…never lose me,” he breathed against the older man’s lips. “Yours always, weren't you listening?”
A huff of laughter and Geralt sat up, reaching for a glass of water that had appeared at some point while he’d drifted back to himself. “Just checking, could have been the lust talking.”
Jaskier squawked lightly and slapped weakly at Geralt’s chest before sitting up. “Oh…” The slight frown that crossed his face when he realised he was no longer bound made Geralt’s heart thud a bit as did the ghost of disappointment that flitted behind his blue eyes.
“How do you feel? I thought you might be a bit more comfortable coming back to find yourself free to move as you chose.”
Jaskier’s smile returned, bright as the sun, as he squirmed a bit, rolling his shoulders and stretching his spine. Taking the glass from Geralt’s hand, he took several long swallows while he considered the question, watching as bright amber eyes skimmed his body watching him carefully.
“Completely amazing. Lighter, maybe? I’m not sure that’s the word, exactly.”
Geralt nodded, his smile growing broader as Jaskier beamed at him. “Thank you my darling. That was the very best possible reward after today.”
A warm chuckle sounded from the older man as he took the nearly empty glass from him and sat it back on the bedside table. Turning back to his young lover he ran his thumb over the purpling bruises along his throat. Newer ones laid atop those from the day, each a reminder of how treasured he was.
“Jask, that was only half of your request,” he said, his golden eyes hooding slightly. Jaskier’s breath caught as Geralt reached out and laid him back down, covering his body with his own.
“You still want to come on my tongue?”
The quick breath and the spasm of fingers against his shoulders was all the answer he needed. He’d literally do anything for the treasure beneath him, and really it was such a simple thing to have waited for all day.