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It was an utterly unremarkable evening when it happened. A moment of quiet - well, for some Jaskier-adjusted value of "quiet", anyway, muttering and the occasional lute chord notwithstanding - across a campfire in some anonymous patch of forest, like hundreds of nights before, like hundreds of nights to come.
Jaskier was scribbling away in his notebook, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between soft pink lips as he mumbled half-formed lyrics, and Geralt couldn't look away even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't. And then Jaskier looked up.
He caught the slant of Geralt's gaze. Met it fearlessly, as he always had. Licked his lips. The musky scent of desire floated on the air between them, wrapping invisible tendrils around Geralt and tugging at him lightly. In and of itself, that was nothing new. But Geralt not immediately suppressing his own response - well, that was new. He couldn’t even explain why now, why this one time, what had changed, if he’d been asked.
Geralt swallowed hard. A moment; a chance. A choice. He'd watched Jaskier grow from a brash, impulsive youth who flung himself into danger as though he couldn't help himself, into a brash, impulsive man who knew what he wanted and pursued it with his whole heart no matter the cost. Had fallen for the idiot anyway, eyes wide open and fighting it every step of the way.
And now here they were, staring at one another through air that felt charged as a thunderstorm, as though heat lightning might flash between them at any moment.
Geralt stood slowly and walked toward Jaskier. He skirted the fire, keeping his movements slow and careful. Giving Jaskier plenty of time to stop him or move away or break the moment with nervous chatter.
He held a hand out to the musician in silent invitation. Jaskier took it, lute-calluses scraping pleasantly over sword-calluses, and let Geralt draw him to his feet.
Geralt paused with his hands on Jaskier's waist, head tilted close and lips only a breath's length away. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.
Jaskier's brow furrowed. "What?"
"I need to know you'll tell me to stop, if you need to. If I've read this entirely wrong, or you change your mind. Don't - if you don't want this, don't just go along for my sake. Please."
Jaskier made a low sound, almost pained. "Geralt, if you don't kiss me this instant, I'll -"
They never found out what Jaskier would have done. Jaskier surged forward mid-sentence, as though he couldn't bear to wait a single second longer.
Their lips met, half-tender and half-frantic. Jaskier’s hands slid up Geralt's chest to curl around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. They groaned, both of them, when their tongues met and stroked slickly along each other, and Geralt found himself yielding to Jaskier's lead.
Jaskier rocked his hips against Geralt's and nipped his lower lip. Geralt shuddered. Letting go of Jaskier's waist with one hand, Geralt trailed his fingertips over the front of Jaskier's trousers, feeling him already hard and straining at the laces.
"May I?" he whispered.
Jaskier gasped as though he'd been struck. "Yes," he said, "yeah, yes, anything. Anything you like, Geralt, just touch me, please."
Barely stifling a growl, Geralt dropped to his knees, fingers working feverishly at the ties of the bard's trousers. He was all but panting by the time he got them undone and freed Jaskier's cock, hard and ruddy and already leaking. Leaning in, Geralt licked up the slick fluid, moaning at the salty-bitter taste on his tongue.
Above him, Jaskier hissed through his teeth. Those elegant fingers tightened in Geralt's hair, and suddenly he couldn't draw it out, couldn't tease them both with it any longer. Parting his lips, he swallowed Jaskier down in a single smooth motion, not stopping until his nose was buried in the dark curls at the base.
"Fuck!" Jaskier cried out, hips jerking involuntarily. Geralt looked up and met that burning blue gaze, and Jaskier moaned. "Oh, gods, Geralt," he babbled. "You're so good at that, ah, sweet Melitele have mercy on me, fuck."
Geralt drew back a little, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. It got a truly filthy noise to spill from Jaskier's lips as he slid back down again, then repeated the motion.
"Fuck," the bard all but whimpered. "Geralt, shit, fuck, you look so good like that, on your knees for me with my cock in your mouth, ah! Ah, oh gods, do - do witchers just not have a gag reflex or, nngh, need to breathe or anything like that? Ten years I've known you and I always assumed you needed to breathe like the rest of us."
Geralt couldn't quite stop the low chuckle that rumbled up in the back of his throat. Trust Jaskier to find a way to bring laughter even into a moment like this. It made Jaskier yelp, hips jerking a bit again.
"Sorry," Jaskier breathed. "Sorry, I didn't mean - ohhh." The breath left him in a rush as Geralt tugged his hips forward when he sought to pull back. "You," he said unsteadily, "you, ah, you want - you want me to do that? You want me to fuck your mouth?"
Eyes fluttering shut against the surge of arousal that flooded him at that, Geralt moaned. He sounded like a cheap fucking whore and he knew it and didn't care, couldn't care while Jaskier's words were setting a fire in his blood.
"Oh, gods," Jaskier said. "You really do, don't you?" His fingers tightened, gripping the hair at the nape of Geralt's neck hard enough to pull. It only made Geralt moan again, higher-pitched this time.
Jaskier gasped and did it again, using his grip to pull Geralt back a little before pushing him back down to meet the thrust of Jaskier's hips. "Oh," he said breathlessly, "oh, you sweet, perfect thing. Look at you, taking me so well." Another thrust. "Who knew you would be so good for me?"
Geralt found his own hips rocking at that, grinding uselessly against nothing but air, desperately seeking friction against his still-trapped cock.
"So pretty," Jaskier panted as he fucked into Geralt's mouth a little harder, a little faster. "You look so good like this, darling."
The pet name went through him like lightning, flashing along his nerve endings and flickering up his spine. Geralt dropped his hands from Jaskier's hips and began undoing his breeches, desperate to touch himself.
But he had just barely gotten his cock out and begun to stroke himself when Jaskier noticed.
"No." He growled it quietly, but so intensely it made Geralt's eyes snap open again from where they had closed in pleasure. His hands stilled on his cock without any conscious intent, even as it twitched at the command in Jaskier's voice.
The bard's thrusting ceased and he stood still, gazing down at where Geralt knelt and waited, simply cradling Jaskier's cock in his mouth as he waited for Jaskier to say something.
"Give me your hands." Jaskier's voice was still quiet, still calm, but it brooked no disobedience. Trembling slightly, Geralt obeyed. He let Jaskier arrange him with wrists crossed behind his own neck and both of Jaskier's hands tightly clasped about them, holding him in place.
He could have broken free of Jaskier’s hold if he'd really wanted to.
He didn't want to.
He surrendered to it instead, submitted to it as Jaskier began to move again, and thinking of it that way only made it even hotter. Geralt found his hips rocking uselessly in rhythm with Jaskier's thrusts, cock dripping onto the dirt between his legs, hot and throbbing and completely ignored.
"Good," Jaskier said breathlessly. Geralt felt warm all over at it. "Oh, Geralt, you're so perfect, being so good for me."
He let out a loud, choked whine and stared up at his bard with vision blurred by tears.
"You like that, huh?" Jaskier asked. "You want to be good for me, don't you, pet?"
And all of a sudden Geralt's vision flashed white, a muffled cry tore itself from somewhere deep in his chest, and he came without a single touch to his cock. Just Jaskier's hands holding him, Jaskier’s cock sliding over his tongue, Jaskier’s fucking voice calling him "pet" in that sweetly condescending tone.
"Oh, fuck," Jaskier said fervently as Geralt came back to himself. Geralt blinked up at him, feeling two tears break away and roll down his face, and swallowed around Jaskier's cock on the next stroke.
It was enough to push Jaskier over the edge as well, just as he'd hoped. Geralt swallowed again and again as Jaskier cried out his pleasure and flooded Geralt's mouth with his spend.
He drank down every drop Jaskier gave him until at last the bard eased back, shivering with oversensitivity. Jaskier was still breathing hard as he released Geralt's hands, guiding his arms back down. He rested his palms on his thighs as though he were going to meditate, but remained still, staring up at Jaskier, feeling warm and pliant and a little bit hazy.
Jaskier cupped his chin, sweeping his thumb over Geralt's swollen and spit-slickened lower lip. Geralt let his lips part and his tongue dart out to lap at Jaskier's thumb without thinking, feeling vaguely pleased at the way Jaskier's breath hitched at it.
"Gods, Geralt," Jaskier said a little shakily, "you're going to be the death of me."
"Hmm," Geralt replied. He hoped it sounded apologetic. He was in no way ready to attempt words just yet.
Jaskier only laughed. "Good to know that didn't change everything," he teased.
Not everything, Geralt thought. Just almost everything.