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Jaskier throws himself onto the bed, sighing happily as he shuts his eyes and Geralt forces back a smile as he sets his things down at the end of his own bed. For once, they haven't been travelling long between inns, but it's been a long day and Geralt at least is happy for a comfortable bed and a decent meal - and some time to himself while Jaskier inevitably finds some other bed to warm. It may not have been a long time on the road, but Geralt's patience has been tested with every moment of it.
The weather is beginning to turn and Jaskier, constantly walking and no temperature regulation to speak of, has taken to removing his doublet most days and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. On occasion, he's threatened to remove his shirt altogether and, although it had been a throwaway comment, Geralt had nearly toppled right off Roach and into the stream they'd been following.
It's not as though this is a new habit, he's been doing it for years but this spring is... worse. This spring Geralt is dealing with a rather frustrating realization that he does, in fact, quite like having Jaskier around - to the point where he was miserable for most of the winter without him, wondering what he was doing and who he was with back in Oxenfurt. Eskel had just given him a knowing look, but Lambert had wandered around the keep telling anyone who would listen (Geralt) about it every five seconds.
Geralt doesn't think often about things like love. The closest he ever got was with Yen and that was... a train wreck, in the end. But he's been thinking about it a lot lately and as he looks across the room to where Jaskier is basking in a ray of sunlight, he thinks if he did love anyone, it might be him.
"Well," Jaskier chirps, sitting up with his feet on the floor, "I think I'm gonna head downstairs. Will you be joining me?"
"Not tonight, I don't think."
"Alright then, darling, enjoy your rest. Should I come collect you for supper?"
"No. Thank you. I'll be fine."
Jaskier flashes him a warm smile and crosses the room, slipping through the door with a final little wave to Geralt. Geralt hums to himself as he strips away his armour, piling it neatly on the floor. The work is mindless after so much practice and as he goes, Geralt thinks about Jaskier. He's probably starting his set about now, grinning out at the crowd and working them up with his charm. All the better Geralt is up here and not down there with him.
When Jaskier performs, he puts on a show, flirting with everyone in the room without a single word. He dances and slips through the crowd, pressing up close when he can and winking at those who stumble into his orbit. Although, Geralt has learned it's rarely an accident that people end up in Jaskier's presence.
They don't realize it's all a show, they don't know what Jaskier is like under it all and, Geralt suspects, they don't care to. They want their moment in the sun, they want their night in his bed or with him in theirs, but nothing more than that. It's part of the reason Geralt doesn't mind the constant flirting. He can't ask Jaskier to love him back, but he knows that no matter whose bed Jaskier winds up in, he always returns to him.
Beneath his feet, the music starts and Geralt's lips twitch up into a soft smile. Tugging off his boots, he climbs up onto his bed and lays down on his back, shutting his eyes. He'd much rather listen to Jaskier's performance up here where he can enjoy it without having to worry about anything else. Jaskier has a terrible effect on him most of the time, but when he's performing, when he's and sweaty and he's got his doublet undone and his shirt unlaced- Geralt groans at the thought of it.
And when he gets hot, his shirt clings to his chest, clearly defining the musculature he so often has to avert his eyes from. And oh the way he smiles when he catches Geralt watching him, like nothing in the world could make him happier than catching Geralt's attention. It's intoxicating and Geralt is weak against it. Even now just thinking about it, his body heats and his cock stirs.
He settles in, resting a hand on his hip as he gets comfortable. From his bed, he can perfectly hear Jaskier below him, can picture each of Jaskier's movements by the inflection in his voice. He hadn't realized how well he knew Jaskier's performance, but somehow it doesn't surprise him.
His fingers twitch and he focuses on the sound of Jaskier's voice, aware of the way his cock twitches at the sound of him. He's alone for a while, Jaskier has only just started his set; he has time now and he could just listen to him, there's no harm in listening. As his fingers drift, slipping closer to the growing bulge in his trousers, Geralt assures himself that he's not the only one who's ever gotten off thinking about him. He can smell the arousal in the air every time as men and women alike are drawn in by Jaskier's display.
Geralt presses the hell of his hand against his crotch as below him, Jaskier finishes one song and begins another. This one is faster, too raunchy for respectable crowds, but the guests seem to enjoy it and, although he'd never admit it, it's one of Geralt's favourites. It also gets him worked up quicker than anything. He has no intention of telling Jaskier that either.
He spreads his fingers down over the swell of his cock, cupping the base of it and dragging his fingers up the length of it. Pleasure zips through him and his eyelids flutter. It's been too long since he's had any sort of relief and it's starting to show; three times today, he tripped over something because he was too focused on the way Jaskier's shirt was plastered to his back or the way his muscles shifted beneath it.
But now he has time. When they're on the road, camping wherever they can find shelter, he doesn't get a chance to take things slow and really enjoy it, at best he gets a quick wank in the woods while pretending to gather firewood. So far, Jaskier hasn't caught on, but it's only a matter of time before he starts to wonder what's taking him so long. Not that it does take him that long, not with Jaskier's scent still close and tinged with sweat and the sweetness of arousal that clings to him near constantly.
His cock jumps under his fingers and Geralt groans. If he's not careful, he won't last long tonight either. He's fully hard now, his cock pressing up against the front of his trousers and he wraps his fingers around himself , stroking firmly through the thick fabric. He bites down on his lip, an instinctive response brought on by years of travelling with a companion and his hips shift, pushing up against his palm.
Stupidly, he lets his mind wander, imagining Jaskier's fingers wrapped around him without the barrier of fabric between. Jaskier is always so focused and considerate with his lovers, so fully attuned to them and worried more about their pleasure than his own. Geralt knows if they ever made it to bed together, Jaskier would be the same with him, regardless of how much Geralt might try to turn the tables on him.
And he could easily overpower him, press Jaskier down into the bed and prove his affection, kissing it into every inch of his skin until Jaskier shakes beneath him. Fuck. The thought along makes his cock throb and he wants to shove a hand down his trousers and jerk himself hard, but he knows Jaskier will return to their room, if only for a moment to put his things away, and he can't let him find him like this.
Abruptly, the music from below stops and Geralt's hand freezes where it's drifted to the buttons on his trousers. He hadn't realized how long he'd been daydreaming and Jaskier's finished his set and he'll be upstairs soon. But then, he hears Jaskier's laugh ring through over the crowd and a softer, lilting voice respond. Jaskier has found someone for the night. Geralt doesn't listen to their conversation, but he catches of course, darling, right away. So Jaskier won't be coming back to their room, which means he's free to do whatever he pleases.
Gods, but he knows Jaskier is heading back to someone's room right now and he wishes it was theirs, wishes that he was the one Jaskier was hoping to jump into bed with. He unbuttons his trousers and slips a hand inside, wrapping around himself as he imagines Jaskier climbing into his bed in the middle of the night. He has nightmares sometimes, the thought isn't even that far-fetched, only this time, Jaskier doesn't curl up against him and sleep. This time, he presses his nose into Geralt's neck, slides a hand down his chest and there's no way he could help himself in that position, he'd be hard before Jaskier ever reached his cock.
And oh how Jaskier would make him sing. He's good with his hands, and Geralt would know after all the hours spent watching them. Jaskier would bring him right up to the edge in no time, but he'd make him wait because he'd want it to last. And Geralt would whimper and whine and ache for him, but he wants it to last just as much.
Geralt's cock throbs against his palm and he arches off the bed with a groan. Without Jaskier's voice to ground him, he feels wild and he bucks up into his hand, careful not to think about where Jaskier is or what he's doing.
There's a creak outside the room, but he doesn't think anything of it. Jaskier's performance is over, people will be heading up to their rooms for the evening now. Some will stay behind, but what's the point when the beautiful bard is gone? Geralt doesn't blame them; he's just as bad. He slips his thumb over the head of his cock and has to bite his lip again to muffle a moan, all thoughts of the outside world banished by the rush of pleasure.
There's a soft gasp from somewhere far too close and Geralt's eyes flash open, searching the room. Jaskier is standing at the foot of his bed, flushed a rather pretty shade of pink, and shifting uncomfortably. Geralt is about to apologize when he catches the scent of him, thick and sickly-sweet and when his eyes drop, the bulge in Jaskier's trousers only confirms his arousal.
Geralt releases his cock, shifting further up the bed and beckoning Jaskier closer with a single finger. To his shock and delight, Jaskier's eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself in his rush to get onto the bed. Jaskier settles on his knees between Geralt's ankles doing his best to keep from staring at his cock but his focus keeps slipping and each time it does, Geralt throbs under the attention. He doesn't quite know what to do with this. He supposes he should say something.
"I thought you'd found someone to spend the night with," he mutters, his voice thick with arousal and disuse.
"You were listening?" Jaskier asks. He doesn't sound upset, just intrigued, and Geralt takes that as a good sign.
"To your music," Geralt clarifies and Jaskier's eyes go wide again. His pupils are blown wide, so dark Geralt could lose himself in them, but then Jaskier opens his mouth again.
"Were you listening to me while- Geralt, were you getting off listening to me?" There's nowhere to hide, here. Jaskier just walked in on him with his cock in his hand and he all but admitted to it already.
"Yeah," he breathes and a quiet whine escapes Jaskier's lips.
"Fuck, that's- do you do this often?" Jaskier's hand slips between his thighs and Geralt barely holds back a groan.
"No. I usually come down to watch." Jaskier's mouth drops open, but it's too late to change what he said, now.
"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, shifting closer so his knees bump the insides of Geralt's thighs. "Does it... turn you on to listen to me perform?" He could easily say no, lie about it and say something else got him hard, but Jaskier is sitting between his legs doing absolutely nothing to hide his own erection, so why would he bother? Jaskier likes this and Geralt isn't going to do anything as stupid as let him think he doesn't.
"Yeah," he reaches out, brushing his fingers down Jaskier's arm - the one not currently rubbing himself through his trousers. "I think about you sometimes, too." That much is a lie, but only just. He thinks about him almost every time because he rarely finds himself so desperate unless he's already thinking about Jaskier.
"Fuck." Jaskier squeezes himself through his trousers and Geralt's eyes drop to follow the motion. He wants to tell him that it's okay, that he wants to see him touch himself, but the words won't come. He seems to get it.
Geralt watches, transfixed, as Jaskier fumbles with the clasps on his trousers. He watches as his hand disappears inside, wrapping around himself and pulling his cock free and his skin tingles watching him. He's so focused on Jaskier's cock, on the way it slips between his fingers and the soft little sounds he makes when it does. He doesn't even realize he's rubbing himself again until Jaskier lets out a little groan and Geralt's eyes snap up to find him watching.
"You're gorgeous," Jaskier breathes. Geralt isn't sure he's supposed to hear it, exactly, but he lets his fingers slip down Jaskier's arm, trailing down the inside of his thigh. "Just look at you." He strokes himself a little quicker, rolling his hips onto the touch and Geralt has to wonder for a moment if he's not dreaming.
He watches the way Jaskier's hand moves over his cock, slowing down to squeeze around the head with every stroke and he commits it to memory. If he's ever in a place to touch him, he wants to be able to do it right, to give Jaskier exactly what he likes. But what he likes, apparently, is not so complicated as that.
Geralt's finger slip under the head of his cock and a moan escapes his lips before he can bit it back, but the way Jaskier's hips stutter makes it hard to regret it.
"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathless chuckle, sitting back on his heels.
"I like everything about you," he breathes, catching Geralt's gaze as he shrugs out of his doublet and gets a hand on himself again.
Like this, Geralt's view of his cock is perfect and Jaskier looks incredible like this. He's still sweaty from performing, and there's a dark flush in his chest that creeps all the way down. Geralt's hips jerk as he thinks about tugging Jaskier's shirt over his head. He wouldn't need it anyway and Geralt would give anything to get his hands on him, to run his fingers through the thick thatch of hair.
Geralt groans and shifts up the bed, readjusting himself to lean against the wall. Jaskier follows. He climbs up over him, straddling Geralt's thighs and settling himself in his lap. From here, Geralt can feel the heat radiating from him and he aches to reach out and touch him, to wrap his fingers around the curve of his pick and bring him off himself. His own cock twitches at the thought and he squeezes hard, sliding up to the head.
Without thinking, he reaches out, curling a hand around the back of Jaskier's head and bringing him closer. Jaskier whimpers as their lips brush, but as soon as Geralt's lips part, he presses into it, arching against him so their cocks slip against each other. The moan that slips from Geralt's lips is lost, but Jaskier presses forward, intentionally rocking his hips against him as he kisses him deeply.
He can't help himself, not with Jaskier pressed against him, teeth dragging along his lip. He tugs at Jaskier's shirt, easily freeing it from his trousers, and brings it up over his head, breaking the kiss for only a moment to rid him of the offending material completely. Jaskier only hums and reaches up to cup Geralt's face with one hand as he deepens the kiss again, slipping his tongue between Geralt's lips.
Their cocks slip against each other disjointedly, but Geralt is too preoccupied with the expanse of skin as his fingertips to care too much about finesse. He runs his hands over Jaskier's chest, letting his thumbs press just a little firmer over his nipples. The responding gasp against his mouth is intoxicating and he does it again, this time slipping one hand lower to wrap around his cock.
He finds where they meet and takes them both in hand, moaning as Jaskier's cock jumps at the touch. He's already been close for so long now, he's afraid he won't last, but then Jaskier breaks away, pressing his face into Geralt's chest with a groan.
"Oh," he breathes, "careful, love, you'll make me come like that." The words hit Geralt like a wave, knocking into him and setting him off balance, but he can't resist teasing just a little.
"I thought you were a renowned lover," he whispers, pressing his lips to Jaskier's jaw and working his way down. He flicks his eyes up to Jaskier's as he reaches his chin. "Are you gonna come so soon?" Jaskier's eyes fall shut and his breathing is uneven.
"If you don't stop talking I'm gonna come even sooner than that. Do you have any idea what you do to me? What the fact that you get off to my voice does to me? Fuck Geralt, with a confession like that you're lucky I didn't come in my trousers." That image settles itself in Geralt's subconscious and he groans as he hauls Jaskier's mouth against his own again.
He wants to make him come, wants to see the look in his eyes as he tips over the edge and know he's the one who did that. Jaskier meets him thrust for thrust, pressing so close that Geralt has to pull his hand away. He wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist instead, panting against his mouth as they rock in tandem. Their movements are uneven and jerky but fuck if it doesn't feel good and it's barely two minutes before Geralt can feel his orgasm approaching. He pulls from Jaskier's mouth, resting his forehead on his shoulder.
"I'm gonna come," he pants and Jaskier's hand slips from his neck up into his hair.
"Please, love," he whispers, "come for me."
That's all it takes before he's spiralling, spilling hot and wet between them as Jaskier continues rutting against him. His head is foggy with lust, but he manages to find Jaskier's mouth, kissing him hard as he rides the high of it.
When his heart finally returns to a steady beat and he can hear past the blood rushing in his ears, he opens his eyes and finds Jaskier looking back at him, the same dopey expression on his face.
"You've been holding out on me," he teases, kissing a line down Geralt's neck. Geralt's still coming back to himself, but he shuts his eyes and leans into it.
"Did you come?" he asks and Jaskier hums against his skin.
"So hard I thought I'd pass out. You have no idea what you do to a man, do you?"
"In my defence," Geralt mumbles, "you never told me."
"Well, I'm telling you now." Jaskier's thighs shake as he lifts himself from Geralt's lap and as he flops down next to him, Geralt curls an arm around his waist, pulling him close. Jaskier smiles as he looks up at him. "You make me crazy, Geralt." He runs a hand through Geralt's hair and tips up to kiss him slow and soft
He's still wearing his boots so Geralt bends, tugging each of them off in turn and tossing them on the floor. Jaskier gives a little grunt of indignance but Geralt wraps both arms around him and deepens the kiss and that seems to satisfy him. But when he pulls him closer, Jaskier squirms.
"Sleep," Geralt mumbles, his mind already slipping. Jaskier huffs a laugh and tugs at his shirt.
"At least get out of this." Reluctantly, Geralt detangles himself from Jaskier's arms, pulling the shirt up over his head. It falls to the floor with Jaskier's boots and he turns back, pressing back into Jaskier's embrace.
"Happy?"
"Very," Jaskier hums, "I do just have one question about all of this."
"Hmm?"
"Is this just a sex thing, or-"
Geralt's mind immediately jumps back to watching Jaskier lying in this sun earlier this afternoon. HE smiles and presses his nose against Jaskier's.
"No, it's not." Jaskier sighs happily and tucks his chin under Geralt's, pressing kisses against his throat.
"I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you tell me no."