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It was one of those evenings where Jaskier made the acquaintance of a particularly friendly patron while performing one of his more amorous songs, and duly took his leave from the tavern floor as soon as his set was over.
It was far from the first time this had happened. In fact, when they first started journeying together it had practically been a guarantee whenever Jaskier performed. More recently though - as this strange thing between them started to turn from companionship to friendship to something possibly, potentially more - Jaskier more often than not seemed to prefer drinking and eating at Geralt’s table over dallying with a stranger.
Geralt didn’t know why it bothered him as he watched Jasker make his way upstairs, dragging an eager young man by the hand behind him, but bother him it very much did.
He made a point of slowly finishing his meal before throwing some coins down on the table and turning in for the night. As he reached the upper landing his enhanced hearing picked out faint sounds of mutual pleasure, one voice altogether too familiar. Growling under his breath he determinedly ignored it, turning his attention inwards to the low pulsing of his heartbeat to distract himself instead.
A foolish mistake, really, as it meant he didn’t identify the source of the noises as coming from his and Jaskier’s shared rooms until it was too late.
The sight that confronted him as he pushed open the door was one that would imprint itself into his memory for all time. Jaskier splayed naked across the surface of the bed, wrists and legs bound to each of the four corner posts with bright red rope. The young man from downstairs kneeling by the footboard, back to the door but hand clearly working away between Jaskier’s legs.
“Get out. Now.” The words were out before Geralt even truly thought about what he was saying. The stranger froze, his whole body tensing like a rabbit on the cusp of flight.
Jaskier whined, his body flailing impotently against his bondage. “What, no, don’t stop!”
If Geralt had been in a better state of mind he probably would have found it in himself to feel bad for the stranger, forced to make the choice between the sinful temptation of Jaskier at his most eager and the legitimate concern of inciting the wrath of a Witcher. The moment stretched on, desire and fear clearly battling for dominance before fear won out. “I’m sorry,” the man muttered, extricating himself and grabbing his clothes off the floor. He didn’t bother to re-dress, simply held the bundle in such a way as to preserve what was left of his modesty as he skittered his way around Geralt and bolted out of the door.
And then it was just Geralt and Jaskier left, staring at each other across that chasm that was once three feet of floor. Jaskier gave a squark of indignation, thrashing against his restraints. “What the actual fuck, Geralt?!”
Geralt didn’t - couldn’t - say anything in return. He was too focussed on the picture Jaskier made in front of him, trussed up like a yuletide gift just begging to be unwrapped. He took a step towards the bed, drawn inexorably forwards like a sailor to siren song.
Jaskier glared at him, eyes promising murder, clearly oblivious to Geralt’s inner turmoil. “What the hell were you thinking, barging in here like that? Wasn’t it obvious that I had company?”
“These are my rooms too,” Geralt pointed out, feeling very far removed from his own body as his legs bumped up against the footboard of the bed. He stared down at Jaskier, and felt revelations circling just on the outskirts of his understanding.
“That is entirely not the point!” Jaskier exclaimed, looking far more haughtily indignant than should really be possible for someone tied naked to a bed. “You could have stayed downstairs a while longer and given me enough time to receive the good hard fucking I damn well deserve!”
He gave another harrumph, and twisted to inspect the knots at his wrists. “Now, since you scared away the nice young man who would usually do the honours, I’d appreciate it if you would help untie me.” He raised a pointed eyebrow at Geralt, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Unless you’re planning on taking his place, of course.”
“Would you like me to?” Geralt didn’t know why he said it, except for the fact that he desperately hoped the answer was yes.
Whatever Jaskier had expected from Geralt, it clearly wasn’t that. His eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth before closing it again with an audible click. He coughed and tried again. “I mean…that is…are you really offering?”
Geralt slid a knee onto the bed, one hand clasping lightly around Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier swore, pulse skittering under Geralt’s touch.
“Don’t,” Jaskier said, voice sounding as strained as his prick, which had rapidly returned to full hardness after wilting somewhat in amongst the commotion. “Don’t tease if you don’t intend to follow through.”
“I do. I will. But I need to hear you say yes.” Geralt was so overwhelmed with desire he didn’t trust himself to properly read the unspoken implications behind Jaskier’s words. He couldn’t get this wrong, he just couldn't.
“In that case yes, fuck yes.”
Something inside of Geralt snapped upon hearing that all important word, and he surged fully onto the bed, hands bracketing Jaskier’s head as he claimed the bard’s mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss.
It was everything he had dreamed it would be - because of course he had dreamed of this moment, more times than he would admit even to himself. Jaskier was soft and pliant underneath him, letting out soft gasps of pleasure against Geralt’s spit-slicked lips. His naked body was a furnace of heat against Geralt, his eager prick making its presence known against Geralt’s thigh.
Geralt slipped one hand down between Jaskier’s legs, groaning as his fingers slid across oiled skin. “He already prepared you.”
“You interrupted just as we were getting to the main event,” Jaskier agreed, sounding breathless and slightly dazed. “But now I’m all yours. To the victor goes the spoils, and all that.”
Geralt growled, low and possessive. Half of him bristled against the idea of anyone else touching Jaskier, of being where he now knelt. The other half was alight with the thrill of fierce victory, because whoever may have come before, it was he who was here now.
He was still fully clothed, boots and all, and didn’t have nearly the patience to properly address that fact. He knelt up and shoved his trousers down just far enough to free his cock, then bracketed Jaskier again with purpose. The roughspun weave of his clothing rubbing against Jaskier’s over-aroused skin, making the other man whimper.
He thrust his hips against the slick cleft of Jaskier’s arse, feeling his cock slide across its target once, twice, before catching and sliding home, smooth as butter. Geralt dropped his forehead against Jaskier’s as they both groaned in pleasure, air mingling between them before lips crashed together again.
Geralt rolled his hips, grinding down into Jaskier’s tight heat and Jaskier responded by thrashing against his bondage, fingers flexing as if desperate to grab hold of Geralt’s backside and urge him onwards.
“Fuck, yes, just like that. More Geralt, I need more .”
“Make up your mind,” Geralt grunted, but did his best to oblige, snapping out and back with just a touch of his Witcher strength behind him. It appeared to be the right decision as Jaskier keened, throwing his head back and arching up off the bed as far as his restraints would allow.
“Touch me, oh Gods , I need you to touch me.”
Geralt braced his weight fully on his left arm so that his right hand could come down to wrap around Jaskier’s cock. It only took one stroke before Jaskier was coming with a hoarse shout, Geralt’s name on his lips as he peaked.
Hearing his own name shouted like that, equal parts blissful and ragged, was enough to send Geralt over the edge himself. He swore, burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck as he thrust a couple more times and joined Jaskier in finding his release.
For a long moment only the mutual sounds of panting filled the air. Geralt’s head felt strangely empty in the wake of such a startling climax, like when fresh rain comes to clear away the mugginess of a hot summer’s day. Eventually Jaskier gave a soft grunt, wriggling with new purpose.
“Geralt, my love, you’re crushing me.”
“Shit, sorry,” Geralt extricated himself from between Jaskier’s legs as gently as he knew how, cursing himself as Jaskier still winced at the sting of him slipping free. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes as he gestured at his wrists. “Shall I…would you like me to…”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Jaskier sounded oddly reticent himself. “As fun as they are, I do worry about lost circulation.”
Geralt nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he moved to undo the ropes at Jaskier’s wrists. They were competently tied but with only a simple knot to hold them, and Geralt couldn’t help thinking about how good Jaskier would look with complex knotwork running across his entire body. How much better a job he could do himself next time.
If there was a next time, of course.
Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Had this just been a case of Geralt being in the right place at the right time, after admittedly scaring away Jaskier’s first choice of bed mate? Did Jaskier simply consider him a willing partner suitable for satisfying a temporary craving for rough fare, with nothing more after?
Or maybe, just maybe, did Jaskier feel the same way that Geralt did? The way he could no longer pretend he didn’t feel after walking in and seeing Jaskier spread out for someone else’s taking.
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Jaskier said as Geralt moved to work on the restraints around his ankles. “Anything you want to tell me about what just happened?”
Geralt made a noncommittal grunt, not trusting his voice or his words in that particular moment. A hand on his cheek made him turn away from the rope and face Jaskier, who was looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
“Since we both know how bad you are at using your words I’m going to take a stab at saying how I feel, and you can tell me if you’re feeling in any way the same,” Jaskier said cautiously, as if talking to a skittish animal liable to bolt at any moment. “Is that okay?”
Geralt nodded once, unable to tear his gaze from Jaskier’s face. Fuck, but he really was beautiful.
“I liked that, a lot.” Jaskier said, choosing his words with a care he didn’t often showcase while talking. “I would like to do it again. With you specifically, if you’re amenable. In fact one might say that I would rather be with you than with any other person on the Continent.”
“I…” Geralt couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. What he was allowed to say. “I would like that too, very much so.” He paused, his tongue feeling swollen and unwieldy in his mouth. “I also- I also feel that way about you. And the Continent.”
Jaskier’s face broke out into a smile so bright it was almost blinding. Using both hands now to cup Geralt’s face, he leant forwards to press the lightest of kisses against Geralt’s lips. He paused for just an instant before drawing away. Waiting for Geralt’s response.
Geralt growled and surged forwards, all restraint abandoned upon learning of Jaskier’s true feelings. He pinned Jaskier to the bed, this time with hands around wrists rather than rope, and kissed him the way he deserved to be kissed; thoroughly, and with intent.
Again, it seemed, was going to be happening right away.