Chapter Text
Jaskier woke, squinting against the morning light with a low moan. Though diffused, it was still an unwelcome assault on his senses. Rolling away, he buried his face in Geralt’s abandoned pillow and tried to ignore the early hour. Where was the witcher anyway? It seemed they both had just fallen asleep mere moments ago, and yet here it was obviously well past dawn and he was alone.
Cracking an eye open as the aroma of coffee and fresh bread wafted up from the kitchen, he realised the answer. Geralt had already begun breakfast; it was much later than he’d first suspected. This quiet time in the early mornings was Jaskier’s favourite. Over coffee and breakfast, the two of them would sit together, knees touching under the table, sharing their plans for the day. Their times alone were precious to them both, and with their current living arrangement, entirely too rare.
‘Up we go then,’ he sighed, dramatically flinging back the covers. If the day was nice he could always fit a nap in after Geralt left. Jaskier stretched and looked out to the sky.
A low ceiling of heavy clouds greeted him. There would be no sunning himself on the deck today then. While Emanako was predominantly considered tropical, the weather could be fickle mid-winter. Even with Triss’ enchantments and Eskel’s ward dotted around the resort, especially surrounding the precious expanse of her gardens, winter squalls blowing off the Great Sea held a power that even their combined magicks couldn’t stand against.
‘Oh well,’ he thought with a yawn. He’d set up shop in his second favourite place in the entire Keep. Flopped out on the heavy bear rug he’d begun calling Snort, with a book or journal in hand, was the cosiest place to wile away the hours while his wolf worked.
The library was a small delight he was just becoming acquainted with. Bookshelves filled one whole wall of the room and Jaskier never failed to feel his shoulders relax at the scent of their leather bindings when he entered.
Pine smoke, leather, and the heady scent of parchment and ink had rapidly become a scent Jaskier craved to his very marrow. Add into the mix, Geralt’s own unique muskiness and he simply short-circuited. He’d never experienced anything quite like it. There was no point in even attempting to disguise the way one whiff of the combination made him feel, Geralt could smell it on him.
Two nights ago as a case in point, Geralt had gone upstairs after dinner, with an apology, but there was an issue at Corvo Bianco and he’d promised to review the reports before their board meeting.
Jaskier had meant to stay downstairs while the witcher worked. There was a recorded concert he’d been saving. Both of them knew where the other was; no reason they had to have eyes on one another every moment of the day or night. Or so Jaskier kept telling himself, yet within seconds of debating that thought, he found himself lounging on Snort’s back with a paperback, absolutely not staring at the older man with a look of hunger. The story of the handsome king, cursed by a terrible witch, wandering alone through time searching for his one true love to save him with a kiss, was forgotten, the book falling from his fingers not ten minutes later.
The scent of the room and his wolf had Jaskier squirming in the witcher’s lap, work forgotten, as his lover rubbed against him with tiny mewls and sighs of happiness. Something primal and possessive had sprung up in him, even as he kissed and suckled at the man’s sweet lips as softly as possible given the urge to take that swept through him.
When Jaskier’s hands had begun to scrabble between them trying to get the annoying knot he’d manage to make of his sweats release, Geralt had growled and flung him over his shoulder, and carried him to their bed.
Being this utterly incapable of controlling his lust was almost embarrassing, something he sensed Geralt knew, but he hadn’t been able to get the question out from behind his teeth. He’d always prided himself on his control, but with Geralt it was different than with random tosses. Nothing but perfection would ever be enough of a gift for the witcher. He’d given up all of himself, risked everything for Jaskier. Even perfection might not be enough, but it was a place to start.
Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his curls, in an effort to tame them, succeeding only to the extent he could see through the brown fringe to stumble toward the shower. The sight of it in the mirror was borderline frightening, he decided. If he was going to keep his hair long, he needed to call Killian, the brother’s barber, to set up a consultation. While Geralt had developed quite the fascination with it now that it curled against his neck, he still had a certain image to maintain.
Passing the open bedroom door on the way to the bathroom, Jaskier caught the unexpected sound of Geralt humming one of his latest compositions. He smiled, knowing what a rare thing it was to hear. It still made his heart soar with fresh amazement to hear his lover so relaxed and happy. His chest filled with a warm pride. This was his; theirs, and it was precious.
A long, hot shower would sort out the various aches that lingered from the rather energetic evening they had enjoyed after returning from a surprise visit to Bliss. Stepping into the steaming water, Jaskier released a sigh of sheer contentment as it sluiced over him. With the pounding water tackling his knotted muscles, he found himself humming the same tune and considered the previous evening.
While Jaskier lathered himself, he contemplated the odd mood Geralt had been in for the past few days. The witcher had developed a near perpetual smirk which Jaskier hadn’t been able to suss out. It was frankly annoying. Even when he asked outright, all Geralt had done was smile a bit more widely and steal his ability to think by kissing the question right out of his head.
The surprise of the witcher’s insistence they attend a public session at Bliss , was overshadowed by the many ways Geralt had employed taking him apart once they’d gotten home. Even now, standing on slightly shaky legs in the steam, he wondered if he had been properly reassembled. The way Geralt had looked at him afterward as he’d drifted back to reality had warmed him in a way he struggled to name. Deep longing to always see that look on his face had almost overwhelmed him to the point of tears. The whole thing felt enormous and yet tiny and fragile. He wanted it…all…
The heat of the water against his skin was doing wonders for his sore muscles, but the thrum of the spray across his chest was causing little needles of pleasure to pebble his still sensitive nipples. Embers of lust that had taken up permanent residence just beneath his skin flared and he shivered hard. Citrus and sage surrounded him in the steam. Geralt’s selection, and it was perfect. With it clouding the air and his senses, he allowed his hands to retrace the path Geralt had chosen the night before.
Tilting his head back to rest against the tiled wall, he ran the soap from his hairline down his throat. He hissed as he touched the purpling bruises along his collarbone. Pressing his fingertips hard against them, he shivered as the memory of Geralt marking him swam behind his closed eyelids. The memory of the word ‘mine’ vibrating against his throat caused him to gasp and sag against the wall or risk sliding to his knees.
There was no question his wolf would have heard even such a soft sound, the man missed nothing. Well, as Geralt liked to listen, and he loved to perform, there was nothing to do but perform. Perhaps he could lure the man upstairs for a quickie.
Grinning, and adjusting the spray down to a pulsing jet with a flick of his thumb, he took the head off its mount, and began letting it pulsate against his chest. He drew circles with the stream, lingering on each sensitive nub of his well-abused nipples, until his breath hitched and he groaned louder.
Rubbing soapy fingers over them, his groans rapidly morphed into hisses at the memory of the clamps Geralt had chosen for him to wear to the club. They had been perfect and the lingering ache was another welcome reminder of their night.
Moving down the centre of his body he let the water pound against his abs rinsing away the lingering traces of come. There was a dull throb from his cock, and an anticipatory sound, dark and hungry, bubbled up his throat and echoed through the room. Canting his hips, he let the water dance across them, teasingly close to the organ rapidly filling against his belly.
Letting the water tease under his balls and around his gaping hole, he let another drawn-out whine fill the room. Oh yes, his wolf would be actively listening by now, but why wasn’t he already here?
He jerked back when a flash of realisation struck, cutting the sound off sharply. It was several seconds before a grin began to spread across his face.
Geralt was singing downstairs; that could mean only one thing. Lambert wasn’t home. The entirety of the Keep was theirs until Geralt left for the office. Jaskier put the showerhead back into its mount and flicked it back to its original position.
Pushing the memories of the prior evening as far back to revisit later, he finished showering quickly, and dried himself in front of the big mirror. Sparing a fond glance at his slightly flagging erection, he allowed himself one light stroke before drying it as well.
Jaskier opened the drawer to his left and perused the assortment of lotions, lubes, and of course, toys it held. Choosing a fairly substantial plug considering he was still somewhat lax from the night before, he lubed it liberally and twisted it into his hole.
Clutching the edge of the counter, he stared into his own wide blue eyes, until the initial sharp wave of pleasure subsided to a dull throb of contentment and a feeling of fullness. Exhaling shakily, he went about adding a bit of cologne to all Geralt’s favourite spots, being sure not to ignore the backs of his knees and the insides of ankles.
Donning his new robe, he tied it firmly at his waist. By strategically placing the bow at the centre he could almost disguise his erection. Witcher senses ensured Geralt would smell his arousal by the time he began his descent to the lower level, but just like the image of the peacock that was embroidered across the back of his robe, presentation was everything.
He wasn’t disappointed. Geralt watched him with obvious interest as he descended the stairs on the far side of the lounge and made his way across the room.
"Good morning, darling. Seems we’ve both been enjoying listening to one another this morning if your face is anything to go by," Jaskier said with a knowing smile.
"Pointless to feel guilty about something I can’t control, but you did seem to have been enjoying yourself up there. Should I have come up?"
"Oh did you hear that,” he asked with feigned innocence. “Yes, well I suppose that’s unavoidable given your special talents, darling. To answer your question however, other than the fact that I woke up alone, something you know I truly hate, I’m now showered and ready for the day, and made it down here in time to share a bit of your morning, so you’re forgiven for not coming up and giving me a hand with my wandering thoughts.”
“Wandering thoughts, hmm?” Geralt smiled at the suddenly shy smile he was given. His lover was endearing when he thought he was being coy, but Geralt hadn’t survived more than two centuries by not learning a thing or a dozen about reading the body language and facial expressions of most sentient beings on the Continent. Jaskier was working something over in his mind. The tiny furrow between his brows was enough to give that much away and the way he was biting his lip meant it was something the man thought to be monumental. While he could be content to wait him out, he found himself wanting to prod, just a little. He had something on his mind as well, and he suspected they may be on a collision course.
“What’s on your mind, Jask? I can see the wheels turning from here.” Jaskier smiled, brightly even as his cheeks flushed.
“No fooling you. I was thinking about the performers last night.”
“Were you,” Geralt rumbled. “So was I.”
“Uhmm…well. It was quite the eye-opener.”
“Something about it in particular that you’d like to discuss,” Geralt questioned, treading lightly. He didn’t want to project his own desires on the man, but his reactions had really spoken for themselves. Semi-public sex was certainly not unusual at the club, but the man had only barely made it from the public space into the privacy of their suite before he’d come in Geralt’s hand, their trousers barely at their knees.
“ Well seeings as how we have a rare morning here alone, perhaps we could discuss some of the finer parts of last night’s show. Maybe reenact a bit before you head down the mountain for the day?" His breath was warm against Geralt’s neck as he wrapped him in a warm hug and pressed along his side.
Sliding his hands up and down the silk covered man who lay his head against his shoulder, Geralt hummed low in his throat, and quickly considered his options. Nosing along the man’s neck, allowing the warm scent of soap and cologne to surround him, he rumbled, “How did you know we have the place to ourselves, hmm? You bribe my brother to leave before dawn?”
“You accuse me unjustly, Wolf. I only mentioned that you’d been in something of an unusual mood lately and that I was hoping for a chance to work you through it. If he gathered that to mean he should hightail it out of here before dawn, it is hardly my fault.” His grin could have meant he was serious, but before Geralt could figure it out, he twisted out of his embrace to grab his coffee mug and fill it.
“It is most fortuitous, I’ll grant you, however, it was the simple fact that you were humming my song that gave it away.”
Geralt turned back to the breakfast platter he was putting together, the tops of his ears pink.
“You should sing more often, Wolf,” Jaskier said softly, tracing a finger up his lover’s neck as he rejoined him. “You have a lovely voice. So deep and rich. It never fails to take my breath away when I hear it.” Geralt snorted.
“Triss needs to check your ears, Lark. However, you’re correct about having the place to ourselves. Lamb’s gone up the western slope with the survey crew. We’ve got Kaer Morhen to ourselves for the entire week, which coincidentally gives me just enough time to let you in on what I’ve been so distracted by lately.”
Jaskier leaned against the counter and hoped his grin was hidden behind his coffee mug. He loved Lamb, but the chance for a week of just the two of them in the Keep was priceless and made him ridiculously happy.
Geralt laughed as he stepped closer and dropped a kiss against Jaskier’s brow. He made a mental note to get a bigger coffee mug to hide behind next time.
“Too obvious,” he asked with a light laugh, dropping his head back to look at Geralt from under dark lashes.
“You’re exceptional at many things, Lark. Subtlety is not one of them.” Geralt snickered as Jaskier dropped his head dramatically to his chest and pouted.
“Do you even realise how insulting that is to a trained performer? I’ll have you know I graduated from theatre with perfect marks.” He huffed in mock irritation, but turned into the kiss Geralt brushed across his forehead.
“My deepest apologies. If only there was a way I could make it up to you,” Geralt chuckled lightly and Jaskier turned into the sound, pressing kisses against his cheek with a soft murmur of pleasure.
“Maybe if you kissed me properly I could overlook the slander.” Their lips met with a softness that belied the heat radiant and sharp around them. Jaskier forgot all but the feel and taste of his lover for several long moments.
“Forgive me?” Geralt whispered against his lips when they finally broke apart. Jaskier nodded happily, chasing one more taste of the man.
“It’s hardly a secret that I am completely unable to control myself around you.” He rubbed against the man’s hip and Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.
“Did you work out why I asked you to go to that particular show at Bliss last night?”
Jaskier flushed hard and took a deep breath before answering. “I have my suspicions, Wolf. I need to work on my control,” he answered quietly, his mouth going dry. Geralt nodded.
“That’s right. I decided it would be easier to show you than tell you. Now you know there’s more involved than just delaying your release. It’s a power exchange that requires great trust, and great care.”
Jaskier took a deep ragged breath. The couple on stage last night had demonstrated that much quite well. He had very nearly spilled in his trousers before they had even begun their finale’ and had as soon as they were alone.
Just the thought of it must have given him away again as Geralt was smirking while carrying their breakfast tray to the dining room. Setting it down in the centre of the long wooden table he took his normal seat. Jaskier sat beside him, inhaling sharply as the plug shifted against his prostate.
“You enjoyed it then, and even now, just thinking about it you’re ready to come aren’t you, Lark?”
Jaskier’s heart thudded hard in his chest, and he felt himself blush furiously. He nodded.
“Pointless to deny it I suppose,” he said softly.
It wasn’t as though he couldn’t orgasm multiple times a day, often in rapid succession, he frequently did. Geralt knew every trick to make it happen.
This wasn’t about just sex. This was so much more than that and he wanted to experience the sort of pleasure he’d seen written across the sub’s face last night. He wanted to earn that kind of praise, he craved seeing that look Geralt’s handsome face. He wanted to be responsible for that. Never before had he needed something as much as learning what it felt like to be guided into that liminal space between pleasure and pain before being set free to soar.
He bit his lip as he felt the plug inside him shift again, causing another jolt of pleasure to skitter up his spine. He reached for a piece of bread and some cheese, seeing the tremor in his hand, knowing Geralt would too.
“Which one did you choose this morning,” Geralt asked conversationally, taking a piece of bread and slathering it with jam.
“The green one.”
A rumble of approval accompanied a light touch of their knees under the table. Geralt chewed thoughtfully, amber eyes meeting blue. When the bread was gone he lifted a piece of ripe melon from the tray and offered it to Jaskier.
Leaning close, he opened his mouth and allowed Geralt to feed him half of it. Pulling his hand back Jaskier watched transfixed as Geralt bit into its soft flesh. A whimper accompanied the sight of a line of juice running down his long fingers.
Licking his own melon flavoured lips, he watched the light catch the drops they slid toward Geralt’s wrist. He was reminded suddenly of the long silvery threads of precome that had slid silkily from the performer’s cock across his lover’s loose fist.
Jasker shivered hard and shifted in his seat.
“The green one was a good choice, Lark. Especially since I’ve decided to call Chell and take my morning meetings from home.” Jaskier couldn’t bite back the whimper that escaped as Geralt licked the juice from his thumb. The older man grinned before pointing to the hand that still held Jaskier’s forgotten bread.
“Eat your breakfast, Lark. You’re going to need your strength.”