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Geralt entered the tavern and was greeted with singing. Not only was Jaskier playing his lute and winding one of his tales into song, but the rest of the building was singing the chorus along with him. There was something about his voice that infuriated him, yet brought him an unconscious comfort when he needed it. Although at times like this currently, he wanted to punch that little playful smirk off his face as he serenaded the tavern. It made his ears itch to be pulled off.
He just got back from a rather hard job that had almost claimed his left arm and one of his swords. Luckily he got out of it almost unscathed, a few claw slashes here and there along his left side. He was in no mood to hear the bard’s voice.
Jaskier spotted him across the room going straight for the man who was to pay him. He paused his song and quickly scampered over to his friend, or rather his companion, sauntering up to his side with a grin. He attempted to lean on his shoulder but Geralt moved so he stumbled a bit, caught himself, and acted as if it never even happened.
“Geralt! Good to see you in one piece, sort of,” he cheerfully remarked, looking over his wounds.
The witcher ignored the other and finished his business with the owner of the building, clutching the bag of coins in his fist tightly when it was handed to him. It felt heavier than what he was originally offered.
“Ah see, while you were gone, I talked him up higher. Convinced him after a couple of songs of your adventures.”
Geralt glanced at Jaskier quickly and grunted, placing the coin purse in his pocket. He turned to exit, leaving the bard behind. Of course he quickly caught up to him much to the other’s disdain. Outside, Geralt immediately went for his horse.
“Wait, you can’t just leave! You’re injured, Geralt,” Jaskier remarked and stopped the man with a hand on his shoulder.
“Let go of me.”
“Before you just ride off into the night, you should at least dress your wounds.”
He had a point. But still. He was in no mood to take advice from the bard.
“Let. Go.”
“Geralt you’re being ridiculous.”
He ripped his arm away from his grasp to free himself and flinched. It wasn’t like he didn’t have pain in his wounds. Of course but he hadn’t been paying attention to it up until then. Jaskier was right, he should at least wipe the blood from his skin and get it out of his clothes. He looked a mess.
Instead of mounting his horse, he turned around and grimaced.
“Fine”, he growled, took some bandages from Roach’s pack, and went off past the tavern to plop down next to the small river to wash his wounds.
He was silent while he undressed from the waist up. First his armor was set gently against a tree and then his shirt was dunked into the water. It ran red for a moment before returning to its clear sparkling self.
Jaskier couldn’t help but always stare at Geralt’s scars when they were revealed from time to time. They fascinated the bard who usually never saw combat, just regaled people with the stories of it. In the moonlight, they almost looked like silver ribbons carved into his skin. As the bandages wrapped themselves around his body, Jaskier came to sit next to him. Feeling rather inspired by both sights in front of him, Geralt and the moonlight, he pulled his lute around and began plucking away at some melancholic chords. Like lightning, The Witcher’s rough hand quickly grasped at the neck, preventing any sound from the instrument.
“Testy tonight, are we?” Jaskier muttered.
“Take one look at me, ask me again if I am “testy”, and see if you still have your fingers afterwards,” Geralt snapped back at him.
“Alright alright!” He placed his lute next to him in the grass as the other finished tying off his bandages.
Geralt was more than testy that night. Every single sound and sight annoyed him. He had a long and painful day with no rest and he needed it desperately. A good night's sleep would probably cure his sour attitude. That, or a lot of alcohol and a good fuck. His purse wasn’t quite heavy enough for the last part so sleep would be the one he went for.
He stood up and placed his wet, but clean, shirt on again with a small shiver. It clung to his muscles and was quite the sight, Geralt slyly catching Jaskier staring. Instead of acknowledging it, he just grabbed his armor and swords, setting off towards the nearest inn. The bard followed as he always seemed to do and only when Gerat had walked up to the counter to purchase a room for the night, did he finally look at the other.
“You are not staying with me,” he stated firmly.
“But, Geralt, where am I supposed to stay then?”
“Somewhere far away from me.”
“That’s rather mean,” Jaskier pouted.
“I know. That’s why I said it. I need a break from you, from your singing, from everything. Leave me alone for tonight bard.”
Despite looking overly dramatic and heartbroken, Jaskier sighed and shrugged his shoulders in agreeance. He was lucky to have picked up some coins of his own earlier to be able to afford a separate room from the witcher. Geralt took his key after the transaction and without a second glance, went upstairs to his room leaving him behind.
Jaskier didn’t feel quite like finding another inn in town, if there even was one, so he too purchased a room there despite Geralt’s request to be far away from him. They were the only two in the inn anyway. He figured down the hall was far enough and unlocked his door, finding a small but cozy room inside. It was certainly better than camping out as he and his travel companion so often did.
Discarding his doublet on a chair, he sat on the bed and removed his boots sighing in relief to be rid of them. He wasn’t quite tired enough to put himself to bed quite yet so he picked up his notes of Geralt’s previous monster hunt and began plucking out chords to the words. He would often write his ballads this way, in the dead of night while most were asleep.
Finally his note picking turned into some semblance of a song and he began to sing to himself, trying out different lines to his tunes. Those grew into verses and his voice melodically carried the epic adventure through a whole chorus, serenading the furniture and walls with the epic tales he spun. It was relaxing to him and as his fingers worked on their strings. Louder now with more confidence, his voice grew louder as well.
Suddenly, his door was kicked open revealing a very angry Geralt in the door frame. Before he had time to even move his fingers away from the strings of his lute, the other man had closed the gap between them.
Uh-oh.
Geralt snatched the bard’s thin neck up in his large hand, pulling him out of his lounging position on the bed. He was brought upright and then some, struggling feet dangling at least four inches above the floor. Jaskier’s slender fingers were no match trying to pry Geralt’s away from his throat even as he struggled against his grasp. All he could do was stare helplessly into those bright amber eyes to plead for release as his voice had left him.
“‘Oh? All it takes is fingers to your throat to make you shut up? I should have tried this ages ago.” He sneered, watching the bard gasp for air.
Geralt must have heard him playing and singing from down the hall. He wouldn’t kill him over one song, right? But instead of worrying about his life, another emotion crossed his mind bringing heat to his already red face. Never would he imagine that being held off the floor by his neck, helpless against the strength of the other man, would grace his body with a very specific fire.
“G- G… G… er- al- t…” It was barely audible but it was the only thing Jaskier managed to get out to plead for his release.
Geralt seemed to notice that the bard had stopped his wriggling and his fingers seemed to be losing strength clawing at his own. The strangled gasps that came from that loud mouth of his struggled against his grip more so and he felt that he had made his point. Those big digits loosened their grip and brought him back to stand on his own feet on the floor, still holding him in place but with a lessened grip to allow him some air.
Jaskier gasped, leaning his head back to pant towards the ceiling, grip on his hand relaxing. His face was too red for the amount of air he had missed and it made the witcher curious. His neck was hot almost.
“Something the matter, Jaskier?”
He scoffed and tried to pull his neck away, gripping at his hand again.
“You- You could stop choking me, for one!” He exclaimed exasperated, pulling again at his grip.
Even his ears were touched with a tinge of redness, breath heavy despite losing some of it. Heart rate was fast too. Geralt’s brows knit together in suspicion but he released his grasp anyway on the bard. He moved back three steps once free. Jaskier rubbed his neck, fingers sometimes aligning with the red marks of Geralt’s fury left on his skin.
“What was that all about?! You could have killed me!” The bard yelled at him with more offense than anger.
Geralt simply stared at him with a piercing glare as if he should know by now why he was furious. He should have, he did one of the things he asked him not to do. All the witcher wanted to do was sleep. But no, he could hear Jaskier’s voice all the way down the hall through the walls and door.
Unsatisfied with his lack of response or any semblance of regret for his actions, the bard turned to move to a mirror on the wall and gasped upon seeing the marks on his neck from such a tight grip. The offended look on his face didn’t last long before his eyes gave away the reason why his body had been so hot and his ears red. The way his eyes raked themselves over the marks… Geralt saw it from a mile away and approached the other slowly. He came to stop behind Jaskier in the mirror and looked his neck over.
“You like them? I can make more.”
Jaskier spun around so fast he thought he'd fall over, eyes wide and face burning hot. The witcher’s anger subsided and was replaced with mild amusement. Catching his bard in moments like these usually made up for how annoying he could be.
“H- How… Why would you say something like that? I certainly do not want you to-” He looked around at everything else except Geralt and covered his neck protectively.
Geralt grinned and took steps forward while Jaskier took enough backwards for his back to meet the wall. The shy glances up from the floor from the other negated his earlier words. He could almost hear his heart asking for what his voice wouldn’t. Perhaps it would provide him that relief he wanted through sleep. Shutting the other up didn’t sound bad either.
Who was Geralt to deny such desires?
His hand reached out and slowly brushed away Jaskier’s protecting fingers. Surprisingly, the bard moved them without hesitation and even leaned his head back against the wall to expose more of his skin to the other. His actions negated his earlier protest. With a curious look, Geralt’s digits found their marks and squeezed down just enough for the bard’s mouth to fall open with a soft gasp. Finally Jaskier’s eyes travelled upwards over the man and met the other’s gaze, burning bright with desire and want.
Fuck.
That look made Geralt press harder into his throat, enough to start to restrict air flow.
“You like it when I choke you, Jaskier?” He pressed ever so tighter, earning a small whine from the other.
The bard nodded sheepishly, still hesitant to actually admit that he was aroused by such a thing. He had certainly thought about it before but he pushed the desire away each time it would creep up, mostly when he watched Geralt fight. He was so strong, how could he not have desires as he did? Jaskier wondered what it would be like to feel his hands on him, leaving bruises with their grip as he fucked him mercilessly using that special witcher stamina he had.
Jaskier didn’t realize but his hands came up to rest on the other man’s hand, pulling on it to press harder into his neck. This made Geralt’s brows raise but he took the hint. He wanted more and, feeling rather generous that night, he was going to give it to him.
Using his grip on the bard, he pushed him into the wall with force enough to rob him completely of air. Geralt pushed his knee in between Jaskier’s legs to find that he was very much enjoying himself. With a small hum he moved his thigh against his already hard cock through his pants earning a tightened grip on his wrist since Jaskier couldn’t force sounds past the grip on him.
Geralt had to be careful of course, didn’t want the other to pass out before they had any fun. He carefully monitored Jaskier’s face and expressions to make sure he was allowed breaths to keep him conscious. Knowing that the bard seemingly loved danger, he still had to be cautious. Humans were fragile. The witcher let him take a few breaths and pressed his knee against him again. Jaskier moaned softly and thrusted his hips to meet his movements.
“Such a slut, hm? How long have you wanted this from me?” He asked with his lips against Jaskier’s jaw, teeth grazing the skin there as he spoke.
“I- I uh… G- Geralt…” The words bubbled up out of him but he was too light headed and filled with lust to form a complete sentence.
“Well, bard? Tell me what you want. You want more?” Geralt whispered into his ear, biting the shell of it.
“Y- Yes...” Jaskier nodded quickly and moaned louder this time as his ear was bitten.
Geralt used the grip on him to pull him away from the wall and dragged him across the room. He tossed him on the bed as if he weighed nothing. The bard propped himself on his elbows and watched as the other walked towards him, discarding his shirt to the floor. The sight caused his mouth to fall open and forget that he was breathless for a moment. Gods, the sight of Geralt’s body would never fail to bring Jaskier to his knees. He wanted him to utterly destroy him and with the look that the witcher gave him, he thought he’d get his wish.
Without pause, Geralt slipped two fingers inside Jaskier’s pants on each hip and ripped them down his legs disregarding the popped buttons. The bard didn’t have the mental clarity to protest for his thoughts were completely engulfed in the man climbing on top of him. How he took a hold of his shirt and easily pulled his whole torso up off the bed to bite down on the fragile skin of his throat like an animal, certainly leaving deep marks there. How he couldn’t hear the threads of his shirt struggle to keep the garment together at the seams over his own moans and gasps. How his hands feebly held onto the other’s arms to keep him grounded enough so his head wouldn’t fly off his shoulders.
Jaskier breathed his witcher’s name as if in devout prayer and his throat was grasped again, tightly allowing no further sound to escape his lips. Only a small gasp was audible as Geralt reached down to touch him where he so desperately needed. The bard could feel every callous on his palm scrape against the sensitive flesh of his cock, lighting an unstoppable blaze inside him. It felt exactly as he imagined it would feel and better. Jaskier let his head fall backwards and silent pleads for more left him with each stroke of those rough fingers. He was so close already, barely even touched and leaking onto Geralt’s fingers.
“Fuck, so eager…” He looked down at his bard like captive prey, “Tell me what you want. I’ll allow you.”
The tight grip that was making Jaskier see stars lessened and he gulped down heavy breaths while he could. The other man looked impatient so he managed to stutter out a reply despite his voice not regaining its strength yet.
“G- Gera...lt… F- Fuck me…”
“What do you say?” Geralt’s lips crooked into a fiendish grin and his grip lessened as if he would let go of his neck.
“No! P- Please!” He gripped the other’s wrist to keep him from letting go.
“That’s what I thought.”
The witcher tightened his hold once again and used it to flip their positions effortlessly so that Jaskier was on top of him, bare thighs straddling his hips. He could feel how big Geralt was against his ass just inside his pants and it made him salivate in anticipation. Geralt’s amber eyes danced like a vicious fire in the dim light, filled with a feral flame seeing the other like that. Impossibly desperate, grinding down on that thick cock hidden under the tight fabric, and managing small little moans out his slack jawed expression. Jaskier’s hands on Geralt’s wrist were shaking with his desire.
“Prepare yourself, bard,” Geralt reached over to the end of the bed where the other’s lute case rested and pulled out a hidden bottle from the top of it, “Put on a show for me, it’s what you do best isn’t it?”
He shoved the bottle of oil into Jaskier’s palms and leaned back, fingers slacking to allow for sound out of the man’s mouth for the time being. He bit his lip but did as he was told and uncorked the slim bottle, dipping two fingers into the liquid. It was almost embarrassing that Geralt knew he carried that around with him but he didn’t focus on the thought for long. Reaching around, he inserted one finger inside himself, body twitching in anticipation for more. The other hand came to rest on his own cock, using the slick there to fuel his erratic thrusts into his palm. His head fell forward as he added a second finger inside, letting out small but strained moans from his lips, cheek resting against the back of Geralt’s hand. Jaskier fucked himself open, his talented voice carrying the tune of his own desire.
“Now this singing I could get behind. Such a beautiful performance, bard, sing more for me just like that,” Geralt shifted his grip to the other’s jaw to allow more sound from him.
His face burned and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to sing again without hearing Geralt’s words echo in his head. Complying with his request, Jaskier let his voice loose moaning curses and his witcher’s name with abandon. He inserted the third finger and could have finished just then if Geralt hadn’t pulled his hand away from his cock. The bard whined in protest, grinding down on the other’s hips.
“Fuck me, Geralt, I need it- you…” He gasped fucking himself slowly down on his fingers still.
Being an impatient man, Geralt cursed through gritted teeth and let go of Jaskier’s throat to grab the bottle again. He cared not for clothes it seemed and ripped the buttons off his own pants, shoving them down enough to expose his impossibly thick cock to the cool air of the room. The sight made Jaskier drool. The witcher slicked himself enough and tossed the bottle off the bed, using both hands to pull the other man by the hips up to hover his ass over the tip of his cock. Without warning, Geralt forced Jaskier down onto it.
The sting of taking the man made him cry out and he came, his whole body twitching as each inch of Geralt slipped inside of him until he was fully seated against him. Eyes rolled into the back of his head as he spilled his last ribbon of cum to finish decorating Geralt’s chest.
“Couldn’t hold it in huh? Too bad, I’m just getting started.”
He reached up and choked Jaskier again, almost using the grip as leverage to bring his body down to meet his thrusts. Geralt was not gentle by any means, fucking him mercilessly. Jaskier wouldn’t have had it any other way but it was almost too much for him. He was so big and thick, his whole body felt like it was going to split in half. Having finished already it felt intense enough to cause him to scream with each thrust despite the grip on his throat.
“That’s it, sing for me Jaskier. Let me hear how much you’re enjoying this. Let everyone know how much you love my cock,” he commanded the other through gritted teeth, pounding into him with no reserve.
He was so tight that it brought out something feral in Geralt. He pushed Jaskier off him face first into the sheets and moved to take him from behind, forearm coming to rest at his throat to pull him back to meet his thrusts once more. Back arching into an almost impossible shape, Jaskier’s hands up to grip at the skin of his arm and he dug his nails into it as if he were afraid he would lose his connection to reality itself.
“Geralt! Ah-! Please!” The bard screamed as best he could, head spinning and mind wiped of anything but that thick cock he was being split open with.
“Gods you fuck so good, Jaskier… Fuck, so good. Your voice… is so... Your best ballad yet, by far.”
The witcher reached around with the other hand and took hold of the other’s cock, finding him hard again, and stroked him to his relentless pace. Any other man would have tired by then, but his body was special and he was far from done. Fast and deep, he continued to destroy Jaskier despite his strangled cries from being too overstimulated having just come.
After one particularly deep thrust, Jaskier came again into Geralt’s hand with a scream of his name. It pushed the witcher’s pace to become erratic and he pushed against the other’s throat tighter so he started to see stars.
“Ge… ra… lt- p- pl… ease…” Jaskier managed to moan out as his eyes rolled back into his head.
He pushed into him once, twice, three times before he came deep into the bard, filling him up to the brim. Geralt released Jaskier’s neck and he fell limp face first to the sheets as he thrusted into him through his climax. The poor man’s knees gave out and he toppled over when the witcher pulled out of him, leaving him empty and raw. His whole body twitched with his gasps for air.
Geralt fell next to his bard, turning him to be face to face. Through the haze of his climax, he couldn’t help but admire the work of art he left on Jaskier’s neck. His entire throat was covered in scarlet bite marks and purple bruised finger marks. If his mind wasn’t so fuzzy, he would have thought how Jaskier would kill him for it later.
“Jaskier?” Geralt asked when the bard was too quiet.
“Mhhhm?” He answered lazily, half conscious.
“Did I break you?”
“Mhm.” It was muffled into the sheets.
“That a good thing?”
“Mhmmmm…”
The bard seemed okay, which was all Geralt needed to know before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
“You got any doublets with a high neck?” He chuckled.
“Fffffuck you…” Jaskier slurred and attempted to bring his hand up to his throat but gave up halfway there.
“Another round?” Geralt teased.
“I- I think I’d die.”
It was true. Jaskier’s body couldn’t take anymore that the witcher could give out. He also tried to roll onto his back but couldn’t manage to move. With little effort, Geralt got up and went to wipe himself off and brought a wet rag to the other. He cleaned him up as well and turned him to lay in the bed the right way, coming to lay next to him even though he had already passed out.
Perhaps he could share a room with him after all. His singing wasn’t all bad.