Chapter Text
Jaskier has been travelling with him for a couple of months now, attaching himself to the Witcher with a stubbornness and perseverance Geralt can't help but admire. Then again, the bard is young, and foolish. Stubbornness and perseverance are the privilege of the very young.
It has been clear from the start that the kid is absolutely dying to choke himself on Geralt's dick. Jaskier isn't exactly subtle. The first time Geralt bathes in front of him, the bardling nearly swallows his own tongue and excuses himself with ears and cheeks that are cherry red. When he returns, he's markedly calmer and stinks of his seed.
It would be so easy.
Alas, the bard lives and breathes drama, and since he hasn't been run off so far, Geralt is pretty sure the only way he could get rid of Jaskier after he has fucked him would be to kill the kid. Geralt isn't a good man, but he's not a murderer. Not like that, anyway.
He holds out for three months, three excruciating months during which he's near constantly enveloped in a cloud of Jaskier's ever-present arousal. Still, Geralt sticks to his plan. No entanglement with the already stupidly clingy human.
Then he walks into the clearing where they have made camp, still pumped up on adrenaline after a hunt, only to find the bard with his arse in the air, two of his slim fingers stuffed into himself as he fucks his fist. He hasn't noticed the Witcher standing beside his bedroll, keeps fucking those fingers into himself, and then he whimpers something.
It's a word. A name.
Geralt's name.
He's distantly aware of his already weak resolve breaking, finally, and he doesn't really care. If Jaskier wants to get fucked so desperately, Geralt will oblige him.
He drops his swords onto the ground next to the bedroll, and Jaskier nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks scared for a second, then apologetic, then deeply embarrassed. His mouth snaps shut when Geralt unlaces his trousers.
He should probably start slow. Let the kid suck him off, get him used to Geralt's size, but that could scare him and make actually fucking him that much more difficult. So Geralt pushes his fingers into the bard's already slick hole, not missing the way Jaskier's eyes widen at the stretch. Two of Geralt's fingers are a very different experience than two of his own.
By four fingers, Jaskier is shaking like a leaf, his cock red and leaking against his belly, and when Geralt finally, finally, pushes into him, he whines and cries but never once tells the Witcher to stop. Geralt wouldn't be surprised if he did - his cock is as thick as Jaskier's wrist and long enough to just barely distend Jaskier's stomach when fully seated in him, and for all his bravado, Geralt suspects that the kid is a virgin.
Well. Was a virgin.
Still, he takes Geralt's cock beautifully, panting and quivering when Geralt stuffs the last few inches into him, the bard's breath hitching when they are fully pressed together.
"There you go," Geralt says softly, "what you've wanted this whole time."
Jaskier's eyes flutter closed, and he fucking smiles. Geralt manages to keep control of himself for all of five thrusts after that. Then he lets loose.
The bardling cries and wails, claws at Geralt's shoulders, and he smells faintly of pain beneath his arousal, but the one thing Geralt does not smell on him is fear. Even stuffed to the gills with Witcher cock, Jaskier is not scared of him, and when Geralt flips him onto hands and knees, he takes that as well, assuming the position without prompting.
He whines and whimpers like the bitch that he is as Geralt reams him from behind, as he fucks him into the dirt, and when Geralt aims for his sweet spot, the bardling screams and comes without even a single touch to his cock, fucking himself back into Geralt's jarring thrusts.
Geralt doesn't stop. He pushes himself as deep into Jaskier's hole as he can go, his thrusts probably too hard, his grip certainly leaving bruises on the bard's pale skin, and still Jaskier doesn't tell him to stop. Instead he whimpers Geralt's name again amid punched out moans, and when Geralt comes, he grabs a handful of Jaskier's hair, pulls his head back and sinks his teeth into the long column of his throat.
Jaskier screams until his voice cracks, and then he comes again.
Jaskier's stomach is swollen when Geralt pulls out, just ever so slightly, just enough to be noticeable if one is looking for it. Geralt lets the bard snuggle into him as he drifts off to sleep, and as he watches the stars above them, he thinks that he may never let go of Jaskier.
Jaskier walks with a limp the next day, and by the time they make camp in the evening, there are constant tears swimming in his eyes. He stinks of distress and discomfort, and Geralt decides to give his little hole a bit of a break.
Instead, he pushes the kid onto his stomach and eats him out while he strokes himself, until Jaskier is crying with how overstimulated he is. He doesn't stop until Geralt can feel his own orgasm, just a breath away, and he straddles Jaskier's thighs and pushes just the head of his cock into the kid's loose hole. Jaskier cries out as he's filled again, whimpers as Geralt's come leaks out past the tip of his cock, and when the Witcher has climbed off of him, breathing hard, Jaskier curls into his side again and, in a quiet voice, thanks him.
"That was really nice," he says, completely oblivious to what that does to Geralt.
Something dark and possessive rises from deep inside him, and his arm tightens around Jaskier.
Now that Geralt has started this, he doesn't know how to stop. He doesn't want to stop, but even if he did, he wouldn't know how to do that. How could anybody expect him to?
Jaskier is still sore for at least a day every time Geralt fucks him, but that doesn't take away from his enthusiasm in the slightest. Geralt only has to look at him in a certain way and the kid spreads his legs for him. It's lovely, and two weeks after that first fuck in the woods, they rent a room in an inn, and Geralt pulls Jaskier into the tub with him and kisses him.
They haven't kissed even once until now. Jaskier never asked for it - not with words anyway - and Geralt never offered, but now, with the bard perched on his lap, all warm and wet and soft, it seems logical.
Jaskier is a good kisser, the Witcher finds, not the slobbering, overenthusiastic way teenagers and young adults often kiss, and he leans back against the edge of the tub and allows Jaskier to do as he pleases for once. The bard makes happy little sounds as he explores, fingers gently moving over his skin as he presses kisses to Geralt's jaw.
He's feeling generous tonight, he finds. Eyes still closed, he asks, "What do you want, sweet thing?"
Jaskier sucks in a surprised breath, then nuzzles even closer, mouthing at Geralt's throat. "Can I… I want to try-" He sits back, eyes flickering down towards Geralt's cock beneath the water. Then he licks his lips.
The Witcher settles on the bed, hands linked behind his head as he watches Jaskier kneel between his thighs. He's not really hard yet but he's getting there, and when Jaskier wraps his slim fingers around him, his cock gives a pronounced twitch.
Jaskier giggles.
Watching the kid try and suck him off is in equal parts amusing and arousing. Geralt knows his jaw must ache almost immediately, with how wide he has to open, but Jaskier perseveres, just like he always does. He obviously has some experience with sucking cock, it's just that Geralt is so much bigger than human men, and it doesn't take long until Jaskier chokes as Geralt nudges against his throat.
Geralt could push. Could force Jaskier down on his cock, force himself into his throat - but why should he when the kid looks so fucking eager and determined all on his own?
It takes a long time, and when Geralt's cock finally pops into the bard's throat, he's red-faced and crying, but he keeps going, swallowing him down like he was born for it.
Jaskier smells so fucking needy, so excited by what he managed to do, so proud, and Geralt grabs a fistful of his hair, fucks into his throat a couple of times and then comes all over his face, into his wide open, gasping mouth. The bard moans and sticks out his tongue, and Geralt hauls him into his lap, slicks his hand with his own come and jerks Jaskier off with brutal efficiency that has the kid howling with pleasure.
They collapse together, Jaskier clinging to the Witcher as he shakes through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He'll fuck him in the morning, Geralt thinks as he watches the kid's eyes grow heavy, watches the soft smile that tugs at his still come-stained lips. Fuck him wide open and fill him up so he'll be leaking all day. Jaskier will probably complain, will whine about Geralt's seed running down his legs, staining his fancy trousers. He will wince at the ache in his backside.
And when they make camp in the evening, or find an inn or hayloft, Jaskier will spread his legs and let Geralt lick him clean before he ploughs him open all over again.
Seems like sometimes even Witchers get lucky.
It's not that Jaskier is weak-minded, or particularly suggestible. On the contrary, he's stubborn as hell, but he's also so fucking desperate for attention, for affection, to please. To please Geralt, to be precise.
It's almost frightening how easy it is to plant ideas in Jaskier's head. If Geralt were a better man, he would probably be horrified.
He's not, unfortunately for Jaskier, a better man.