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havenoffandoms · 4 years ago

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Precious Buttercup, Delicate Flower - Whumptober Prompt 3

Prompt: My Way or the Highway (manhandled/forced to their knees/held at gunpoint)

Summary: Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill.

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Sociopathic Geralt, Hurt/No comfort, emotional manipulation, held at gunpoint

Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill. Geralt walked down the familiar hallway heading for apartment 32, Jaskier’s apartment. His pulse quickened at the thought of what he was about to do. It’s the job, Vesemir had told him before handing him a picture of Jaskier that same morning, that cop’s on Lambert’s trail. We need to get him out of the picture before he gets to us. It was what the job required him to do, and Geralt was nothing if damn good at his job. He reached apartment 32 quickly and brought a fist to gently knock on the door. It did not take Jaskier long to appear in the doorway, a bright smile illuminating his face like he did not have a fucking bounty on his head.

“Hey babe,” Jaskier greeted him, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Geralt’s lips, “you’re early, as always. Come in, I just finished baking cookies.”

Jaskier loved baking. And singing. And cheesy rom-coms. These were all things Geralt had learned about the man over the past year they had been dating. They had met in a trendy London bar. Geralt had been on a mission to gather intel on his next victim, but Jaskier’s soft brown curls and blue eyes sparkling with mischief had proved too great a distraction. Geralt had taken Jaskier home that night, in the mood for a quick one-night-stand, but Jaskier was the most intoxicating drug Geralt had ever tasted and he had become obsessed with Jaskier’s entire existence. A one-night-stand turned into casual coffee dates in between Geralt’s bounties and Jaskier’s detective work, and before Geralt could stop himself he was taking Jaskier out the movies, to expensive restaurants, on trips around the world (first class, if you please). Vesemir hated it. Of course he did. It was dangerous for an assassin to date a detective. Not any detective, mind you, but one of the detectives who had been on Geralt and his brothers’ trails for months now. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer Vesemir, Geralt had told the man who had taken him in and raised him like his own son. Keeping your enemies closer does not mean you need to fuck them, Geralt, Vesemir had retorted. Geralt did not care. Their relationship was dangerous, but Geralt loved the thrill of it. He always got what he wanted, and right now, he wanted Jaskier more than anything in the world.

Needed Jaskier.

Craved him.

Vesemir could piss off.

“Chocolate chip cookies?” Geralt asked as he stepped into Jaskier’s apartment.

“Rainbow cookies,” Jaskier corrected him, giggling softly when Geralt frowned at him, “I added smarties instead of choc chips, but rainbow cookies sounds miles better than smarties cookies, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, buttercup.”

Buttercup. His delicate little flower. His buttercup. Geralt bit back a dreamy sigh as he followed Jaskier into the kitchen. The counter was littered with open packaging, dirty bowls, various kitchen utensils, and was that rainbow cookie dough hanging from the ceiling? Geralt smirked, knowing just how chaotic his boyfriend could be in the kitchen. Jaskier was a man of many talents, a jack of all trades if you like, but for all his efforts he was a right mess in the kitchen. In fact, Geralt did not even think Jaskier’s creations tasted that good, but he would much rather lie to Jaskier than see his precious buttercup upset.

“I’ll be yours in just a flash, my dear, I need to call my boss. I think we had a breakthrough in that serial killer case we’re working on, isn’t that exciting?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched as he fought the urge to reach for his gun. Not yet. Not now. And if Geralt had a say in it, not ever. Geralt watched as Jaskier wiped his fingers on his apron before reaching for his phone which lay forgotten and covered in flour on the kitchen island. Geralt waited patiently, observing, listening. An unfamiliar feeling tugged at his heartstrings, but Geralt quickly repressed whatever it was distracting him from his goal. There was no space in his line of work for emotions to take over. Geralt needed to keep a cold head. He would mourn later. Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on him to lean against the kitchen island as he spoke to his boss.

“Hi Dijkstra, how’s it going? I’m fine yeah, why do you ask? … Just spit it out, man,” Jaskier urged his boss after a long pause during which Geralt guessed Dijkstra, the asshole who had been trailing Lambert for the past months, was fumbling nervously over his own words. “No, that… that can’t be right…”

Geralt reached for his gun but did not cock it yet. Jaskier’s back was still turned to him, but his shoulders were tense and the hand holding his phone was shaking.

“No, he’s not here. In fact, I haven’t heard from Geralt all day.” A blatant lie. “Yes Dijkstra, I promise. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.” Jaskier hug up abruptly and Geralt did not need to be a medium to know that Dijkstra did not want the conversation to end so soon. Jaskier was protecting him. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt did not deserve him. Geralt swallowed thickly and tightened his hold around the grip of his handgun before pointing the gun at Jaskier’s head and cocking it.

Jaskier tensed.

“You’re one of them. You’re one of the wolves.”

The Wolves. The name Vesemir had given to Geralt and his brothers, an alias, a code name. It was a statement rather than a question, and Jaskier spoke these words with such hurt, such betrayal that Geralt very nearly screamed with rage. He hated being the reason that Jaskier was upset.

It’s the job.

Geralt’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“I am.”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Jaskier asked, his tone resigned, and that hurt Geralt more than the thought of killing him. Geralt took a composing breath, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened even more. He did his best to hide the way his hands were shaking by taking a deep, composing breath and balling the hand at his side into a fist. Geralt had picked a handgun because it meant a quick death. By far his least favourite weapon, admittedly, but Jaskier did not deserve to suffer. A bullet through the head, and it would soon be over.

Geralt tried to convince himself that he was doing what had to be done to protect himself, to protect Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. They were family, right? Family came first, right? Only Geralt had come to see Jaskier as family too, and fuck why could Vesemir not see that Jaskier was already a member of the pack?

“Turn around,” Geralt gently instructed. Jaskier only briefly hesitated to do as he was told, and when their eyes met Jaskier was staring at Geralt calmly, not a hint of fear to be found in those blue pools. Not fear, no, but something that stung all the same. Betrayal, hurt, disappointment, but also… love. Pure and unyielding despite Geralt holding a gun to Jaskier’s fucking head. Geralt smiled softly. His brave buttercup. “I don’t want to kill, you Jaskier.”

It was not a lie. Geralt had spent all day thinking of a way to get out of the contract. He knew that refusing to kill Jaskier would only encourage Vesemir to give the contract on Jaskier’s head to someone else. Vesemir might send Eskel or worse, Lambert to finish the job. Lambert could be particularly cruel, but he was always efficient. Geralt blamed that asshole Aiden for teaching Lambert how to toy with his victims and torture them before finishing them off slowly. Eskel, on the other hand, was a straight to the point, no strings attached kind of employee. He did the job quickly, professionally and without getting attached. Geralt liked to add personal touches to his jobs. He liked leaving breadcrumbs leading to nowhere to throw the cops and MI6 off their scent. Geralt loved the thrill that came with nearly getting caught.

Geralt could not let anyone else deal with Jaskier’s bounty, but that did not mean that he could not find another way to keep Jaskier safe – from Vesemir, from his brothers, from the authorities who would arrest Jaskier for being romantically involved with an assassin. Geralt had a plan, but that would only work if Jaskier cooperated. Which he might not after finding out who Geralt was, what he was.

“Geralt, you don’t have to do this.” Bargaining. A classic. People always tried to bargain their way out of being killed. “We can protect you. MI6 can protect you if you collaborate with us.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Geralt asked gently as he stepped closer to Jaskier. To Geralt’s delight, the other man did not even flinch. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower, let Geralt come close, although the latter was pointing a cocked gun at him. Geralt felt oddly proud.

“Geralt, what you’re doing is wrong. You’re murdering people.”

“Guilty people,” Geralt clarified. He stopped only when his face and Jaskier’s were mere inches apart. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to Jaskier’s forehead before leaning closer to place a soft kiss on the other man’s lips. A kiss that was returned, if a little shyly. “Most of them are, at least. The innocent people I’ve killed over the years were, how to put it, collateral damage.”

“Geralt, this is not the way to go about things. Guilty people need to be charged, then imprisoned. There are laws to punish guilty people, Geralt. Murder is a crime, even if you target guilty people.”

“Those laws will get guilty people in prison, but for how long? The people I kill don’t deserve justice. They never abided by the rules in place, so why should they be judged by the same rules they so readily disregarded most of their lives?”

It was only when tears gathered in his eyes that Geralt realised he had not blinked in a while. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, his eyes fluttering shut as he took in the intoxicating smell of his boyfriend’s bergamot scented shampoo. Geralt’s favourite. Jaskier leaned into him, his hand travelling up Geralt’s chest to rest warmly over his heart, perhaps to reassure himself that Geralt still had one. They stayed like this for a while, Geralt still pressing his gun to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Geralt… please. You say you kill guilty people. Then spare me. We’ll work this out, together.”

“I have a plan,” Geralt whispered, his other hand coming to rest at the back of Jaskier’s neck as he peppered his boyfriend’s neck with what he hoped were reassuring kisses. “I don’t have to kill you, my precious buttercup. I don’t want to kill you. My orders were to get you out of the picture. I can do that, get you somewhere safe.”

“What? Geralt, I can’t just run away. They’ll look for me. They know who you are, they’ll hunt you down.”

“I won’t leave your side, buttercup. I’ll come with you, we can lay low for a while. We’ll go somewhere they can’t track us. A farm, how does that sound? You and me, a couple of chickens, horses, dogs,… and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me,” Geralt promised, but his words rather than soothe Jaskier seemed to rile him up even more. Jaskier suddenly pulled away, those blue eyes Geralt could happily lose himself in staring back at him uncomprehendingly like Jaskier did not recognise the man before him. Geralt was no stranger. He was still the same man as before, ready to do anything to protect and defend what was his.

“No! I don’t want that. Geralt, I want you to stop killing people, guilty or not, I want you to cooperate with MI6, I want you to be safe.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” Geralt asked, suddenly insecure, something dark and twisted stirring in him at the thought of Jaskier leaving. Jaskier could not leave. Geralt would not allow it. How would he keep his boyfriend safe if Jaskier left him? His eyes sought Jaskier’s, finding none of the warmth and adoration Geralt usually saw reflected in the blue pools. Instead he found confusion, anger and most upsetting of all, the first hints of fear.

“I don’t love that you kill people,” Jaskier said after a brief silence, his frown deepening when Geralt’s fingers reached out to gently traced the line of his jaw, “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life, quit the job I love, leave my family and my friends behind to follow you to some yet unknown place to live on a farm. Yet, you don’t seem willing to give up your… your job. You expect me to accept that you kill people for a living. I certainly don’t love that about you.”

“So if I left now, you wouldn’t even be sad?” Geralt asked, willing his racing heart to calm down as he pulled Jaskier closer to him. Geralt teasingly ran the tip of his tongue along the shell of Jaskier’s ear, but the shudder his actions triggered was a result of Jaskier’s fear, not lust. Geralt growled low in his chest.

“No. I wouldn’t be.”

Geralt straightened up so he could stare properly into Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier was lying. He could read his boyfriend like an open book, no matter how hard Jaskier tried to keep a straight face. It was Geralt’s job to find people’s weaknesses, and it was painfully clear that Jaskier’s weakness was Geralt. The way cornflour blue eyes avoided his honey-brown ones, the way Jaskier made no move to step away, the hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the twitching fingers itching to pull Geralt close… all these indicators pointed to it. Geralt smirked.

“Liar.”

Geralt stepped back and brought his gun to his chin, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. The way his boyfriend’s eyes widened in panic was a tell-tale sign that Geralt’s bluff was paying off. He even managed to look weepy, tears welling up in his eyes as he let out shaky breaths. Sometimes his job required Geralt to put up a show, either to manipulate or toy with his victims. Jaskier took the bait instantly.

“Geralt, no. You don’t want to do this.”

“You think I won’t kill myself?” Geralt asked, his voice hitching as he forced the tears to trail down his cheeks, “you’re mistaken, buttercup. I can’t do this anymore. I need to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, don’t do this, please don’t do this!” Jaskier all but begged, his own eyes filling with tears. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt almost felt bad. “Geralt please, we’ll find a way to keep us both safe, I promise, just please… drop the gun. Please.”

“If you can’t come with me, I need to keep you safe some other way. Keep you safe from me. This is the only way.”

“GERALT, NO!”

Jaskier ran towards Geralt and reached for the gun, but Geralt was faster and moved away from his boyfriend before Jaskier had a chance to catch him. A loud, near hysterical, bark of laughter pushed past Geralt’s lips, his eyes which had been filled with tears before now full of mischief. In his haste, Jaskier had tripped and was now sprawled on his kitchen floor, looking up at Geralt in anxious anticipation. When Jaskier finally looked at him again, Geralt’s grin vanished and his features hardened into an unreadable expression.

“Don’t lie to me, buttercup,” Geralt said as he crouched next to the trembling man, his voice uncharacteristically cold considering he was talking to Jaskier of all people, “you care. You love me. And I love you. I want to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, you’re scaring me.”

“Hush, my sweet one,” Geralt put his gun down and cupped Jaskier’s face in his large hands, his thumbs gently wiping the rogue tears running down the pale cheeks, “none of that. I won’t hurt you. I won’t kill you. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe.”

Jaskier paused for a second, blue eyes losing themselves in honey-brown ones. Geralt smiled softly, whispering sweet nothings to Jaskier who had this tortured look on his face. Geralt vowed to make it all better, to be the best boyfriend Jaskier could ever dream of. He would never give up Jaskier, not for all the riches in the world. It might take some time for his lover to realise this, but with time Jaskier will see that all Geralt was trying to do is keep them safe and create a life for them. Eventually, Jaskier seemed to have calmed down and one hand came up to cover Geralt’s in a tender gesture. His eyes filled with tears again. Geralt hated seeing his buttercup so upset.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay Jaskier, I’m he-“

Geralt did not get a chance to finish his sentence that Jaskier had picked up the gun and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Geralt’s thigh and taking him by surprise long enough for Jaskier to scramble to his feet and race for the door. Geralt roared in pain, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to pull himself up using the kitchen aisle as leverage. Jaskier had taken the gun with him. When Geralt was on his feet, Jaskier was already gone. There was no use in trying to pursue him, not when he was injured, but Geralt was not overly worried.

He would find Jaskier one way or another.

His precious buttercup, who was obviously not such a delicate flower after all.

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #held at gunpoint #the witcher #fic #sociopathy #hurt no comfort #emotional manipulation #assassin Geralt #MI6 agent Jaskier #geralt z rivia #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #assassins au #alternate universe

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years ago

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Sweet True Lies: Part 1

A/N: Geralt’s a special agent for MI6 and Jaskier’s his analyst. They’re on a mission to secure nuclear launch codes for a stray nuke cooked up by a private company who, until recently, only sent electric cars into space. Geralt and Jaskier are the best in the business, but Geralt has a weakness for tall, dark and handsome that tends to get him into trouble at the worst times. Or is it the best?

Warnings: genre typical violence; eventual smut. Pairings: Eskel/Geralt; Yennefer & Geralt; Geralt & Jaskier.

(Duplicated from AO3).

“I’m not sure you quite understand. She said I was needy—take the first left, I’ve turned the security cameras off—and then , in the same breath , said I didn’t pay enough attention to her.”

“Mmhm,” Geralt pauses, his back pressed to the wall as he glanced around the corner.

“You know, I forgot the three-month anniversary. Who counts their anniversaries in months, anyway? Oh, Geralt, watch your twelve, mobile patrol; pistol and potential melee weapon.”

Geralt stops at the end of the corridor and waits for the heavy, booted footsteps to reach him before he strikes. One hand secures around the guard’s mouth and nose, while the other arm wraps tightly around his chest and biceps. The veins bulge in Geralt’s neck as he maintains the hold until his victim falls limp, but Jaskier continues to witter away in his ear.

“She pulled out the big guns though. Said her mother never liked me, which was a blatant lie. When I went over for fajita night I got seconds and she pinched my cheek. The woman was a saint.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes, drawing in deep breaths after his brief struggle. “Need somewhere to hide the body.”

“Dead or unconscious?”

“Unconscious,” Geralt lowers the body to the ground to conserve his strength and free up his arms in case another guard happens to join him. “He’ll be out long enough for me to collect the codes and get out of here.”

“There’s a cleaning cupboard down the hall, on the right.” Geralt can hear the tap of keys as Jaskier reviews the maps and checks the rest of the security patrols. “You’ve got six minutes to hide him and get to the stairwell before two more are on you. They’re circulating anti-clockwise, will come from your six.”

Geralt grabs the limp man from the floor and hoists him over his shoulders, before walking quickly down the empty corridor. The cupboard’s exactly where Jaskier said it would be, and Geralt wastes no time in binding the guard up with a ream of electrical wire he finds stashed under a metal unit. There was never any question, really. Jaskier’s the best analyst in the business—attentive, sharp and multi-talented—but other operatives just can’t stand his incessant chatter. Sometimes he sings too. Not generally a problem unless Geralt’s face is pressed into the crotch of a large Russian henchman with severe body odour, or he’s clinging to the edge of a building with a crazed scientist stamping on his fingers; Jaskier crooning ‘My Heart Will Go On’ with added vibrato added a certain level of stress to the whole affair.

“Okay, Geralt,” Jaskier chirps. “Good job. Patrol’s two minutes away. Head east down the corridor, turn right twice, keep to the left side of the wall, there’s a camera that I can’t get to but it’s mostly pointing into a staffroom.”

Geralt glances up at the silver placard on the white-washed wall—Bureau 20-30—they need Bureau 30, which means travelling to the very end of the building with its huge wall of glass windows. Geralt’s escape is down a fire escape into a back alley. Jaskier’s been keeping an eye on it the whole time; intelligence suggested it was unsupervised, but you could never be too careful. Even if it wasn’t occupied by anyone associated with the company, Paris was notorious for young, adventurous lovers looking for a quiet nook to explore their passions. A witness was a witness.

There are no more patrols as Geralt crosses from wall to wall, eyes searching for blinking cameras to ensure none have escaped Jaskier’s net. The security men downstairs are currently watching a carefully constructed repeat of their men patrolling empty corridors. Jaskier studied the routines and patterns of the security staff for a whole week to make sure it was infallible.

He finds the office and crouches down by the lock, withdrawing the folded picking kit from his back pocket. For a multibillion-dollar corporation, they really did have some antiquated ways of keeping their most prized possessions safe. Just proved that those that worked with computers trusted them the least; Jaskier told Geralt as such before he hopped onto the plane to get here. Just as he pulls the first bobby-pin from its pouch, Geralt spots the tiny marks around the lock. He reaches out with gloved fingers and runs his fingertip over the scratches. An untrained eye would’ve missed them. “Jaskier, we have a problem,” he breathes.

“What? Tell me.”

“Someone’s already been here.”

“Shit,” Jaskier barks and begins tapping furiously at his computer, his blue eyes probably flicking from screen to screen in search of evidence of their culprit. He swears again when his intelligence fails to reveal anything, and there are no cameras for him to peer into the room. “I can’t get in. You’re going in blind, Geralt.”

“Roger that.” He stands slowly and withdraws the pistol from beneath his arm. It takes him a moment to twist the silencer into place before he presses down on the door handle. It creaks open on poorly fitted hinges and Geralt grimaces at the noise. No reaction from inside. The hallway remains blessedly clear too. With a final breath, Geralt slips into the darkened room and lifts the pistol to eye level.

His eyes adjust quickly as he closes the door behind him. It’s a clear, warm summer’s evening and ample moonlight spills through the wall of glass windows. The furniture is sparse but casts long shadows, and Geralt holds his breath as he surveys the room. There’s movement by the desk and he squeezes off two rounds; he learned a long time ago to shoot first and ask questions later, and had the scars to remind him.

“Shit, Geralt,” says a familiar voice. “It’s me. Put that fucking weapon down before you hurt yourself.” It belonged to a woman, with bright eyes the colour of violet due to the special contacts she wore to provide a live feed to her handler, and long, raven hair currently wound tightly into a bun behind her head.

“Yen?” Geralt whispers, gun still braced, because he has history with the CIA that hasn’t always ended in his favour. “This isn’t a joint operation. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Could ask the same thing,” she growls, shifting her hands slowly back to the keyboard she’d been hunched over when the door handle dipped. “We told MI6 to sit this one out. You’re too heavy handed.”

“I’m heavy handed?” Geralt hisses. “You might as well have taken a hatchet to that door.”

“I was in a rush,” she whispers, now hunched fully over the computer; there’s a memory stick poking out the side. She’s downloading the codes. “Someone panicked when she couldn’t get into the security feeds.” Geralt could almost see Triss’ meek expression as she sat behind her computer in Washington; she’s a nice girl, but still young and slightly flappable. Both Yen and Geralt have a history of picking up the stray and unwanted within their respective organisations.

“What’s your escape route?” Geralt glances over his shoulder, ears straining for the sound of footfalls in the hallway.

“Same as you probably,” she sighs. “Down the fire escape. Now, if you’re quiet, I may just share a copy of the codes with you. You know, as an apology for Belarus.”

Geralt scowls. “Take more than nuclear launch codes to make up for that clusterfuck.”

“Alright, how about nuclear codes and a glass of whiskey in your hotel bar?”

“Hm,” Geralt considers with a frown. “If it’s from cask two hundred and sixty-three.”

“Ha ha.” Yen rolls her eyes as she watches the percentage on the loading screen slowly begin to creep up.

“Sorry to interrupt this lovely reunion,” Jaskier says urgently down the earpiece. “But you have some company, and it’s not the good kind.”

“What do you mean not the good kind?” Geralt pushes two fingers into his ear and shifts away from the door.

“As in, I’ve got no trace of who the fuck he is.” There’s more furious key tapping. “Can’t get a face on him either. It’s completely covered. Even the eyes. He’s got some kind of optics in place, I can’t—you need to get out of there. He’s definitely not friendly, and he’s packing some serious heat.”

From Yen’s change in posture, Triss has clearly cottoned on to their new arrival too. She cusses at the computer impatiently, before replying to the frantic voice in her own earpiece. “Give me a countdown.” She stares intently at the screen as if the power of her ire could make the internal hardware work any faster. Time feels like it stands still. The two operatives hold their breath as their analysts mark the progress of this mystery player number three with increasingly urgent whispers.

Geralt can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenalin pulsing through his body, urging his limbs into action as imminent danger closed in. Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, Yennefer snatches the memory stick from the computer and booted everything down. “Jaskier, we’re ready.”

“Right, you’re going to need to make a run for it,” Jaskier replies, his voice tight. “He’s almost at the corner.”

“Yen.”

“With you,” she slips the memory stick inside her vest, grabs her own weapon from the desk, and they count down from three before leaving the office. As Jaskier predicted, their visitor rounds the corner just as the door clicks shut behind him. The exchange of looks is silent. They see the flash of a weapon and both let off a single warning shot before breaking into a sprint towards the fire escape. Combat in a building is never a good idea. Noise, chaos, property damage . Not to mention the fact that Jaskier’s carefully recorded security loop didn’t cover the listening ears of regular patrols. It’d be Belarus all over again.

As Yen and Geralt run down the corridor, Player Three breaks into a sprint in their wake. He doesn’t seem to care about the security cameras—or perhaps knows they’re not operational—because he makes no effort at discretion. His booted feet squeak on the immaculately scrubbed floor tiles and Geralt risks a glance over his shoulder as they reach the window. He’s huge. Easily over six foot, with broad shoulders and arms that could crush Geralt with a single squeeze if they got hold of him. Tactical retreat is definitely preferable to hand-to-hand, and he urges his compatriot to move a little faster. “Ladies first,” he growls as Yen throws herself at the latched window.

They break out into the warm, midsummer evening and begin dropping down the metal stairs towards the alleyway. Player Three appears at the window and, now that he’s out in the open, lets off a spray of gunfire in their direction. The bullets ricochet off the metal barriers and Geralt ducks back against the wall to return some covering fire while Yen drops down into an industrial bin full of black bags. Once she’s secure, she turns to buy Geralt enough time to join her. As Geralt reaches the ground, she breaks into a sprint towards the mouth of the alleyway. Their hunter wastes no time in swinging down after them; his size belies his agility and he drops down on the outside of the balconies, big hands grasping the outside of the railings as he falls four feet at a time.

“Jaskier, we need wheels with some power,” Geralt pants, falling into step at Yen’s side.

“On it. There’s a Tesla Model 3 just across the road, give me a moment.” Tap tap went the keys. They reach the car—a non-descript silver Tesla with tinted windows—and Yen shoves him away from the driver’s door. He braces against the passenger side and lets off several more warning shots as Ironman makes it out into the street. They don’t slow him much and soon he’s sprinting down the pavement, dipping behind parked cars and a newspaper kiosk as Geralt tries to get a clear shot. Thankfully, the street’s deserted. It’s two o’clock in the morning.

“Jaskier, hurry the fuck up,” Yen snarls across the roof of the car.

“Is she giving me orders?” Jaskier asks, shrill. “There, done. Thank you for your services, China.”

“When I get home, you and I need to talk about your Discord friends,” Geralt says as he ducks into the passenger seat and Yen revs the engine.

“Yes, well—bloody hell, who is this guy? He’s like Robocop and the Terminator had a baby.” Because Jaskier has access to the CCTV outside in the street and Robocop just smashed through the car window of a Jaguar parked up across the street. Just as Yen floors the accelerator and pulls out from the parking spot.

“Get rid of him,” she grates, and Geralt winds down the window with his pistol in his hands. As she twists and turns down the narrow Parisian streets, Geralt braces his hip against the car door and takes several shots at the car in their wake. Two smash through the windscreen on the driver’s side, but they miss by a few inches and Geralt can’t get another clear shot on target as Yen swerves around a corner. He’s forced to duck back inside as a well-aimed shot glances off the roof, and then punches through the back window.

“Tyres, Geralt! Or the engine,” Yen yells as she yanks the wheel to the side. They’re heading towards more crowded streets and a car chase with added gunfire isn’t something that the CIA or MI6 want appearing on the French evening news. Geralt drops his aim and takes out the driver’s side tyre. The vehicle swerves, bare metal sending sparks flying as exploded rubber falls free. It catches on the edge of the pavement and flips over.

“Done.”

“We need to lay low for a while. Make sure our Robocop didn’t survive that crash. If there are two copies of the codes out here and he’s still alive, then there’s twice as much chance whoever the third party is will get hold of them. I’ll meet you at the Royal Monceau in two days.”

“Uh, Geralt, I don’t think M will pass the claims forms on that—can she choose something a bit more downmarket? Maybe the, uh… I dunno, the Holiday Inn?”

Geralt grimaces, and Yen rolls her eyes. “He’s just suggested the Holiday Inn, hasn’t he?”

“I’ll meet you at the Monceau,” Geralt replies, tapping his ear piece so that Jaskier hears the ‘ thump thump’ ; their agreed signal for ‘stop talking, I’m not listening’. “Are you going to stand me up again?”

She rolls her eyes. “You were late, 007; I didn’t stand you up. ”

“Hm,” Geralt hums. They drive for twenty minutes in silence and she drops him off outside the non-descript hotel he’d been staying at. He watches the Tesla disappear around a bend, and then heads in for a well-earned shower.

If Geralt had looked back for even a second, he would’ve seen their third-party crawl from the wreckage of his car; not even Jaskier, who’d been too intent on following the progress of the Tesla and checking both official and unofficial channels for intel, noticed. As he panted, his hazel eyes memorised the plate with only a passing glance, and then he disappeared from the street like a ghost in the night.

Part 2; Part 3.

#rawrkinwrites #Spy AU #Eskel #Geralt #Jaskier #Yennefer #Modern Era #Geralt 007 Rivia #Yennefer & Geralt #Jaskier & Geralt #Eskel/Geralt #Eskralt #Geraskel

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ao3feed-geralt-jaskier · 4 years ago

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by AbigailKinney4life

Agent Geralt Rivia, a veteran of MI6's anti-terrorism task force, is left grieving and disgraced after a failed undercover mission tears his life apart. He's tasked with protecting the genius but troubled Jaskier from a violent, drug-dealing syndicate that are hunting him down. Both damaged and vulnerable, Geralt and Jaskier have no choice but to band together to survive the dangerous world they both inhabit while struggling to overcome their own demons. As opposite as two people can be, Geralt and Jaskier soon begin to realise that they're not as different as they once thought, and while oceans of society separate them, they both share an understanding of how hard it can be sometimes just to breathe in. Modern MI6 AU.

Words: 112796, Chapters: 20/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Priscilla (The Witcher), Original Witcher Character(s), Original Characters

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Torture, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes & Funerals, Mental Health Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Terrorism, Corruption, Explicit Sexual Content, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Infanticide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Abuse, Medication, Bombs, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mutual Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Loss of Virginity, Drug Use

#AO3 works tagged 'Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion'#ao3feed #fanfic #the witche

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nav-arre · 4 years ago

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Okay but. The Witcher/Kingsman AU when?? do i have to write this??? i will write this. it’s so clearly right there....Vesemir is Arthur (tho i imagine the names would have to change?? Maybe not idk.) and Eskel, Lambert, and Geralt are all agents. Is Yennefer their Merlin equivalent, or is she the only MI6 agent who knows about the Witchers? Is she in another country’s equivalent like the Statesmen? Because if she’s not their Merlin, then Jaskier is, and i think that would be Beautiful. Ciri is the new agent Geralt is training. Come on, now. come on.

(Also if Jaskier is their Merlin equivalent, that means he could flirt with all of them, especially Geralt, literally in his ear, incessantly, and Geralt could say he has to keep the ear piece in because he needs intel but really he just Enjoys It)

#The Witcher #Geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #Kingsman #God i do love a good AU #does this already exist??? i'm gonna go check ao3

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pod-together · 4 years ago

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Pod-Together Party Favors 2020

The rose wrapped 'round the briar (Captain America - All Media Types, Agent Carter (TV)) written by JoCarthage, performed by irrationalpie, JoCarthage Summary: Steve Rogers is being haunted by the ghost of Bucky Barnes. “Folk songs are meant to be changed; that’s how they live, Peggy. Change the genders, change the names, change the tunes, change the meaning -- it’s the act of singing that makes it real, not any particular specifics. That’s what my Ma taught Buck and me, and that’s what I know to be true.”

You’re The One That I Want (Summer Lovin) (Supernatural RPF) written by WinchestersShorty1980FL, performed by storyspinner70 Summary: (no summary)

two monks invent fruit (Two Monks Inventing Things (The Toast), Pomological Archive RPF) written by resistate, performed by frecklebomb, growlery Summary: Monk #1: I’ve been wondering what makes a fruit a fruit Monk #2: oh That’s easy

My Job Here Is Done (Stray Kids (Band)) written by the24thkey, performed by knight_tracer Summary: The trials and tribulations of Lee Felix, magical girl.

Missing the Point (Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston) written by MouseK, performed by cheshiretears, MistbornHero, Ellejabell, MouseK, semperfiona Summary: Amy, Secret Service agent, former Navy SEAL. rumored around DC to have killed several men, once stabbed someone in the kneecap with an innocent looking embroidery needle.

Honk If You Missed Me (James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)) written by FlutterFyre, performed by RsCreighton Summary: 006 returns to a changed MI6 and an unimpressed goose.

Chocolat (Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)) written by sospes, performed by reena_jenkins Summary: “The signage outside,” Yennefer says, slow and sharp, “says that this is a bar.” The tips of the waitress’ ears are flushing pinker by the moment. “A dessert bar, ma’am,” she ventures. “Not a wine bar.”

the bite that binds (Critical Role (Web Series)) written by sabinelagrande, performed by blackglass Summary: And one day, the Wolf has a son. Or Percy does. But definitely Vex.

Alone Together (Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types) performed by bluegeekEM, BookGirlFan, carboncopies, Ceewelsh, Elle_dubs, Hangebokhan, MouseK, oakleaf Summary: This is just Toss a Coin.... sung by a bunch of drunkards. Because, if we are all going to be alone in this hellscape of 2020, we might as well do it together. Note: This is a *very* directional song, I would highly recommend stereo headphones to listen as it is arranged assuming you are a person in the middle of a crowded bar.

Aretuza (The Witcher (TV)) written and performed by Wereflamingo Summary: I won't forgive you this I won't forget The way you broke my mind The scars you left behind I won't forget A filk to the tune of "Ahavtiha" about Yennfer's anger and complicated relationship with her school.

Filk Broken Telephone: Group 1

1. We're All in This Together (Robin Hood (1973)) written and performed by eafay70 Summary: A song about the Merry Men working together to help Nottingham, to the tune of "We're All in This Together" from "High School Musical."

2. We Can Save The Wen Remnants! (魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù) written and performed by sobieru Summary: Going up Burial Mounds, some worries arise. Can the Wens really work this out?

3. Fight for the Archive (The Magnus Archives (Podcast)) written by carboncopies, performed by carboncopies, mahons_ondine Summary: It's episode 117, but instead of speaking into a tape recorder, everyone sings.

4. Do You Wanna Play Some Hockey (Check Please! (Webcomic)) written and performed by Wereflamingo Summary: A Check Please filk to the tune of Do You Want to Build a Snowman. Kent being sad at his phone because Jack is ghosting him.

5. Andy and Me (The Old Guard (Movie 2020)) written and performed by ssleif Summary: A Booker POV filk from 2/3rds of the way through the first film.

Filk Broken Telephone: Group 2

1. You Carry Us All With You (Star Wars Sequel Trilogy) written and performed by minnabird Summary: That scene in TROS, with all the Jedi voices coming to bolster Rey? Yeah, that, but as a filk of Can't Help Falling in Love in four-part harmony (and a touch of Rey's theme thrown in for good measure).

2. Can't Help My Destiny (Merlin (TV)) written and performed by TheLordOfLaMancha Summary: This is a Merthur filk written to the tune of Can't Help Falling In Love With You by Elvis Presley. Merlin whines (with as many insults as possible) about why he puts up with Arthur, until he remembers why.

3. he came back and stole my crown (Avatar: The Last Airbender) written and performed by Oceantail Summary: he came back and stole my crown....i tried to put him in the ground....watch me lose myself one by, one by... one! Azula's breakdown during the Final Agni Kai to the tune of "you should see me in a crown" by Billie Eilish.

4. Bad Uncle (琅琊榜 | Nirvana in Fire (TV)) written and performed by oakleaf Summary: Bad Liar by Imagine Dragons, re-imagined from the point of view of the Emperor at the end of the series. General spoilers for the whole series.

5. Blaviken (Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types) written and performed by Elle_dubs Summary: Jaskier walks into a bar after "Rare Species" ... (based off Mal Blum's "Baltimore") (played by me, on ukulele)

Filk Broken Telephone: Group 3

1. Forever Fan Friends (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by Ellejabell Summary: A meta filk about the friends we make in fandom. Based on the song "For Forever" from the musical "Dear Evan Hansen".

2. Thank You For the Fandom (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by TheArcher Summary: Filk of ABBA's Thank you for the Music about changing fandoms.

3. You're Welcome for the Fandom (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by Ravin Summary: See title.

4. Happy Ending (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by Ceewelsh Summary: A filk for Pod-Together 2020 Broken Telephone

5. Additional Tag: Strangers to Lovers (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by mahons_ondine Summary: Just a fandom fairytale meet-cute.

6. OTP, That Stands For Us (Fandom - Fandom) written and performed by klb Summary: Happy endings only.

#podfic #filk #fanfiction #pod-together #party favors

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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Omg okay, hear me out: 007 AU where Jask is in the shower or something and Geralt get curious about the spy tech he's got on the nightstand and Jask freaks out bc "Geralt that could kill you!"

Anything for you, boo. <3

---

Jaskier sang in the shower.

It was cute, really. Especially since Geralt knew that his boyfriend was one of MI6’s most important and well-respected field agents. His reputation had been so swathed in mystery that now even Geralt’s existence had been called into question, which was excellent. He hated being a bother; he was always getting kidnapped or being used as bait or falling into obvious fucking traps. Really, the handsome young man would have prefered to just lounge around at their Italian villa and drink wine and sunbathe.

But no. Jaskier didn’t like to sleep alone and Geralt didn’t like to think of all the other pretty young men out there who had picked up on his boyfriend’s other reputation (which was well-deserved, in Geralt’s humble opinion), so he tagged along on the missions he was allowed access to. Usually he just stayed at their hotel and kept the room ready for when his exhausted, braindead lover returned. He’d order food, give Jaskier a massage, and kiss him to sleep so he’d be ready to hunt down terrorists and covert agents again the next day.

Today, though, 007 had dropped his laundry to the floor and hopped directly into the shower. “Sewer chase. I feel gross.”

When Geralt went to gather up his boyfriend’s messy clothes, a peculiar item fell to the ground. It looked like a packet of gum, but one of the pieces was sticking slightly out and there was a thin wire taped to it. He was about to pull it out for a closer look when Jaskier shouted, “No!”

Geralt dropped everything in his hands and spun to face the panicked secret agent. “What’s wrong!?”

“That gum it’s- That could have killed you, my love. It’s a micro-detonator.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Sorry for scaring you,” Jaskier apologized, stepping closer and looping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “I promise not to leave dangerous things lying around anymore, darling.”

“Just don’t frighten me half to death when you have to rescue me from your own carelessness, alright? Kinda defeats the purpose.”

Jaskier used his arms around Geralt’s waist to pull the slightly taller man into a deep, romantic dip. He kissed the model breathless and smoothed his soft white hair out of his face. “No.”

#geraskier 007 au #geraskier james bond au #secret agent jaskier #007 jaskier #arm candy geralt #bond girl geralt #he's always getting kidnapped #fluff #don't touch that!#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier prompt fill #anything for you reyonce #i love you regan #braincell bae #bouncey's braincell bae

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years ago

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Sweet True Lies: Part 3

Warnings: genre typical violence; smut. Pairings: Eskel/Geralt; Yennefer & Geralt; Geralt & Jaskier.

(Duplicated from AO3).

The door hits the wall as they stumble through it. Geralt licks and bites at Eskel’s neck as those big hands wrench his suit jacket from his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. He’s like a rag doll in Eskel’s hands, almost powerless in the strength of his grip and the hungry kisses that bite into his chest. Eskel kicks the door shut behind him, and Geralt just about manages to shed his shoes before Eskel throws him onto the bed. Geralt can only watch as Eskel undoes three more buttons and pulls his shirt off; his cock throbs desperately in his trousers as he drinks in Eskel’s physique.

Everything about him is majestic; his barrelled chest, his thick biceps, his powerful core that flexes with each of his pants. He’s feral, lips parted, pupils blown and he studies Geralt in the space between breaths like he’s about to devour him. There was no room for words as Eskel pins Geralt’s wrists to the bed and kisses him again; still hungry, still fierce, and Eskel tears through Geralt's shirt, leaving him breathless. He draws away to lavish a long, indulgent lick up the arch of Geralt’s throat, forcing his head back, before mouthing along his jaw with a soft moan. “Fuck, Eskel, ahh.” Geralt gasps and presses into Eskel’s hands as they pull open his belt and trousers.

“Tell me what you want, James,” Eskel growls into his neck; their cocks brush together through the thin cotton of their boxers as Eskel pushes down his own slacks; Geralt spreads his legs wantonly, inviting it. “Or would you prefer to come in your pants?”

“That mouth needs to make good on its promises,” Geralt breathes as Eskel continues to move his hips in a slow, salacious roll and Geralt’s cock thickens to its fullest extent. “Then I want you inside me.”

“Hm.” Eskel smirks, his eyes dark, and Geralt feels a surge of desperate arousal. The man’s stunning; his debonair charm belies the barely contained power, the feral grace, just beneath the surface and Geralt can do nothing more than surrender as Eskel writhes down his body. Those consuming kisses leave a damp trail down his chest and stomach, dexterous fingers working his trousers and boxers onto the floor. Geralt can feel the throbbing heat of him; the soft hair on his chest brushing over Geralt’s flushed, oversensitive skin. The first press of his tongue as it laps up Geralt’s shaft makes his vision blotch with stars; Eskel kisses and sucks down to his groin, and then laps gently at his balls. Tasting him.

With sincere effort, his body willing only to bask, Geralt manages to lift his head to watch Eskel’s beautiful lips descend over his head, feels the soft, appreciative moan as his lover marvels at the velvet feel of his cock against his tongue. When Eskel swallows, taking Geralt’s cock into his throat without hesitation, Geralt arches and moves a hand to grasp a handful of soft, obsidian hair. Eskel’s head bobs slowly, allowing Geralt to relish the squeeze of his throat, the wet heat of his tongue and the subtle vibrations of his guttural, bone-deep moans. It’s too much— too good —and Geralt’s prick quivers as he threatens to spill before he’s even got to the finale.

“Eskel,” Geralt tugs gently, and receives an irritable rumble for his troubles. The hazel eyes that flick up at him are dark with want and for a moment Geralt thinks he’s going to be forced to come in exactly the way Eskel wishes, whether he likes it or not. The thought makes his stomach clench, but not with fear. “Get in me.” He manages, and those full lips, now swollen and reddened, pull off his cock with an audible pop.

“Condom?” Eskel asks, leaving with one final parting lick at Geralt’s cock—it’s almost sweetly possessive, a promise to return.

“Suitcase, front pocket,” Geralt nods towards his bags stacked by the window, and Eskel heads over. There aren’t any weapons or sensitive files in there. Just clothes. The last thing he needs is a civilian pulling out a Glock and running out screaming. In the brief pause, Geralt remembers the nuclear-fucking-launch codes in his blazer pocket and silently leaves the bed. The safe sits inside the bedside cabinet, and he carefully slips the memory stick inside and closes the door.

As he glances up to check on Eskel, he’s rendered suddenly breathless once more. Eskel’s completely naked, his muscular form silhouetted against the silvery backdrop of the summer moon beyond the window, all hardlines and firm curves; Geralt can see the outline of his prick as it stands up from his body, thick and outrageously big. His mouth waters as he watches Eskel roll the condom down from the very tip, fumbling in his haste to return to the bed as he strolls back over. “Jesus—fuck—.” Geralt’s suddenly grateful for his off-hand thought to bring a bottle of lube with him; Eskel chucks it down at Geralt’s side.

“Hm, he ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” Eskel drawls, and then grabs Geralt by the ankles to pull him down the mattress. The next kiss is slower than the last couple as Eskel climbs between Geralt’s thighs. The tip of his cock presses slowly down his cleft until Geralt can feel the thickness of his shaft; the heat alone is enough to make him feel weak; he flops back onto the bed as Eskel slicks his fingers and gently cups his balls. The first brush of his fingers sends sparks up Geralt’s spine; they settle at the base of his skull and make him shiver with anticipation. He tilts his hips needily, fingers tangling in Eskel’s hair, as one finger slowly pushes inside.

It doesn’t take much to open him up. The whiskey has left him relaxed, and Eskel’s mastery has made him eager. Eskel takes his time though, kissing Geralt’s chest and neck as he moves two, then three fingers in and out of his body. Geralt’s hole flutters and grips when Eskel finds his sweet spot and Geralt can’t help but roll his hips into Eskel’s hand in search of more. “You’re a needy thing, aren’t you?” Eskel growls, delighted. “I’m gonna’ fuck you, James. I want to hear you as I break you apart.”

“Yes, please, please, fuck, Eskel, split me open,” Geralt gasps, and then whines at the loss of those thick fingers as they withdraw. Eskel slicks his cock with more lube before those big hands return his hips and lift them from the bed. He’s cradled effortlessly as Eskel sinks into him. He takes his time, with slow, shallow thrusts that push just a little deeper each time. Geralt moans desperately, powerless as he’s impaled with aching languor. He can hear Eskel’s soft, enamoured grunts as his body clenches around him with each successive inch. When he’s fully seated, Eskel leans down and winds their fingers together above Geralt’s head.

They kiss and nip at each other again as Eskel paces them with slow, long thrusts that Geralt can feel in his stomach. The angle’s perfect, grinding over his prostate, teasing him slowly higher to the apex of his pleasure. It’s enough to render him weak and he quakes beneath Eskel’s strength, but his orgasm flutters out of reach; Eskel’s drawing him out, savouring the clutch of his body, the neediness of his whines. “Harder, please, Eskel, please… fucking destroy me,” he begs into the darkness, and hears the low, rumbling chuckle as Eskel gathers his legs.

The readjustment is slight, but soon Geralt’s spread open, his calves braced on Eskel’s broad shoulders, and those slow thrusts pick up until Eskel’s driving into him, swift and relentless. It’s not a hapless pounding, but a precise, penetrating fuck that makes Geralt shout and whimper.

The sweat gathers on their skin as the close, midsummer evening crowds the room; they didn’t even bother putting the keycard in the switch to turn on the air conditioning, but it just makes everything deliciously heady. Geralt can smell Eskel’s cologne and his rich, musky scent beneath that; he licks and bites at Eskel’s shoulders, nails raking down his back in desperate search of purchase as the pleasure overwhelms him.

Those agile hips break Geralt apart as promised; his orgasm bursts through him, lighting up his blue eyes like fireworks against the summer sky. He’s pushed ever higher by the rolling piston of Eskel’s body; strong, powerful, unstoppable. When Eskel comes, his thick cock pulsing as his hips grind forward, Geralt’s barely coherent. He clings to those broad shoulders and laps at the sweat on Eskel’s throat, dazed as he soaks in pleasure.

It’s not the only time they fuck that night. Eskel leaves the bed briefly to dispose of the condom, only to return with a handful more. He leaves them on the nightstand as he folds against Geralt’s body; they grind, and touch, and kiss, ravenous for each other, until their cocks begin to thicken again. The second time Geralt slides onto that glorious prick, he’s upright, clinging onto Eskel’s shoulders as he rolls his body into his lap. Those strong hands wrap Geralt’s back to give him something to lean back on but otherwise give him freedom to take his pleasure as he wants, hazel eyes misty with adoration, as Geralt throws his head back and rides them both to another peak.

They fuck into the early hours of the morning. In the lulls, Eskel traces patterns over Geralt’s body and whispers sweet nothings in his ear. By the time the first sparrows begin to chirp outside their window and the early risers stir for their morning jogs, Geralt flops easily into Eskel’s waiting arms and falls into a deep, restful sleep.

***

Jaskier just couldn’t leave it. Before he departs that evening, he sets his computer to run a broad, all-encompassing sweep of NATO databases. It’s a huge task and takes a mammoth amount of computing power, but something bothers him about Esben’s lack of documentation. Men didn’t just… disappear from military databases.

His phone pings him at approximately seven o’clock in the morning with a result. It takes five seconds of rapid scrolling for him to decide that Geralt’s in danger, and then ten more seconds of frantic ringing to realise that he might just be too late. He sprints out the door and calls his direct line to M. The line he’s told to only ever use if there’s an emergency, like the world’s about to explode or Geralt’d decided to try with Yen one more time.

Well… it wasn’t the second one, was it?

***

Geralt wakes slowly. The dull, amazing ache he feels deep in his bones reassures him that he didn’t just dream about the night of marathon sex, but his smile fades quickly when he tries to move his arm. And can’t. His nostrils flare and he picks up the scent of cigarette smoke above the general odour of Parisian traffic.

His eyes snap open and he glances up at his wrists. They’re secured to the bedposts with the curtain ties; the knots are tight. Expert. He lifts his head from the pillow and squints at Eskel sitting on the window ledge. He’s fully dressed, his bow tie hanging loose around the popped collar of his shirt, with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. “I don’t remember discussing bondage.”

Eskel smirks. It’s not cold, but it isn’t exactly reassuring either. “As much as I’d like to educate you in the possibilities, I don’t have time, Geralt.”

Geralt’s eyes widen; the first issue is that Eskel’s accent is no longer American, but Russian. It’s a soft lilt; his English crisp and educated. Not good. “Sorry? Not sure who you’re—.”

“Don’t be tiresome,” Eskel sighs. “Geralt Rivia, MI6, designation 007; divorced, one child. Former special forces, decorated numerous times for bravery. Honourable discharge, recruited straight into the secret service. Disaster bisexual.”

“Was the last part really necessary? I don’t think you have any room to be judging m—.”

“I’m not the one tied to a bed with my prick out,” Eskel retorts, removing his cigarette to tap the ash onto the street below. There’s clear amusement in his tone though, and Geralt catches the appreciative glance cast his way.

“So, you were a honey trap,” Geralt’s head drops back into the pillows. How could he be so fucking stupid? He looks down at the safe and, sure enough, the door’s wide open and the memory stick’s gone. “Why the fuck are you still here? Don’t you have an election to rig?” He spits as he thrashes at the ties, only to feel them pull tighter at his wrists.

“It’s rude to leave your sexual partners without saying goodbye,” Eskel replies, stubbing out his cigarette against the white plastic of the window ledge.

“But tying them to the bed? Perfectly acceptable.”

“Self preservation,” Eskel murmurs. “I could’ve just snapped your neck. This is marginally less distressing for the cleaning maid.”

“Robocop,” Geralt groans at the ceiling as the realisation dawns. Same build, same height.

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” he kicks at the mattress and sighs. “Did you really have to fuck me senseless? A beating would’ve made this part slightly less… disappointing.”

“I try to avoid violence where possible,” Eskel stands and strolls slowly across the room. “Besides, I rather enjoyed last night. It’s rare I find partners that can… keep up.”

“I’m flattered,” Geralt drawls.

“Hm.” Eskel picks up a biro from the vanity table and tears off one of the hotel branded post-it-notes.

“What’re you doing?”

“Giving you my number.” Eskel returns the pen once he’s finished, and walks over to place the piece of paper gently on Geralt’s chest. “When this is all over, give me a call. We can discuss the bondage.”

“You arrogant prick,” Geralt growls. “Like fuck I’m going to call you.”

Eskel gives Geralt a Look. The Look informs Geralt that he's definitely going to call Eskel and he should really stop being such a brat about it. Just as he’s about to continue his tirade, Geralt hears the thump of helicopter blades as it descends just outside the window. Simultaneously, there's a shout outside the door; it’s Yen. “Geralt? Geralt! Open the door.”

“I believe that’s my cue to leave,” Eskel rolls his shoulder as he rocks back on his heels, and Geralt can only watch in begrudging awe as the huge Russian breaks into a sprint and flings himself out the window. Yen bursts in just as he clears the ledge, but she’s too late. The helicopter lifts Eskel out of their reach as he clings onto the rope ladder deployed to collect him. With one arm looped through the ladder rungs, and feet braced, he places two fingers to his lips and blows her a kiss before he disappears around a neighbouring building.

She scowls as she stalks over to the bed. “Is there any occasion when you think with the head containing your brain, or is it just there for show?” There’s a set of nail scissors in one of the nightstands, and she uses them to cut Geralt loose, before chucking his boxers and trousers at him.

“Jaskier send you?”

“Yes,” she folds her arms and glowers into space. “He was practically in tears, you know. He thought you’d be dead after looking at that man’s history.”

“Bad news?” Geralt’s too weathered to make a fuss, and pulls his boxers on slowly. Oh, he can still feel Eskel’s cock and it’s glorious.

“Russian Spec Ops. Master at his craft, apparently,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a fucking moron and I hate you, but I’m glad you’re alive. I… would've never forgiven myself if I walked off and left you with your murderer.”

“I’m flattered you care so much,” Geralt mumbles, hiding his smirk as he pulls his shirt on.

“Yeah, well, if we don’t get those codes back, I’ll murder you myself. Hurry up, we’re meeting Jaskier at the airport. M’s spitting feathers, and my boss isn’t exactly thrilled with us either. On top of finding a nuke in haystack, we’re now racing a very clever Russian. Never easy mode, always death march with you, isn’t it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, and leaves him to collect his suitcase. As he walks towards the door, he pauses by the bed and stoops to pick up the post-it that had fluttered to the floor upon Yen’s entry.

He glances at the bin by the dresser, and then folds the paper carefully into his back pocket. When this is all over, and if they don’t end up having to shoot Eskel, Geralt might just give him a call after all. Nothing to do with the bondage, you understand. It's just rare to find someone that makes him laugh so effortlessly, listens to him so intently and intrigues him so thoroughly. Even if fifty percent of it was a ploy, Geralt's desperate to see whether the remaining half is worth keeping.

Finished! Part 1; Part 2

#rawrkinwrites #Spy AU #Geralt #Eskel #Yennefer #Jaskier #Triss #Jaskier & Geralt #Yennefer & Geralt #Eskel/Geralt #Geraskel #Eskralt #Smut #Modern Era #Geralt 007 Rivia

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet True Lies: Part 2

Warnings: genre typical violence; eventual smut. Pairings: Eskel/Geralt; Yennefer & Geralt; Geralt & Jaskier.

(Duplicated from AO3).

Hotel Le Royal Monceau was a tall, white building located on Avenue Hoche. You know it’s posh when its façade has huge, floor to ceiling windows and carefully pruned pots of flowers arranged artistically at the entrance. Jaskier endured M’s disgusted ‘how much?’ and ‘doesn’t he know we’re in a recession?’ along with a litany of other grumbles to get the paperwork signed off. “One thousand two hundred pounds a night,” she’d scowled as she scribbled her signature on the costing form. “If he doesn’t leave with those launch codes, you’re both on surveillance duty for a month.”

Jaskier pulled a face as he left the office. Surveillance duty meant following around a member of the Cabinet in a nondescript white van, watching them attend meetings, eat Marks and Spencer sandwiches and cheat on their spouses. No thank you.

Geralt steps out of his hired car and passes the keys across to the concierge along with his room number for his bags, who seems somewhat perplexed to be faced with a Vauxhall Insignia rather than a two-seater sports car. He was a man of simple tastes, usually. The doorman gives him a polite nod as he enters the hotel lobby, straightening his cufflinks as his gaze passes around the reception. The evening’s just as claustrophobic as two nights prior and the sweat on the back of his neck prickles under the cool caress of the air conditioning.

He heads across the immaculate marble floor to the bar and dining area. There are several older gentlemen sitting around with tall broadsheets, a young family—or rather, two children and their escort—sitting by the window and Yen propping up the bar. The black combats are gone, replaced by an ankle length, strapless dress. The slit in the side reveals the lean thigh as her legs cross, the sparkling gems in her heels catching the light of the overhead chandeliers.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous,” Jaskier whispers in Geralt’s ear. “I can see why you fell for that on repeat, you know.”

“Yes, thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbles, adjusting his cuff again. Yen makes him nervous in a way few others do. When they’re on joint operations it’s easy to place her in the role of fellow operative, but like this—with the dress, the flowing hair down her back, the beautiful violet eyes sparkling, and just everything —old memories begin to surface. Those old memories are the reason they both insist on public meeting now. He approaches with a tight smile and his pre-prepared introduction falls out of his head. “You smell nice.”

She squints at him, and then pulls a face. “This is a business meeting.”

Geralt, who’s never one to not flog a proverbial horse in cardiac arrest, continues. “You smell nice at this business meeting.” From the look on her face, the horse was now beyond help, so he makes himself comfortable on the stool. One of the barmen stops by and Yen orders him the most expensive whiskey on the menu; it’s not the 263, but it went down just as well.

“Any surveillance?” She asks softly.

“None,” Geralt replies over the rim of his glass. “Jaskier ran some more checks, but the man’s a ghost. No trace of him on any cameras before he appeared in the offices.”

“And none since,” Yen murmurs. “Triss kept an eye on everything around your hotel and mine. I moved a few times just to make sure. She’s fairly good at spotting a tail.” She pauses to take a sip of her wine. “I spoke with the bosses. They were reluctant to share the intel, but I convinced them it was for the good of our ‘special relationship’, so,” she passes him a memory stick, “here.”

“And they’re okay with two sets being in existence?”

“Well, the next stage is looking for the damned thing and I know for a fact your little ferret is currently weaselling his way through international black markets, so if one of us finds it and it’s already been set? You’ll need these to deactivate it.”

“Geralt, did she just call me a ferret? You know, I’ve never liked her.”

“Any leads?” Geralt asks, decidedly ignoring his analyst, but before Yen can answer one of the bar staff wanders over. Now, Geralt isn’t a shallow person, but the man that approaches them is staggeringly attractive. He’s dressed in the uniform of the hotel—black trousers, waistcoat, white shirt and bow tie—and it accentuates every curve and line for Geralt’s viewing pleasure. His black hair, parted in the middle, is carefully tucked behind his ears; his eyes are a striking hazel, set in a broad face with full lips, and the forearms that sweep through Geralt’s vision while they mop the bar are sun kissed and strong. He can’t help but follow them up to the thick biceps that flex through his shirt. There’s a network of scars down the right side of his face, but they only add to Geralt’s fascination.

Perhaps the bartender catches him staring—very likely, he’s not discreet—because he raises an eyebrow and leans forward rather pointedly. “Can I get you anything, sir?” There’s a tiny sliver of mischief in that tone alongside his subtle, American accent and, with the slight tilt of his head, Geralt’s almost convinced that the man can read his mind. He’s clearly amused by Geralt’s filthy, touch starved, all too needy thoughts. Or perhaps he can see Geralt flailing in desperation as he tries, and fails, to hold Yen’s attention, which is equally as funny.

“No,” Geralt says quickly, and then glances at Yen’s now empty glass. “I mean, that is to say—.”

Yen rolls her eyes as she places the wine flute down on the bar. “No, I’m quite fine. I was just thinking of catching an early night,” she glances between the two, and Geralt is thoroughly disgruntled by her knowing smile; she knows his type. Tall, dark, good-looking, interesting and entirely too sassy. With his impressive physique, his faint, mischievous smile and intriguing scars, Mr Barman fit the bill in every regard. In her case, he was happy to forego the tall part because of the sheer volume of sass. It balanced out. She slides from her stool, the silky fabric of her dress falling back into place over her smooth skin. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

“Smooth, Geralt, ” Jaskier murmurs disparagingly into his ear. Geralt thumps the earpiece in reprimand, covering it as a light scratch at the back of his neck.

“Well, sorry, I, uh… tough break.” The bartender hisses through his teeth as she departs.

“Oh, don’t worry, that break happened a good few years ago,” Geralt smirks and takes a long draw from the tumbler in his hand. “You’re not French.” American, definitely; west coast, perhaps inland California.

“Well-spotted,” the barman replies, with that same subtle quirk at the corner of his lips. “And neither are you. So, if you’re not here for pleasure—,” he glances after Yen, who’d now disappeared from the dining hall completely, “—that means you’re here for business. Posh suit, neat haircut, genuine Rolex. Must be successful.”

“Hmm,” Geralt leans on his forearms. “Or I could’ve just blown my credit card in hopes of presenting a certain image. Women love a big spender.”

“Nah,” the barman shook his head. “Those types have an over exaggerated swagger—like they want everyone to think they should be here because they don’t belong—and they always make the mistake of wearing cheap cologne. You,” he pauses in his fastidious wiping of the bar to take a deep breath, eyes flickering briefly closed, “are wearing Frederic Malle. Nearly four hundred dollars a bottle. High roller. Only spends money he has, which means he can only get richer.”

Geralt tilts his head, intrigued. “Very impressive. Perhaps I need to be a little more discreet.”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. “Only way I can tell who’ll tip well and who’ll blow me off. Nothing worse than serving Mr Big Spender all night, maybe playing his wingman, only to get a measly few Euros tucked under a beer mat when he saunters off with a pretty girl on his arm.”

“Smart.”

“Survival instinct,” he replies. “To be honest, compared to the ladies, I reckon I get the better end of the deal. Top up?”

“Name first,” Geralt moves his tumbler out of the way of the barman’s hands, eyebrows quirked.

“You want my name in exchange for pouring you a drink?” There was that smile again; it was so subtle, but with the flash in those brilliant hazel eyes, Geralt felt his heart skip a beat.

“Well, so far, you’ve chased away a potential date—as disastrous as it no doubt would have been—by throwing me off with a smile,” Geralt taps the edge of his glass. “I’d say a name is a fair trade.”

“Wow, Geralt. That was… actually quite smooth, well done, ” Jaskier, who has been observing the whole thing with growing amusement, coaches from the outside. Fuck off, ferret.

“Eskel,” the barman replies, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the back shelf. “And this one’s on the house if I can get a name in return.

“Geralt…” Jaskier warns.

“James,” Geralt says as he watches the amber liquid swirl around his glass from the bottle neck. “Eskel. Never heard that name before.”

“It’s a nickname,” Eskel replies as he puts the stopper back in the crystal decanter.

“So, what do I have to do to get your real one?”

“Impress me.” Eskel sweeps the towel from the bar and tucks it in his belt. When he leans forward, the heels of his palms braced on polished wood, Geralt can’t help but admire the way his chest flexes into his shirt and waistcoat. It’s deliberate. He isn’t foolish. This is a man confident in his looks, even with the scars on his face; he knows what he has and knows how to flaunt it.

“Impress you,” Geralt considers his drink. “Well, since you’re so observant, perhaps you’ll let me do the same?”

“Go ahead,” Eskel bows his head, and Geralt can’t get enough of how his eyes glitter with amusement. And intelligence. Some people you can just look at and know. He had a brain that worked quicker than everyone else’s, but he didn’t flaunt that; he was quietly brilliant. The most intriguing kind.

“Hey, smooth operator, I can’t look him up if I don’t have a real name, and he hasn’t looked at the security cameras once,” Jaskier lets off a long-suffering sigh and begins to tap at the keys. “Running Eskel through French border control. You know, just in case.”

“You’re well built,” Geralt drops his eyes, not bothering to mask his appraisal. “But it’s not steroids. It’s the kind that comes from hard work and a good diet. The way you carry yourself up and down the bar; there’s a quiet confidence in it, and the fact that you can take the measure of someone in a room just by a glance. You’ve had roles with authority that have required the habit of peak physical fitness, and awareness of danger. Police, perhaps the military,” he watches Eskel’s eyes drop, “the military then.”

“Checking American military records.”

“Pretty good so far. How’d I end up here?”

Geralt leans back, arms folded. “Potentially two reasons. First, invalided out,” he waits for the reaction, but there isn’t one and so he continues, “or, you just realised the promise of ‘come see the world, son’ wasn’t so great when you were viewing it through a scope. You decided to see it on your own terms.”

“Alright, I have to know,” Eskel stands up straight again. “What gives the second part away?”

“Geralt, nothing’s coming up…”

“Shared experience,” Geralt smiles and he’s relieved when it’s returned. “Are there rules here for drinking on the clock?”

“There are rules for everything here,” Eskel glances down the length of the bar to where his fellow tender serves an older gentleman with an impressive moustache. “Why, you offering to buy me a drink, high roller?”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll try civilian records, but… I don’t think he’s telling the truth about the military, you know? Americans are fastidious about this sort of thing.”

“Perhaps more than one,” Geralt takes another sip and the burn as it passes through his chest bolsters his confidence.

“Tell me,” Eskel bends down to begin emptying the dishwasher, and Geralt does precisely nothing to restrain himself from having a good ogle at that backside. “The ‘you smell nice’ line. That ever work?”

“I was under pressure,” Geralt grumbles, but flushes to the very tips of his ears. “And you used exactly the same one on me about ten minutes ago.”

“No,” Eskel lifts a finger. “It was different. And, I think you’ll find, my version worked.”

“Oh, did it?” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, and then sink slowly when he’s flashed another of those disarming grins. The quirk in Eskel’s upper lip just makes it all the more beautiful; there’s no smile in the world like it. It’s entirely unique. And in this moment, it’s all Geralt’s. “Pour me another, Prince Charming, I’m gonna’ need it to keep up.”

They talk the rest of the evening away. When Eskel’s shift finishes, he undoes his bow tie and Geralt’s eyes struggle to leave the slope of his collarbone as he pops his top button. Eskel is smooth, polite and bloody hilarious. They move closer as they chat, one of Eskel’s knees set between Geralt’s, inviting more intimacy, which Geralt readily accepts. To be flirted with, rather than doing all the heavy lifting; to be gazed upon like he’s actually attractive. The draw’s irresistible. Gentle touches of the hands, flirtatious, appraising eyes and a low, gravelly tone that makes Geralt’s insides melt. That velvet voice promises endless passion and pleasure; Geralt’s hooked in effortlessly.

When it comes time for last orders, Geralt thinks nothing of inviting Eskel up to his suite. As Eskel walks ahead to get to the lift, Jaskier pipes up in Geralt’s ear. “I still can’t find him anywhere official, I mean, I’ve got his social security number. I’ve found his facebook page though. Esben is his first name. Parents look nice. It’s… hmm, just make sure you put the codes somewhere safe, alright?”

“Good night, Jaskier,” Geralt breathes, and removes the earpiece discreetly. He’d definitely prefer not to have such a judgemental audience for the next bit, because he was rather hoping this adonis was going to ruin him. They make it into the lift before he’s in Eskel’s arms and pushed up against the cold glass of the mirror at the back.

Skilful lips devour his neck as firm hands stroke down his sides beneath his suit jacket, blunt nails teasing through the thin material of his shirt. Eskel grabs his thighs and lifts him, their hips grinding together, and Geralt can feel the swell of his cock through the starched fabric of his trousers. “Oh, fuck.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whine, but if that’s what it feels like confined within underwear, then it’s going to be a beast. His insides clench with need as Eskel leaves possessive marks down his neck, and growls. They fall over each other as they work their way down the hall, and Geralt’s already tugging at Eskel’s belt when they reach his room...

Part 1; Part 3

#rawrkinwrites #Spy AU #Geralt #Eskel #Jaskier #Yennefer #Triss #Jaskier & Geralt #Yennefer & Geralt #Eskel/Geralt #Geraskel #Eskralt #hints of smut #Modern Era #Geralt 007 Rivia

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