#drabblet

[yllirya]

Red Blanket

[wriolette drabble of a gifted red blanket. see the full drabble collection here]

After Wriothesley becomes the administrator of the Fortress, and Neuvillette gets closer to him (for official matters first), one day, the Judge gifts him a very soft, fluffy, red blanket. 

Neuvillette feels embarrassed but he explains – he feels after Wriothesley's hard days, this could be comfort.

He thinks it’s a silly action, but it was something like a winter bazaar in Fontaine. And when he strolled there on his way back to the Palais, his eyes got caught up on that blanket. 

At this point, Wriothesley is only the head of Meropide for a short time, and when he becomes that, Neuvillette helps him to settle the new arrangement with the overworld. He voted to trust him and put faith in the young man. As all prisoners stood behind him, it would have been a riot to remove him anyway, even if some governors would have wanted that. Anyhow, Wriothesley takes over Meropide, and Neuvillette offers him help to settle the correct paperwork regarding some changes - all by the laws.

They spend some time together but Wriothesley also has to make order by his gauntlets to shut down riots at their core. Neuvillette can see him halfway beaten up during their meetings, sometimes before Sigewinne could heal him. They never speak any of this.

Wriothesley always just shakes it off as if it'd be nothing. But Neuvillette wonders when he got comfort - even if only in the sense of having a good night's rest. Because not on the streets. Not in a cell in Meropide under the old regime.

So when Neuvillette sees that red blanket, he just can't help but think of Wriothesley and he buys it. Do humans gift blankets? He does not know. He keeps a straight face while Wriothesley opens it, and he gets a rather neutral "Thank you" in return.

It's many years later that Neuvillette learns Wriothesley cried himself to sleep that night, alone, wrapped up in the blanket – and that he still has it and never intends to throw it away, ever. For his next birthday, Neuvillette buys him a new one – and he gets a warm hug in return this time.

[kurjakani]

Some horsing around. I feel like Vulgora would be more into chariots than riding horses: someone else steering and they can focus on hitting things.. Also, pontifex is an ancient roman title... and ancient rome and chariots... you know!!! Still, some horsie riding for them today. Based on a drabblet fic im planning on.

[ibeta]

Mind-Reading Fellcest Drabblets | Chapter 7: death?

'i'm glad i could protect him.'

[diedbydeth]

i made a drabblet based on my classmates throwing away their art projects lmao

If Art Could Cry

[pt: If Art Could Cry /end pt]

The girl cried, looking at her rock with googly eyes and a drawn-on crooked smile. She turned away with her face in her hands. The rock, cursed to smile, looks down as gravity condemned it to, screaming silent pleas, shedding empty tears, and feeling emotionless feelings. Little did she know, it would stay there. When sun met ground, when rock met earth, through dusk and through dawn, through life and through death, it would stay there. Whether in a closet, whether in a dumpster, perhaps obliterated to a million pieces, perhaps set on fire. There it would be, smiling, awaiting the day where she would turn around and smile back.

end

its not my best by far (i thought this up and wrote it all in one hour (which was 1 am if you’re curious)) but idk.

(ps this does NOT represent my stance on thrown away art, i do not give a shit about what you do with your art. that’s just what inspired me.)

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Hey bouncy! Can i get some Geralt being real sweet/tender with Jaskier? Im in a real soft geralt mood so go ham if u so wish!

You sure can, fam.

---

The bard snuggled closer, snuffling and snorting a bit in his sleep. Geralt should have been annoyed. He should have removed Jaskier’s limbs from around him and turned away, letting the bard find his heat with a blanket like a normal person.

But he didn’t.

Instead, as Jaskier slept soundly, Geralt allowed his arm to wind around the bard’s waist. He pulled the other man closer, ever so slowly, careful not to ruin his rest. When Jaskier was close enough, Geralt buried his nose in the dusty brown hair and breathed in deeply. This was heaven.

With the warm weight of his bard against his side and the scent of home surrounding him like a spell of protection, Geralt drifted off to sleep himself. 

[igni-ard-bladeandbard]

But 

Jaskier catching Geralt alone in the courtyard where the stage is. After everyone has gone

and Jaskier is still in his lovely costume and they are poking fun at one another and Jaskier begins to sing to him

it’s a joke at first ...

because it’s a love song and Geralt is no blushing maiden for Jaskier to serenade 

and Geralt laughs and shakes his head but Jaskier’s voice is wonderful even when he’s teasing...

and it’s just teasing like it always is, but then

it becomes 

very

very

serious....

and Jaskier doesn’t look like it’s a joke anymore because the song 

was always about Geralt... 

and he can’t pretend when Geralt is there looking up at him in the flame lit courtyard with his incredible eyes

“..through the darkness

I can see your light,

and you will always shine, 

and I can feel your heart in mine”

Gerlat is helpless against this undivided attention bearing down on him now like the golden heat of summer, has no way to shield himself from it,

“..In my eyes you do no wrong,

I’ve loved you for so long

and after all that said and done

you’re still you..after all..

you’re still you...”

And Geralt hasn’t felt like crying in years but there’s a heat gathering behind his eyes..

“and I believe in you 

           although you never asked me too..”

and they stand there looking down and looking up at one another in the quiet, in the gloaming, and they are both so unmasked in that space, so incredibly naked and obvious to one another in this moment that it’s almost too much for either one of them to take

and Jaskier’s lips quiver as if he needs to say something more, as if he’s going to apologize, as if he’s afraid of the consequence now of having dropped the act.. 

but Geralt doesn’t flee, and his expression doesn’t harden

and there are no more words left between them that need be spoken...

[yaz-the-spaz]

penne a la vodka

Summary: G*gi makes penne a la vodka, so Liam makes penne a la vodka. But better.

a/n: just a short ziam ficlet born from a plotbunny that wiggled its way into my head about how the decision (and ensuing reaction) for the penne a la vodka thing went down in the ziam household lol...enjoy :)

Liam sees her story because of course he does. Try as he might not to see every little thing she does, when it implicates Zayn—which is almost always—he can’t not. Especially considering half of his fanbase is also Zayn’s fanbase and, by extension, now her fanbase as well, so he’s bound to have it circulate back to him eventually anyway. May as well bite the bullet himself and monitor her on his own time first before others can bombard him with her bullshit when he’s least expecting it.

Anyway, she’s always stealing ideas from him and Zayn anyway, and two can play at that game. So, when he gets the opportunity to do a Tik Tok cooking bit, it feels like the obvious choice.

He brandishes his dish to the camera proudly. Unlike hers, his actually has the required amount (well, okay, maybe a lot more if he’s being completely honest) of vodka in it. Because why even bother to go out of your way to make a dish with vodka literally in the name and then make a whole production of cooking it without the vodka when you could’ve just made another dish that doesn’t have vodka in at all. Nothing she does makes a lick of sense when you think about it too hard, but then when has it ever.

When they’re finished filming though, Darren packing up and setting aside his filming stuff for the day, Liam looks up to find that Zayn has walked into the kitchen. He’d been upstairs FaceTiming with the family, but evidently he’s finished now and judging by his knowing face, has either already seen what Liam posted or overheard him talking about it.

“Hey,” Liam starts, flashing a smile, not exactly sure what kind of reaction he’s in for.

Zayn just looks at him.

Liam can’t tell if he’s annoyed or weirded out, or both.

“Babe.” His tone still reveals nothing.

“…Yes?” Liam says warily.

“You’re petty and I love you.”

Liam breaks out into a grin. “Love you, too. Wanna get drunk on pasta with me?”

[arysthaeniru]

He hasn't asked them to call him Father, and Murky is grateful. There are plenty of things to love about Artemy, but he's not her Father yet, even if he acts like one. She perches on the counter in their new house, swinging her legs back and forth. The new skirt that she'd been given by Miss Lara makes a pleasant swishy sound, and even though it's heavier than her old dress, Murky likes it a whole bunch. Artemy is cooking next to her, chopping some mushrooms to throw into the pan, humming under his breath.

He stirs the pan, pulls up a spoon to taste, and smiles. It pulls at his face, makes him look almost unfamiliar. Murky's used to the resting scowl on Artemy's face. But she could get used to the smile.

"Want to try some, Mishka?" He asks, holding up a spoon. She nods, but before she can take a sip, he pulls his hand back, blows on the soup a few times, before offering the spoon back to her. Murky stares at him for a moment, before taking a sip.

It's creamy, smooth and just the right temperature, and Murky shuts her eyes, for a moment. Nobody had ever blowed on hot food to cool it down for her. Nobody's ever really made her much hot food, honestly.

"It's good." She says, knowing that he'll be expecting an answer.

"Good." Artemy says, softly. He brushes a hand across her hair, smoothing it away from her cheeks, before going back to the soup.

Murky watches him work, carefully, cautiously, to make something new. She'd first seen him use a knife to kill. Now, he's using his knife to make food, for her and her new brother. A killer could change after all, huh? And became the best person in the world.

The Plague was wrong. Clara was wrong. Nobody was evil. Everybody could change, with enough time.

[shiftylinguini]

aHHHHH witchy harry checking on all his succulents each day to see how his friends are doing. i love this concept, would love to hear more about him sometime :)

Yessss, witchy Harry, right??? In a sweet little cottage, herbs drying in the windows and jars of miscellaneous things everywhere, fancy old books and what looks like parchment scattered around and pretty symbols on the wall.

He’s got fifty different kinds of tea and always offers Niall a brew when he stops by, and always serves it in tiny tiny floral tea cups that make Niall think of Hyacinth Bouquet terrorising the Vicar’s wife with periwinkle china.

Harry’s house is a bit weird and stuffy but not the worst Niall’s been in - the swans out the front are slightly terrifying but that’s just swans, they’re basically elegant dinosaurs and Niall’s not scared of them (even when they nip him on the bum). The busts and statues are a bit much, Niall has to admit, those do kind of give him the willies. How can something that has no pupils, just blank alabaster eyes, seem like it’s paying so much attention to the conversations he and Harry have? He always feels like they’re tilting their heads, ears pricked like attentive dogs, when Harry reads Niall’s tea leaves.

Niall’s imagining it though, he imagines things when he visits Harry’s, that’s all it is. Harry house is cluttered and friendly and sort of benevolently mad, and it puts Niall on a weird edge, but not one he doesn’t like. Niall’s house is so clean and ordered (it needs to be, he can’t have it any other way) and that’s good, but Harry’s is such controlled chaos, stuff everywhere, and stuff on the stuff, and Harry in the middle of it all wearing too many rings and velvet slippers and chattering about swan poo.  

And there are soooooo, so many lovely plump succulents on the sill, and all leaning towards the sun  - except when Harry talks to them and they look like they’re leaning towards him, but that’s not right, plants don’t do that, do they?

Niall doesn’t know, he’s just a fucking butcher’s kid, working for his dad on weekends now he’s moved back home. He has one houseplant himself, a big fiddle leaf fig by the telly but that’s been looking peaky for weeks. He certainly doesn’t look after it like Harry does his plants, calling them his ‘old friends I don’t get to see so much anymore’ and cancelling whole plans with Niall because one of them fell off the sill and Harry fell into a panic. 

It wasn’t a date anyway, that night, although Niall was thinking they could get dinner after Harry took him to see ‘this amazing pond I found which has all these mushrooms nearby and just, like, really lush mud. Satisfying to stand in at night and look at the stars, you know? I’d love to show it to you’ which, who knows. Maybe that actually was Harry’s idea of a date?

Turns out Harry’s mate broke his leg that night, so good thing Harry was already freaking out about broken terracotta pots and bruised sedum leaves. They’d’ve had to cancel anyway. 

They can always go another time. Niall really kind of does want to stand in mud and look at the stars with Harry. 

[luvsavos]

“shortie” shangchi drabblet bc reasons

“Chiiiiiiii,” the sorcerer whines, looking up at the necromancer, who's hunched over a desk.

“Yes, Shang, what is it.” Quan Chi's voice is monotone; it's clear he's only half listening, apparently absorbed in whatever he's working on. Shang is draped across a chair, one leg splayed out upon the arm of the chair, the other propped up on the back. The rest of his body hangs off the edge of the chair; he's looking up at Quan Chi upside-down. 

“Chiiiiiiiiii,” he whines once again, this time in a more demanding, notice-me-dammit sort of manner.

Chi glances over finally, raising a brow.

“I won't even ask the point of you sitting like that.”

Shang shoots Chi a snarky grin.

Chi rolls his crimson eyes before letting out a huff. “So. What is it you demand my explicit attention for?”

Shang stretches his arms out for a moment, grunting.

“Why are you so tall? It's like... Prejudice against short people like me.”

“You aren't too terribly short,” Chi points out. “The average human male grows to at least five foot nine.”

Shang whines stubbornly. “Yeah? Well I'm only two inches taller than than, and pretty much every guy I've seen has been at least six foot. Usually six three.”

“Your point?”

Shang grumbles something in Chinese, sliding off of the chair and onto the floor. Chi looks down at him with a blank expression.

“You're only, metaphorically, making yourself even shorter by doing that, you know.”

Shang glares half-heartedly at Chi.

Chi merely chuckles. 

Shang rolls onto his back, crossing his arms and staring up at Chi through narrowed eyes.

“I'm becoming one with my people.”

“Your people-?”

“Ants. Because they're tiny too.”

This causes Chi to legitamately snort. “They are also quite strong for their size.”

​​​​​​“Exactly,” Shang responds, a smug undertone to his voice, “I'm tiny and all, but I can kick ass.”

Chi smiles a little, crouching and looking down at Shang.

“Alright, get up; you'll mess your hair up.” Of course he would use the hair against Shang. Anything but the hair.

Shang quickly sits up, scooting over to Chi and pressing his face against the necromantic sorcerer's arm. He then looks up at Chi snd offers him a smile. He then leans over, thankful that Chi isn't wearing the spiked part of his armour, and presses a light kiss to his cheek before returning his face to where it was, cheek pressed against Chi's arm.

Chi gently curls an arm around Shang's waist for a moment before seeming to perk up.

“You seem to... Strongly dislike being short, yes?” he asks. 

Shang nods. “Well, of course I do. Why else would I complain so much?”

He, too, then perks up a little, grinning up at Chi.

“You should lift me up. Let me sit on your shoulders, or something. You're tall, and strong, it would be win-win.”

Chi arches a brow. “Mm?”

Shang has already stood up, grinning like an idiot, which is oddly endearing to Chi. He settles himself on Chi's shoulders, seeming incredibly happy.

​​​​​​“Do you trust yourself to not fall?” Chi asks.

Shang nods, smiling.

“Of course I trust myself! Why wouldn't I?” he responds.

“You do realize you will be quite high up, yes?” Chi asks.

Shang nods, still smiling. 

“Yes,” he purrs, clearly happy, “I am well aware.”

Chi waits a moment, before shrugging simply and standing up. Shang lets out a surprised squeak, clinging to Chi. Apparently he had not anticipated just how high up he would be.

“Do you need me to set you back down-?” Chi asks uncertainly.

“No-!” Shang says quickly. “No, no, I'm just...” he trails off, slowly straightening back up and looking around. It is interesting to him how different things look.

“I'm fine. This is... Wow-...”

Chi chuckles. “You make it seem as if you have just traversed a mountain peek and are looking upon the vast forest below.”

Shang sticks his tongue out, though he knows Chi can't see it.

“Oh, whatever. Things are different up here, you know. It's like... I've transcended.”

Chi merely smiles in response to this, glancing up at Shang, who looks very happy.

Shang leans down, gently cuddling Chi as best he can, a serene smile on his face.

“You can set me down, now,” he murmurs, sounding content.

Chi sits, and Shang rolls off his shoulders and crawls to his side, curling up and resting his face against his shoulder, a happy expression clear.

A cat jumps up and curls up by Shang's leg with a soft 'meow,' nuzzling it's face against his thigh.

Chi curls an arm around Shang's waist gently, tilting his head back and sighing softly, though it is a happy sigh.

Shang presses his lips to Chi's shoulder gently, giving a soft, content sigh as well.

“I love you,” he says softly, his voice tender and quiet.

Chi simply smiles and leans over, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to the sorcerer's forehead.

His way of telling him that he loves him, too.

[ibeta]

Mind-Reading Fellcest Drabblets | Chapter 6: sandpit

Papyrus couldn’t be far from sounding incredulous.

[fionarara]

draken ryūguji listens to every word you have to say whenever you go on a rant, gotta vent, or need to express emotion of any kind and is sure to allow you to completely finish each sentence before responding. rarely does draken ever interject in the middle of your verbal thought process.

having grown up as a young boy in an environment surrounded by emotionally open or vulnerable women in the brothel, you realize, means he'd been in many an involuntary position when just hanging about at home where he would listen to them speak their hearts out on the vague hardships of their taxing lives and those moments had caused him to mature faster; developing the skill for being more intrinsically understanding and very receptive to others whenever they are in a fragile state of mind — and then, to top it off, you'd be gifted with a warm embrace by him at the end of it all.

lucky you.

[redwinterroses]

Fic writer challenge: what's the most egregious case of mischaracterisation you've fallen into with the hermits?

Bc I'm very guilty of making Stress the Mum Friend of the hermits, though it was less a uwu soft bean kinda mum and more inspired by my mum who would, when I was growing up, would look at me or my brother when we fell over and just be like "what you doing down there?" (The correct answer was always "getting up") and if we got little bumps and scrapes would just talk about how pretty the bruise was gonna be. Kinda more a Cool Mum archetype? Idk she's always reminded me of my mum lol

I'll admit to using tropes sometimes just because I LIKE them, even if they're not accurate. Like... I'm pretty sure I had someone run to Stress for a potion at one point, but it was more just because it was a convenient, established trope than because I actually want to use Stress as "server doctor" -- actually, if i was going to use that for any hermit, I'd probably go with Xisuma because of his massive potion factory near the end of s7. Again, not because the characterization works super well, but because that was an element I absolutely loved and would enjoy using.

So yeah -- I've done Responsible Dadmin (though I try to always mix it with a healthy amount of Derp) for Xisuma, I have indulged in Griangst (what can I say, he leaves so many potential plot hooks dangling), and so on... but my worst one was probably also my first fic in the fandom, lol. baby's a red was a self-indulgent ficlet where 3rd Life Etho decides to go red deliberately, and because I had only seen Etho through the eyes of Grian, Xisuma, Mumbo, and Impulse at that point, I very much had the fandom stereotype of "brooding and calculating" for him.

That fic is one of the most ridiculously out-of-character fics in the Etho tag. XD I don't take it down because... I mean, I wrote it, I gotta fess up to it, but if I were to rewrite the same idea today it would be 100% different.

[colour-me-robot]

I just woke myself up and had a panic attack thinking that I had given away my ration code for the week and gotten someone in trouble with the enforcers. They got shot. All because I didn’t transfer ownership of the code properly.

...I have got to remember that six and a half million years have passed since the Senate had ration enforcers and curfew police...and that there isn’t even a Senate any longer. I have been told, I need to remember.

Primus that...made me tired. It never happened. Transfering ownership was as easy as giving the code and deleting it from my ping file list...that simple. I didn’t need to panic like that. We aren’t even on rations now. There’s enough Energon to go around...and all our new food is flowing with it, too. What few of us are left have enough. No more rations. No more synthergon...

Now if I can...if I can just stop shaking so I can go back to sleep...

Please stop shaking...

[igni-ard-bladeandbard]

Bottom!Geralt!

Because even witchers get tired of topping sometimes…

‘It’s been forever since he’s fucked another man like this and he’d never even dared to fantasize about Geralt like this, not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction....’ 

“Come on, Jask…I’m tired.” He tilts his head just so, his eyes rolling languidly to the side as his head falls back further into the pillow. His voice is thick as syrup and heavy with a note of pleading. The sound of it alone warms Jaskier from the inside out. He knows he’s going to give his companion whatever he wants already but he can at least pretend he’s got restraint.

The room is warm and quiet, the sun is falling and the evening growing thick outside the window. The witcher looks like some sort of wild king reclining there on the humbly furnished bed. He sinks further into the bedding, a soft rumbling mmm comes from his throat. He obviously bathed just before Jaskier came back to their room and he’s only in his soft breeches and shirt.

The bard looks down at him with put upon skepticism. “And what did you do’ today that was soo hard? I’ve been at the Seven Cats Inn all day busking…wait” Jaskier looks at the fresh cut on his arm, looks at his armor with mud on it strewn on the chair. “Did you go on a hunt today?”

“This afternoon. Man in cart stopped me on the road outside town. He’d lost his wares in a ditch, had some trouble. A hag, namely.” The witcher closes his eyes restfully. “Took awhile to find her.”

Jaskier’s shoulders relax. His face softens. “I didn’t know. Well, you didn’t tell me so how could I. Alright, ok,” he sighs. “I’ll get dinner- and yes I’ll go check on Roach.”

“What would I do without you,” Geralt purrs at him. Teasing. Jaskier can’t handle Geralt’s teasing. The teasing is somewhat new. It was serious at first, he thinks? The comments and insults that became playful, became suggestive. Now Geralt could flatter him jokingly and Jaskier would still roll over for the witcher without hesitation. Geralt doesn’t look all that tired as he raises his arms and rests the back of his head in his hands, the pose accentuating his biceps ridiculously.

Jaskier can hardly look straight at him.

He transforms his lustful gaze into a harmless glare before the witcher can see it and goes out the door.

When he returns Geralt is where he left him, eyes shut, chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. He sets down the tray of food he’s scavenged and goes to Geralt’s side. He sings the witcher’s name quietly as he leans over the bed.

And Geralt opens his eyes. They stare at one another before he reaches for Jaskier, grabbing his shirt and pulling him so that Jaskier has to put his hands on the bed in order not to fall on top of him.

“Hungry?”

”Yes,” the witicher’s voice is a seductive growl slipping through his sly smile.

“Hmm, “Jaskier says in a vague impersonation of the man he’s come to know without words.

When Geralt tilts his head back Jaskier takes what is being offered. Lips brushing against lips just lightly, not giving too much. Then he’s standing up straight, taking a piece of fruit off the tray, sucking it into his mouth even as he watches Geralt sit up and peel off his shirt like he’s unavailing a statue, his muscles flexing and elongating as he drags the material up over his head, down off his arms…

Jaskier drinks him in, skin pale but glowing warmly in the candlelight, watches as Geralt hesitates before leaning back to unlace his pants.

“Perhaps the food can wait…”Jaskier says sauntering to the table near the bathing tub. While turned away from Geralt, he reaches around to the ties at his lower back, pulls them free with practiced fingers and the back of his pants come loose, exposing skin beneath the patterned silk fabric as he pulls his shirt out of the waist of them. The pants all but drop to the floor. He hears Geralt make an appreciative sound and he looks over his shoulder to simper at him.

The scent of lavender, and crushed herbs- and something almost spicy, escapes as he unscrews the cap on a jar he’s taken from the table. His careful fingers find their way into the oil. He crawls onto the bed with the witcher…puts the jar aside…

his hands reach for Geralt’s pecs first. Geralt watches him unblinking with hot embers in his eyes. Jaskier’s long daring fingers splay across the broad chest in front of him, oil coating their skin, he drags them down pressing into the firm flesh, feeling the rise of scar tissue beneath his fingers tips and the brush of hair as they slide all the way down the firm stomach. And he guides them up again over the curvature of Geralt’s sides, ribs beneath muscle, muscle beneath skin, skin hot beneath Jaskier’s touch…

Geralt arches just a bit into those hands, thumbs brush his nipples, press into the tender places beneath his collar bones. He reaches for Jaskier’s bare thighs, the bard is straddling him but not sitting on him and his shirt hangs down between his legs hiding everything there, but not very well. The shape of his member jutes through the cotton fabric.

Geralt’s pants are off almost to the knee. Jaskier wipes his hands on Geralt’s thighs leaving the excess oil there before he grabs his shirt gingerly  with fingertips to avoid staining it and pulls it over his head letting it fall away somewhere half off the bed, and then he takes Geralt’s breaches and pulls them down, down, down, until they are lying on the floor. Until they are both naked but for a medallion, a set of gold rings, and one earring.

Geralt’s cock commands Jaskier’s attention now where it lays thick and ruddy against his stomach. He goes down until their bodies are pressed one to one.

And Geralt groans in gratitude. “So good…” he mumbles, his hands finding Jaskier’s back.

“Yes…”

The aches and the weariness all melt away into hazy pleasure and heat.

“I think I’ll let you do the work tonight,” the witcher says with a smile and half lidded eyes as Jaskier writhes against him, trying to somehow feel every inch of his body with every inch of his own, legs tangled, thighs and calves caressing.

“Work, you say? If you mean what I think you do it won’t be a very difficult job to preform.”

Geralt smiles at him and the smile doesn’t go away until they kiss. And they kiss slowly, in rhythm together, everything smelling like herbs and lavender and hot skin.

Geralt’s movements are unhurried tonight, his hands don’t wander overmuch, but he keeps a firm hold on Jaskier’s hips, squeezing softly, holding him down firmly in place as if he might slip away and escape. Sometimes they wander over to clutch at the roundness of his buttocks, fingers digging into soft thick muscle.

Jaskier has a feeling it was a potion imbibed earlier that’s subdued his witcher, his strength and energy accelerated in the frenzy of battle, now ebbed away leaving him slow and languorous like some large restful panther after having vanquished it’s prey - but Jaskier feels now that the prey might be him, fallen to the witcher’s lethal grasp by much more subtle means…

Geralt’s thighs part trapping Jaskier between them and Jaskier’s cock twitches against the crook of Geralt’s hip. The witcher is looking at him with something like expectation -so Jaskier grabs the oil again and this time his slick careful fingers wrap around the other man’s cock, pumping it’s length with long intentional strokes. He works a relieved moan out of the witcher. He bites his chest. He tugs at Geralt’s nipples with his hot mouth. He’s thankful that Geralt enjoys it when he does these things because he doesn’t know if he could ignore this part of his body if he wanted to. He’s encountered many a buxom woman but never a man with a chest so broad, so plush, with muscles that swells like this, giving him so much to grab and taste and suck.

The stubble of Geralt’s jaw is sharp on his tongue. Geralt’s legs tighten against him and force him closer, his hands grabbing Jaskier’s ass to pull him in, coaxing, demanding. And it’s Geralt’s turn to grab the oil and slather it on Jaskier’s rigid shaft. Jaskier shudders as his whole body convulses, he’s forced to pull away from the witcher’s hand holding him tight like the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t wanting to lose himself too quickly with what’s about to come. He nestles down further and his cock finds it’s way instinctively to the heat between them. He feels Geralt’s sack against his shaft heavy and warm and he presses further behind the weighty flesh of his balls , smearing oil along the way. And when he finally brushes the ring of muscle within all this heat and soft flesh Geralt moans behind closed lips. Jaskier strokes him as he continues to prod and rub with his hard cock, now leaking and sticky, adding to the slickness.

Soon Geralt is breathing hard, lips parted, pupils dilated his eyes are locked on Jaskier as Jaskier uses every drop of self control just to do what he’s doing. The head of his cock is barely breaching the tight ring of muscle that’s threatening to devour him but he can feel Geralt’s body giving way to him even more, opening up to his cock hungrily-

he’s never been allowed to have something like this! It’s all he can do not to let himself slip into him now and burst like a dam in a tight waterway.  “Gods…it’s torture..” he gasps. “Geralt..”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s good…slow…”Geralt urges him but even while he’s saying slow he’s forcing Jaskier deeper- gripping the bard’s hips and pulling him further…

Jaskier has to drop his head to Geralt’s chest as he feels the head of his cock fully slip into that hot ring, and he bites his own lip. It’s just the head and Geralt’s fingers are like a steel vice on his hips, keeping him from going deeper or pulling away. He cries out absolutely senseless.  It’s not fair.

Geralt is grabbing his own shaft with one hand, still gripping Jaskier with the other, he strokes it as Jaskier is trapped unable to thrust.

“Please Geralt…pleeease…” he wraps his arm under one of Geralt’s muscular thighs.

And Geralt finally releases him and his hips move of their own accord.

“Slow…slowly,” Geralt pants softly… “Yes.” His head falls back against the pillows,  yellow eyes closing. “Oh yeah..uhn…”

Jaskier’s thighs are quivering as he urges his cock into Geralt as slowly as he can manage. Geralt doesn’t seem a stranger to this kind of pleasure. He wants to ask if anyone has ever done this to him. He wants to know, but he can’t speak and wouldn’t try if right now if he could.

It’s been forever since he’s fucked another man like this and he’d never even dared to fantasize about Geralt like this, not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction.

-which is a lie of course. Tomorrow he’ll want more and he’ll want it even more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life but in this moment- this moment is all that exists.

“Fuck me,” Geralt says -

and Jaskier has to close his eyes and think of the most disgusting monster he  can possibly conjure in order not to cum right then. He breathes deep and steady and sits back. He holds onto Geralt and fucks him as much as he can without losing control. It’s an impossible task because he can see Geralt’s fingers wrapped around his own cock moving in time to Jaskier’s thrusts, and he’s making sounds that Jaskier hasn’t heard before…

There have been similar noises but not the same. These moans are unbound, indulgent, aching. These moans are light in his throat. They aren’t the deep grunting moans of him fucking Jaskier so hard that his soul takes leave of his body.

These are different.

Geralt’s brow is furrowed and his expression is almost pained but his mouth is open in silent pleasure as he stares at the bard and Jaskier’s expression must be similar he thinks. He knows his own mouth is open and he can’t fucking close it because he’s too far gone.

He doesn’t know if he can handle it and he he finds words tumbling out  breathless and mindless-

“Hit me- slap me! I can’t- take it- Geralt- please”

and Geralt does, but not too hard. Stinging heat flares across his pretty face and it helps for a second, the shock enough to let him fuck Geralt faster, but the second time Geralt does it Jaskier has to stop completely and blow out a breath as he holds back his orgasm.

Geralt pushes him off and suddenly turns over, and Jaskier is dizzy and incoherent, and unable to even appreciate how incredible Geralt’s perfect ass looks before he’s fucking him again- before he can even register what happened. And he knows he’s fucking a good spot now because the witcher starts cursing. Maybe it’s only minutes or seconds later but it feels like he has been lost for hours when Geralt tells him he’s going to cum.

“Please…” Jaskier begs needing Geralt to cum so Jaskier can finally stop holding back. He uses his last shred of will power to fuck Geralt hard until the man is shaking and his muscles are clenching around him and he can tell Geralt’s over the edge. Jaskier’s vision goes white as he releases inside Geralt with a whimper and moan.

And slowly but suddenly times resumes.  Geralt stretches out with a groan on his stomach and doesn’t move. Jaskier very slowly pulls his cock out from between the sticky muscular cheeks with a shudder, and then he lays on top of Geralt.

After he’s caught his breath he says deliriously, “What just happened?”

Geralt’s chuckle is smothered by the bed.

“Wow.” Jaskier sidles over and grabs a pillow for his head. “Can we do that again sometime?”

Geralt slowly raises himself to look at the bard. His smile is tired and satisfied. He lets out a heavy breath as he adjusts himself so that he’s on his side with the pillow under his head. “We’ll see, but first” he lets his hands flop over towards Jaskier. It’s covered in his own sticky seed and Jaskier is almost tempted to lick it. He gets them a cloth and and when they’ve cleaned themselves and the bed as best as possible they lie close together. Geralt puts a heavy arm across the bards chest and is soon fast asleep. Jaskier has so many questions and feelings but they’ll have to wait until another time. It isn’t long after he’s dragged the covers across them that he drifts off to sleep along with his witcher.