#geraskier kinktober 2020

[vulturhythm]

day twenty-eight - high toxicity

jaskier does not know if he could ever truly be afraid of geralt. he doubts it’s even possible, not when he’s seen how kind the witcher is when no one else is looking. he’s seen geralt slaughter beasts in what feels like less than seconds, has heard his voice rise to a roar with rage... and still, his heart is filled with nothing but adoration for the white wolf of rivia.

nothing but adoration... and, well.

lust at times.

most times.

geralt had warned him to stay away for this fight, had warned him that the potions he’d have to take would... change him, but, of course, he didn’t elaborate. he never does.

jaskier had nodded and smiled along, but as soon as he was reasonably certain geralt was far enough ahead that he wouldn’t notice a follower, he had... followed.

now, as jaskier watches geralt rend a bruxa to pieces from the relative safety of... well, a few feet away, crouching behind the rubble of the crumbled churchyard, he can see what geralt had meant. the witcher’s skin has gone even more pallid than normal, and if jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say geralt was dead. if he didn’t know better, and if each of geralt’s veins wasn’t standing out in sharp relief against his skin, jet black and almost swollen.

jaskier draws in a sharp breath when geralt pivots on his heel, when he gets a glimpse of eyes that have gone as dark as the void... when he sees sharp fangs gritted and bared, and surely he’s not just imagining that they’re longer, sharper... fuck.

even as the bruxa’s blood sprays and its head drops to the ground with a fleshy thump, jaskier feels his own desire spike high. geralt is... is gorgeous in this state, and -

oh.

“oh,” he says aloud, giving a shaky laugh when he realizes that geralt has turned in his direction. even the void-black of his eyes leaves no question: geralt is staring directly at him, but rather than the exasperation jaskier expects, he sees something... animal.

“jaskier,” geralt breathes, and his voice is deep and rough and raw. jaskier’s first instinct is to start apologizing, to start defending himself - but before he gets the chance, geralt is stalking toward him.

“oh, fuck,” jaskier fumbles out, and he scrambles to his feet, about to launch into a whole spiel about how he really just wanted material for a song, about to try his damn best to calm a pissed witcher down, but -

but geralt is gripping him around the throat and shoving him back against an old stone wall, is crowding in close, is - is scenting him, what the fuck, shoving his face into jaskier’s neck to breathe in deep between the splay of his blood-splashed fingers. jaskier freezes, sucks in a breath of his own so he won’t moan aloud, goes still. geralt is still holding his fucking sword, for the gods’ sake.

“you aren’t afraid,” geralt growls out. jaskier blinks, his hands fluttering uncertainly in the air before they settle on the witcher’s forearm, more to have something to do than anything.

“i’m never afraid of you, you brute, now why don’t you let me go so i can start writing a song - “ he begins clumsily, forcing his voice bright, hoping against the odds that geralt can’t smell -

“i can smell you.”

fuck.

“you’re aroused.”

jaskier clears his throat, closes his eyes so he won’t have to hold that dark and deadly gaze. “yes, excellent observation, thank you, now why don’t we just - “

“why?”

oh, for the love of fuck. “the... the this, the big, growly man, the eyes, the - are those your veins? you have claws, geralt - “ for he realizes this now, feels the tips of too-sharp nails dig into his skin when geralt readjusts his grip, “ - and your hand and the fangs, really, must we analyze this? perfectly natural response - “

geralt squeezes.

the air is punched from jaskier’s lungs on a keening moan as he goes slack, squirming under the firm grasp. he knows, in that instant, that he’s lost. when geralt presses closer, works a thigh between his own, jaskier can only whine, opening his eyes enough to hold that jet-black gaze.

“you’re not afraid,” geralt rumbles thoughtfully. before jaskier can demand he do something other than wax poetic, geralt drops his sword, leans in, and kisses him at long fucking last.

oh, fuck, the fangs -

and jaskier’s mind goes blank.

[sunflowersupremes]

Geraskier Kinktober Roundup

Here’s a Round-Up of all my Geraskier Kinktober Fics (sorted by kink). Or, if you prefer, you can view all of them in this collection. 

Fucking Machine

Toys [1] [2] [3]

Cockwarming [1]

Praise Kink 

Master/Slave

Roleplay [1]

Intercrural Sex 

Humiliation

Petplay 

Threesome [1] [2]

Overstimulation

Formal Wear

Prostitution

Spanking [1]

Double Penetration [1] [2]

Pegging

Bloodplay

Non-con [1] [2]

Tentacles

Distention/Inflation [1] [2]

Sounding 

Mirror Sex

Body Worship

Rimming

Temperature Play

Figging [1] 

Bondage [1]

[fush-from-france]

A bit late but here's my first day of kinktober!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790190/chapters/65353651

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Crossing Paths

read on AO3

2k, Geraskier, M-rating, Post-S1

Summary: Destiny never fails. Geralt and Jaskier meet again after separating. Nobody wants to talk it out.

[borealwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Additional Tags: Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dom/sub, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yes he’s both, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Puppy Play, Overuse of the word “puppy”, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Kinktober 2020, Enthusiastic Consent Series: Part 4 of Kinktober 2020 Summary:

“Does puppy miss his master’s touch that much?” Jaskier cooed, moving to straddle Geralt’s thighs, the hem of his shirt barely hiding his own erection. Geralt nodded without hesitation, hands twitching by his sides as though he longed to touch. As a reward for being good, Jaskier ran one finger up his puppy’s twitching length, giving him a taste of the stimulation he craved.

Jaskier wished he had more time (and energy) to tease Geralt, but as it was, he himself was feeling empty, and was aching for his puppy.

[ao3feed-geralt-jaskier]

by Fushicho

A collection of ficlets for Kinktober 2020!

Words: 1287, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski, The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel (The Witcher)

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Geraskier, Established Relationship, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole

[witcherfic]

iisintrovert (Ghostlyfallows) November 23, 2020 at 02:13PM

by iisintrovert (Ghostlyfallows)

Little one-shot from kinktober, Geralt and Jaskier fucking in front of a tavern mirror

Words: 727, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

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

Additional Tags: Sex, PWP, Oneshot, Mirror Sex, Teasing, Sugary sweet, Porn with Feelings, Geraskier

[vulturhythm]

geraskier kinktober 2020

please reblog this and get it out in the world! the numbers / dates are more suggestions than hard deadlines, as i may switch some things around myself. please tag me in whatever you post, though! i’d love to see. can be used for fic or art!

power bottom

ride his thigh

makeshift gag

leave a mark

game of seduction

asphyxiation

overstimulation

outercourse

drunken sex

body worship

cockwarming

exhibitionism

lap dances

alpha and omega

outdoor sex

lovemaking

public sex

size difference

sixty nine

sensory deprivation

cum as lube

orgasm denial

threesome of choice

monster

fuck or die

territorial

bondage

high toxicity

axii

feral

creator’s choice

[vulturhythm]

day seven - overstimulation

he feels like he’s dying.

there’s a hot, heavy weight inside him, in the gap between his legs - jaskier, what remains of his coherency supplies. that’s jaskier, i’m okay. jaskier will take care of him.

there’s hands on his own - no, on his wrists, and distantly, he realizes the dull ache in his arms is because they’re stretched up above his head, drawn out long and pinned under jaskier’s grip, gentle but firm enough to keep him from shaking apart.

there’s... there’s wet warmth on his skin, too, and as he breathes in, deep and shaky, he realizes it’s jaskier again, running parted lips along his neck, his collar, his shoulders... whispering, too...

whispering praise, and it’s that that makes him suck in a ragged breath and let it out in what’s almost a whine, because - fuck, he’s pathetic -

he’s pathetic, and he feels as though he’s burning from the inside out.

he feels as though his chest is too tight, every breath all but impossible to draw in, every exhale coming out as broken.

he feels as though he’s going to shake out of his skin, his every limb quivering though he can do nothing to stop, his thighs trembling where they’re locked tight around jaskier’s waist.

it’s okay, wolf, you’re okay, you’re doing so well...

praise is jaskier’s thing, it shouldn’t be making him groan, it shouldn’t -

but he is helpless.

he is weak, and he is aching, and he is helpless.

[vulturhythm]

day fourteen - alpha and omega

jaskier smells fucking intoxicating.

geralt is laid out in the bed of their rented room, his eyes shut tight to keep the light away - it’s too harsh, too vivid, too cruel even though it’s a single flame in a lone lantern on the nightstand. he’s still fully clothed, having shed only his armor, but he feels as though he’s going to burn alive.

too hot, too tense, too on edge.

the door to the room opens, like he’d known it would.

“geralt?” comes the bard’s voice, soft and concerned. “why are you dressed?”

jaskier smells fucking intoxicating, and he smells of alcohol, and of another man - another alpha’s musk clinging to his skin.

despite himself, geralt growls.

the sound is low and violent, rough where it catches in his throat.

jaskier had been moving toward the bed. he stops.

confusion spikes into fear. lust follows soon behind.

“you’re going into rut,” jaskier breathes aloud.

geralt’s fists go tight at his sides, gripping the sheets. he says not a word.

leave, he yearns to say. go now, go back to your human lover. he’s safer for you than i.

he yearns, and yet he can’t say a word.

he knows that if given the chance, the wolf will devour jaskier.

jaskier moves closer, and geralt goes rigid. jaskier’s weight settles atop him, knees on either side of his waist, and geralt is frozen, eyes still shut and fists still tight.

jaskier smells fucking intoxicating.

“you want me,” the bard is musing, low and idle. his hands come to rest at geralt’s chest, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. “i can smell it on you, geralt.”

geralt’s breath comes short and shallow. he growls again, halfway crazed with it all.

don’t touch me. don’t. i’ll eat you alive.

jaskier’s hands travel lower. his hips move, just barely.

just barely is more than enough.

the wolf roars to life.

[vulturhythm]

day one - power bottom

it’s amusing, really, how geralt likes to think himself in charge - how he likes to believe himself powerful, in control, dominant.

domineering, maybe, but scarcely ever domineering.

oh, sure, when they fuck, geralt is the one who tops in the most traditional, primitive sense of the word - geralt is the one whose cock is inside jaskier - but really, that means virtually nothing when jaskier is capable of rendering his wolf a gasping mess with a few simple touches.

it’s a wonderful game they play, you see. well, jaskier thinks so, at least.

it starts with simple touches as he sits astride geralt, as he rolls his hips to take his witcher’s cock in deep. nothing too blatant, not at first - merely running his fingertips down over the curves and planes of geralt’s chest, brushing them across nipples he know are sensitive even though the witcher denies it... lifting a hand to touch his lower lip with delicate fingertips, to let geralt nip at him with sharp teeth.

it starts there, and then it escalates, jaskier’s hands coming to plant firm on geralt’s shoulders as he rolls his hips back deep, his thighs pressed tight at either side of geralt’s waist to prevent the witcher from rocking up too hard. geralt will give a gruff noise, will look put upon, but jaskier will wink at him, will purr out a moan, and the brute will give in.

maybe, if geralt gets a little wise - if he tries to thrust up when jaskier rocks down, if he tries to use the hands that are steady on jaskier’s waist to guide his hips into a different rhythm - jaskier will snap back from his cockdrunk haze to grab for those strong wrists, to pin them at geralt’s side... to lean up and pin them together up above his head, stretching out like a panther above his wolf, moaning low at the feeling of geralt’s cock shifting inside him, at the sight of geralt’s eyes blown wide and dark...

maybe, if geralt tries to push up against his hold, if he tries to thrust up into him, jaskier will push him back down flat, will roll back deep and hard, will watch as his wolf arches and strains and gasps...

will listen with a breathless and kiss-swollen smile as his wolf begs, whimpers, pleads...

as his wolf tells him every filthy little thing he wants to do, every sinful little thing he will do..

as his wolf moans out low and rough and growling when jaskier sinks to take him to the hilt and rolls his hips down rough...

as his wolf breaks apart.

[vulturhythm]

day eighteen - size difference

jaskier is kneeling facedown in their rented bed, fists clenched tight in the sheets as he stifles his sobbing moans in his forearms, folded just beneath his head. his hips are drawn up high, held in place by his witcher’s grasp, and he’s all but shaking with every slow, deep, deliberate rock of geralt’s hips.

geralt leans down closer over him, and jaskier feels his hair falling soft over his overheated skin. “breathe,” geralt murmurs, speaking against his shoulder. jaskier shivers under the kiss geralt presses there. “breathe, my lark...”

jaskier can only whine.

he feels geralt’s right hand wander, straying from his hip to his abdomen - to pull him back farther onto geralt’s length, no doubt, but then...

but then geralt stalls with his hand pressed low to jaskier’s abdomen, but then geralt breathes in deep...

but then geralt moans.

“i can feel myself,” he breathes, and his voice has gone even deeper, even rougher. “i can feel myself inside you...”

jaskier gives a weak and shaky sound, shifting his stance until he can free a hand to reach under himself. geralt takes his hand, flattens it against his own abdomen, presses down - not hard, but firm - and rolls his hips in deep.

jaskier moans at the feeling of geralt’s cock shifting just beneath his skin, his hips bucking in reflexive response. “g - geralt - “

“my beautiful little lark,” geralt is purring, speaking the words like benedictions into his skin as he rocks in deep, as he grinds in until jaskier is sobbing with the pressure.

[vulturhythm]

day seventeen - public sex

jaskier’s hips are moving slowly, circling almost lazily against geralt’s own. he can feel his witcher’s fingers bruising his waist where the other man is gripping him firmly, but he doesn’t speak a word of protest.

he’s too busy watching the people in the tavern around them.

okay, so maybe he’s drunk. maybe coaxing geralt into letting jaskier ride his cock in public wasn’t the smartest idea he had ever had, but at the moment, his head hazy with liquor and his body pleasantly overwhelmed, he can’t quite remember why it’s a bad idea.

behind him, geralt’s breath catches on a sound that’s almost a growl. it comes out rough and low, just past jaskier’s ear.

jaskier shudders.

he takes another sip of his ale, grateful as always for geralt’s penchant for the back corner tables - grateful for the colder weather that gave them the excuse to sit like this, to drape a heavy blanket around themselves.

as he swallows, he braces his feet more firmly on the table’s base, breathes in slow as he raises up almost to the point of suspicion - just as geralt’s grip tightens, just as geralt starts to pull him back down, he takes his cock whole on his own, not quite able to stifle his groan in time at the feeling.

he hides his curse in a coughing fit, head ducked low as geralt growls his name, low and accusing and deadly... voice pitched raw with lust.

when geralt rolls his hips up, just enough to push his cock in deep, jaskier whines.

they’ll be found out for sure.

[vulturhythm]

day thirty - feral

sequel to day twenty-four - monster

- - - - -

the wolf bumps his head against jaskier’s shoulder, then lower, against his hips. jaskier is still breathless and reeling, struggling to keep himself steady, but he understands the gesture for what it is. he draws in an unstable breath and nudges the wolf’s head away, no longer concerned that it’ll bite his hands off for trying.

with a heavy chuff that jaskier feels in his bones, the creature withdraws, letting him turn over onto his hands and knees. he’s not surprised to find himself trembling, his limbs not entirely his own. jaskier sinks to rest his head on folded arms, knowing the beast will understand.

he expects the massive hands that come to settle on his waist, shivers with the feeling of the rough pawpads and sharp nails, the blood-matted fur that’s still soft despite it all. “now let’s be gentle, let’s - “

he does not expect the tongue that swipes up along his hole, getting him wet and dripping with a single pass. jaskier yelps aloud, moans in spite of himself when the tongue returns, each lick more deliberate, more focused on his entrance. canid tongues are soft and limp, he’s not surprised that the beast can’t press it into him properly, but fuck, does he wish it could. “oh, that’s - fuck, yes, that’s good, do that again - “

the monster makes a sound that jaskier guesses would have been a purr from any other thing, but jaskier hasn’t the time to contemplate this before it’s moving one of its hands, before the pad of one digit is pushing against his rim, and fuck, that’s good, that’s so fucking good, he can feel the scrape of a clawtip on his hole, but he can’t bring himself to care. how could he ever care, when the beast is lapping steadily against him, getting him so wet he feels spit dripping down his skin - when the beast is doing its best to prepare him to take something he knows will be bigger.

“can’t believe a - a monster is a more diligent lover than most men,” jaskier breathes out, and he can’t help but laugh at how strange a thought it is. the wolf’s answering chuff is - is almost a laugh, too, but it doesn’t give jaskier more than a heartbeat to marvel at that before it’s pushing its thick finger inside him. jaskier moans aloud, his sound only barely muffled into his forearms. the wolf’s claw is a heavy weight inside him, but he feels no pain - only nigh-overwhelming pleasure for an instant before, without warning, the wolf pulls its finger back out and lets go of him entirely.

jaskier gives a broken noise of protest, and he’s in the middle of turning to look back over his shoulder when one of the creature’s hands presses down at the top of his spine, fingers splayed wide to fit around the nape of his neck. jaskier winces, goes still. he knows better than to fight that grip, even though he knows - somehow - no harm is intended.

evidently pleased with his complacency, the wolf leans down, nosing into the hair at the back of his head. scenting me, jaskier realizes through a haze, just like geralt likes to do. and then, right before he can begin to wonder how geralt would react if he returned to this, the wolf shifts its grip, and massive teeth settle against his shoulder - not biting, barely even holding, merely resting.

almost... almost comforting.

jaskier breathes out, slow and shaky, and lets the wolf press him down into the earth with the weight of its grasp. he whimpers when the beast’s other hand comes to rest on his waist, and he whines aloud, doing his best to steady himself in preparation.

he quickly realizes that no amount of preparation could have helped - when the monster’s cockhead presses against his hole, he sucks in a startled breath of air, clawing at the grass beneath himself. “oh, fuck - “

the wolf’s grip tightens, and jaskier feels its breath burst out hot and wet on his skin. he moans aloud when the wolf shifts its hips to push inside. “gods, you’re - you’re huge, you’re huge, fuck - “

as if amused, the beast gives another chuff of air, grip on jaskier’s waist and shoulders tightening. it’s moving slow, taking its time in thrusting inside, in stretching him open around its cock. jaskier gives a broken, sobbing noise when the beast rolls its hips in deep, feeling his body give way. it should be impossible, this beast shouldn’t be able to fit, and yet -

and yet, with one last, sudden snap of its hips, the wolf is inside him.

jaskier’s answering moan is quite nearly too loud, and he thinks, brief and wild, that he could die in this fashion and be entirely content. he could die like this, speared open on a monster’s cock, and be happy with his fate.

the wolf, however, does not seem inclined to leave him much time for contemplation, for no sooner than it bottoms out does it draw back out, the drag nearly maddening. jaskier’s fingers curl more tightly into the grass, and he yelps out an aborted little cry when the beast thrusts back in, deep and hard. that’s all the adjustment he’s allowed before the wolf sets its pace, thick shaft forcing his body to give way even though he feels like he can’t possibly take more.

distantly, he wonders what geralt would say... wonders, and then forgets to wonder, for the wolf is bearing down on him all the harder, pressing him into the earth with its weight alone. he whines when he feels those teeth grip his shoulder a little more firmly, when the hand on his spine squeezes firm at the nape of his neck. as the wolf settles more firmly onto his back - mounts him - he feels, through the thick, warm fur, something cool and metallic against his skin.

jaskier shivers with it, only barely able to discern its shape as circular, its surface as uneven, and - and almost as if sensing his thoughts, the beast readjusts once more, turns its huge head to butt against jaskier’s own. the growl it gives is low and raw, breathless with exertion, but that’s... that’s almost a word, almost -

it’s almost his name, and just as the monster changes up the angle of his thrusts to drive right in against his spot, just as jaskier arches back and cries out, high and desperate, he realizes -

“geralt,” he sobs, and fuck, he was aroused before, but he’s unbearably so now, he feels halfway drunk on his own desperation at the realization that it’s geralt above him, against him, behind him, inside him -

his wolf growls, only it’s almost a roar, and its grip is just as firm as ever when it pulls jaskier’s hips back harder, squeezes to keep him in place -

the sound jaskier makes is damn near inhuman on its own when he feels something huge and thick and hard and hot pressing at his rim, pressing, pressing, demanding entry -

the medallion is icy against his skin when he arches, squirms, writhes beneath his wolf, tries his gods-damned best to take its knot -

and then, suddenly, it’s inside him.

jaskier is certain he’s never taken anything bigger, will never feel anything better. he knows he’s moaning, whimpering, whining, sobbing, geralt’s name and a litany of curses falling like benedictions from his lips as his wolf grinds its knot in deep, as his wolf squeezes his hips and neck and shoulders, holds him in place - as his wolf spills hot and overwhelming inside him.

that hot, dripping tongue runs up the side of jaskier’s neck, his jaw, his cheek, and then a cold, damp nose shoves its way into his cheek, and jaskier can only barely muster a laugh through his ragged moans. his wolf isn’t even moving, is just resting, its knot keeping its seed deep inside him, and, fuck, surely jaskier is imagining the way he can feel its seed swelling him...

“geralt,” he breathes out again, weak and faint, as his wolf continues to nose and sniff at his shoulder, neck, his face. his wolf’s grip has lightened, and he whimpers when he feels those rough pawpads ghosting down his spine, his flanks, his thighs. “oh, my wolf, my beautiful wolf...”

his wolf chuffs again, rolling its hips once, and jaskier keens.

if the effects of the moon last until sunrise -

gods, he’ll need one hell of a nap.

[vulturhythm]

day two - ride his thigh

look we are simply going to pretend this was posted on the second

- - - - -

to be fair, attempting to fuck the wife of one of novigrad’s most respected officials maybe wasn’t among jaskier’s most brilliant ideas.

to be fair, he hadn’t planned on being caught, nor on needing to flee dramatically through the entire damn city with an irate man and two servants chasing after him.

this was, he decided, stumbling into the crowd of a marketplace, an excellent time to locate his bodyguard - one geralt of rivia.

fortunately, white hair and black armor were uncommon, especially when combined, so it took him only a few seconds to locate his part-time lover. he approached at damn near a gallop, slamming into geralt’s side and grabbing frantically for his arm.

“nice to see you again, geralt, lovely day for a getaway, don’t you think? lovely weather to run, if i do say so myself - “

to geralt’s credit, he merely gave a startled grunt on impact before looping an arm through jaskier’s own, letting the frantic bard pull him off in the opposite direction. “what is it now?”

“nothing,” said jasker, bright and forced, “nothing at all apart from an angry man, geralt, which direction is the road out of town? i’m not at all picky.”

seemingly doing an excellent job of ignoring the yelling drawing nearer behind them, geralt merely replied, “it would be easier to hide.”

jaskier made a rather undignified sound, flailing one hand and almost striking a passerby in the face as he replied, “well, lead the bloody way, witcher!”

as per usual, he ignored geralt’s sigh. the witcher had finally fucking listened and was using his considerably more intimidating presence to get them through the crowd, something for which jaskier was grateful, until -

“fuck - ow!”

geralt had yanked him abruptly to the side as they broke free of the market crowd, pulling him into what was hardly an alley - more of a tiny gap between buildings, accessible maybe by a dog or a single man, not two. “could have picked a better alley,” he muttered.

“quiet,” geralt replied, turning them so his back was angled to the street, though all this really did was squeeze jaskier more firmly between himself and the wall. “they won’t see us.”

jaskier was about to retort, only to break off when he heard the yelling drawing nearer - stopping near the mouth of the alley. he heaved a sigh, dropping his head to rest on geralt’s chest and trying to find a stance that was at least moderately comfortable.

it wasn’t his fault that that happened to be with their legs nearly interlocked to take the pressure off his ass against the wall, nor was it necessarily his fault that he was still at half-mast, pressed uncomfortably into geralt’s hip.

he didn’t have to glance up to see his witcher’s exasperated look.

“quiet,” he repeated, closing his eyes and focusing on the beat of his pulse in his ears.

geralt’s low, rough burr of a laugh rumbled right against him, and jaskier drew in a breath when his witcher’s hands settled more firmly at his sides. nothing came of it, of course. merely adjusting, settling in for the long haul -

the long haul, it seemed, as the men had stopped just out of sight, talking amongst themselves as to where the blasted scoundrel might have run.

jaskier drew in a slow breath, one that really was meant to steady himself, but all it did was press them closer together in the tight quarters of the alley. the air caught in his lungs, and he shifted in place, only to freeze when geralt did the same - when geralt’s fingers went tighter on his ribs, when geralt’s thigh worked its way more firmly between his own.

“geralt - “ he began beneath his breath, lifting his head. golden eyes glittered with private amusement when they met deep blue. “what - ?”

“pathetic,” geralt said, softly musing. “how are you still worked up? thought you were afraid.”

jaskier managed a laugh that was mostly air, his hips stirring against his own will when geralt crowded him all the closer to the wall at his back. “adrenaline,” he murmured, trying to keep himself quiet. already, the voices just outside seemed less urgent. “a hell of a drug, after all.”

geralt merely sighed, his fingers shifting lower on jaskier’s waist; the bard breathed in sharp when geralt pulled him to straddle his thigh properly, the witcher’s knee pressed to the wall behind him. “go ahead, if you’re this whorish.”

and, well, these circumstances were far from ideal, but they had fucked many a time before in situations just as awkward as these, and, well, geralt’s thighs were thick and firm, and jaskier’s cock had taken renewed interest with concerning haste...

so, as the men in the alley came to a rather loud conclusion, jaskier decided, why not?

for all that he boasted it to be a privilege to bed him, he considered it even better to bed geralt, and now was no exception. he was also no stranger to doing so - no stranger, either, to fitting his hips more firmly around geralt’s thigh, to rolling them down onto the muscle wedged between his own.

immediately, the feeling drew a quiet, tremulous gasp from him, and he freed a hand to cover his own mouth, head tipped back onto the wall behind him. already, his cheeks were burning. he could feel geralt’s eyes on him, piercing through his skin.

“you really are worked up,” geralt said musingly, squeezing his hips again to coax him into a more fluid motion, into a steady grind that had perfect pressure right up against his cock through his trousers. “pitiful.”

“your - your dirty talk still leaves much to be desired,” jaskier murmured, though he couldn’t quite muster the energy required to be upset, not when the roll of his hips onto geralt’s thigh felt so immensely good after being left wanting. “gods, geralt, can you - “

but he didn’t have to finish, which worked out well, as he doubted he would have been able to force out the words; geralt was already moving, crowding him all the closer to the wall so he could push his thigh up at more of an angle, trapping jaskier against the crook of his hip and making him whine when the next buck of his quivering hips led to the press of his cock against geralt’s own.

even soft, geralt was nothing to sneeze at, of such size that the bulk of him provided plenty of friction - and fantasies - to drive jaskier half-mad. whimpering out against his palm, jaskier shut his eyes tight so he wouldn’t have to face his friend’s amused gaze, letting himself focus entirely on this carnal grind.

so dazed was he that he didn’t even register geralt’s hands straying until one had moved to cup his ass, wedged between him and the wall. jaskier bucked and whined, tried to speak, gave up quickly when geralt’s other hand came to cup the back of his neck, when geralt guided his head forward to rest against his chest.

jaskier whined again, gasped aloud as geralt forced his rhythm to speed, to deepen, the next rock of his hips enough to make him moan at the delicious pressure. “geralt,” he breathed out, dropping his hands to clench at the witcher’s armor, “wolf, please - “

he knew, distantly, that he’d become all but mindless with this, humping his friend’s thigh like a bitch in heat, like he needed to be bred, and - and oh, that idea, fuck - and then geralt’s fingers drifted lower to press against his hole through the fabric of his trousers, and jaskier’s sense of shame fled to the hills.

really, all things considered, it was no wonder he lasted mere minutes beyond; he was wired, tense, needy, so damn strung out that he didn’t have a chance. geralt’s fingers gripped his nape all the tighter when jaskier fell apart, stifling his moan into his witcher’s chest as he spilled into his trousers like a bloody youth all over again.

“pathetic,” geralt whispered again as jaskier came back down, low and fond, amused.

jaskier simply groaned.

[vulturhythm]

day five - game of seduction

jaskier is, to put it simply, a whore.

this is something geralt’s long since come to accept. after all, jaskier has been in imminent danger of castration many times throughout their years of acquaintance. it’s tragic in a way, to be entirely honest.

despite many people’s assumptions that he is unobservant at best and oblivious at worst, geralt certainly notices when jaskier’s attentions shift from the general populace to a single person - more specifically, geralt himself. how could he /not/ notice, when jaskier is so damned determined to seduce him?

it starts off, well, the very moment they meet. it starts with jaskier young and bright and caddish, baring his crotch with unmistakeable deliberation that very first day in the tavern, approaching him with quite possibly the worst pickup lines geralt had ever heard (eventually rivaled by “sexy goose”).

it starts off there, and then geralt does a decent job of staving off the advances until jaskier gets the damn point and returns to his former scampish ways.

it lasts maybe a year.

it lasts maybe a year, and then, before geralt knows it, he’s dressed in finery for a damn banquet because jaskier just had to perform, and before he knows it, jaskier is winking at him from across the room, and before he knows it, he’s enthralled.

he’s fucking enthralled with the sway of jaskier’s hips, with the spin of jaskier’s body, with the arch of jaskier’s spine, with the spark in his eyes and the spring in his step and the laughter in his voice...

he’s maybe a little bit drunk, but not enough to make it a bad idea when, at the end of the night, he doesn’t push jaskier away.