#it's sittin pretty at 3k & about two thirds done

[hardkinkbadkink]

Re: humiliation - how about Geralt making Jaskier come on his boots & then lick them clean of his cum and the dust from the road?? Maybe Jaskier has to hump his leg/boot bcs his tiny cock doesn't deserve to be touched by a hand

so here’s the tea, i fucking Despise anything to do with f*et even remotely but this prompt,, this prompt had been calling to me ever since i first got it in my inbox. it’s. so good?? how. why. it’s a two sentence prompt and i barely even filled it cos i was like right, it’s all there innit?? scrumptious. amazing. thank u anon.

just a short little snack so you won’t go hungry babes x 

***

"Need something?"

It's a cruel thing to ask, but the humour of it doesn't escape Jaskier, even as his joints ache and his thighs strain from kneeling on the hard wooden floor for so long, his legs spread too wide for comfort.

He whines, because that's all he can do with his mouth full.

Gods, his prick is so hard, he's near-delirious with it.

Geralt's cock is also very much hard and hot on his tongue, and his witcher won't let him do anything to get him off.

"Just hold it there," he'd said, unbuckling his belt and taking his soft cock out. "Need to meditate for a few hours."

And Jaskier knows that meditation aids Geralt's healing, and he knows that wounds the size of the one on Geralt's back take hours. And he enjoys this, usually, enjoys keeping Geralt's cock warm for him, slipping into a trance of his own until Geralt jolts him out of it, taking his mouth roughly and fucking Jaskier every which way.

Except that it doesn't happen for him tonight.

They'd been on the road for so terribly long, and Geralt doesn't let him come unless they're at an inn, and Jaskier's so desperate for it he could cry.

So he's restless, and twitchy, and his prick stays maddeningly hard and dripping even against the frigid air of their room. And Geralt doesn't like it when he moves too much while they do this, when he sucks and massages the cock in his mouth and makes it swell to stiffness before Geralt gives him permission.

"Do you really think you'll get what you want by misbehaving?"

He whines again, does his best to shake his head, but oh, how he aches for anything his witcher would give him.

Geralt's expression softens, somewhat, and he winds a gentle hand in Jaskier's hair. He moans at the touch, can't help it.

"You've been very good lately."

And now he's ruined it, and Geralt's disappointed in him, and--

"Just this once."

And then Geralt pulls his head up and brings it down again, pushes until his cock fills Jaskier's throat seamlessly, like it always does, and Jaskier wants to weep from the overwhelming joy.

He doesn't gag anymore, the reflex long trained out of him, but the slick sound of his spit and Geralt's cock forcing itself into the clutch of his throat still echo obscenely in the room. The grip on his hair remains too-tight and amazingly good, the act of being used only for Geralt's pleasure making his hips twitch toward, but finding only thin air.

That is, until Geralt--his perfect, considerate witcher, who always takes care of him, even when he doesn't deserve it--shifts his leg slightly and presses the cool, filthy tip of his leather boot up against Jaskier's prick. Jaskier nearly comes from that little bit of stimulation alone.

"Come on, then. It's all your tiny cock's good for anyway."

He does his best to hum an affirmation, frantically rutting his useless, barely-there prick against Geralt's travelling boot. He loses track of time and space, focused only on the raw bursts of pleasure that threaten to undo him in mere moments. Jaskier barely notices when Geralt drags him off his cock, but he draws in desperate lungfuls of air still. His tongue won't quite fit in his mouth, and he pants with it limply out like a dog.

Geralt yanks him forward to have him lap at his balls briefly, and that returns Jaskier to reality, somewhat. He loves doing it, loves sucking Geralt's constantly-full balls into his mouth one by one, simply because it drives Geralt crazy. He focuses on the task until his release isn't so frighteningly imminent.

"Is this what you wanted so badly?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier moans in response.

Geralt presses his boot closer, just a bit, enough that it's crushing Jaskier's little, worthless balls, and there's drool sticky on his chin, and he trembles all over when he comes and comes and comes.

"Thank you," Jaskier chokes out before the last of the aftershocks subside. His voice is rough from hours of disuse, fucked out and scratchy.

"Good, pup. Is that better? Can you behave now?"

Jaskier nods. He leans forward to lick at the sticky head of Geralt's cock, but is halted by the tightening of fingers in his hair.

"It seems that your pathetic cock's made a mess." Geralt looks pointedly down, where pearly white beads on the black leather of his boot. "Better clean it up."

He doesn't hesitate before he shuffles backwards on his knees, leans down until he's level with Geralt's boots.

They're filthy, dusty from the road, and yet he doesn't hesitate to stick his tongue out and dutifully lick up every trace of his seed, bitter with dirt. He moans as he does it, out of habit.

Geralt laughs when Jaskier straightens back up, cheeks smeared with grime, and yet he still yanks Jaskier forward to brutalise his throat, like he deserves.

Geralt doesn't take the boots off when he fucks Jaskier ruthlessly into the floor, one foot heavy against the back of Jaskier's neck as his sore hole gets filled over and over again.