Lambert's widow's peak my beloved

Short comic based on this drabble by @she-who-drank-vodka-with-cats which was really inspiring (I hope you don’t mind).

Two bros! Chillin’ in a bathtub!, 5 feet apart cuz they’re no- OH 😳

My second contribution to the Witcher fandom.  This is how the bath scene in ep 4 went down yea?

i watched episode 2 of the witcher so you won’t have to

Realistic portrait of Iorveth 🌿

Jaskier has Geralt pegged as a stud the moment he lays eyes on him.  Seeing the man’s soft, massive horse cock lying against his thigh in the bath only solidifies this impression, as well as a few others.

Jaskier knows he has... strange fixations, and blames them entirely on his upbringing.  Nobles are so obsessed with /lineage/, who did you come from and who are you being married off too.  Men who ‘give their wives sons’ are praised and admired as though it’s a personal achievement, while those who can’t get a babe on their spouse or mistress are laughed out of social circles, ‘impotence’ synonymous with ‘disgrace.’

It was almost certainly his parents’-- and the rest of the courtly world’s-- way of pressuring people into young, loveless marriages, and subsequently encouraging them to breed extensively.  Unfortunately for them, while he did (biblically) appreciate a fine woman from time to time, he was also extremely, unavoidably attracted to men.  And, despite having made himself into a compassionate and equal-opportunity man of the world, some of those ideas about the worth of a man, what makes a good bed partner, stuck.

He’s already attracted to Geralt by the time he gets a look at the goods, because who /wouldn’t/ be, but the Knowing takes it up to a distracting level; he’s aware Geralt dresses ‘to the left,’ and fixates on his huge, obscene cockprint while the man’s otherwise occupied, touching himself to the thought of what a hung, virile man like Geralt could do to a little pansy like him.

Jaskier makes a great show of pretending he doesn’t want to worship Geralt’s big cock for a few week-- right up until he comes back from taking a piss deeper in the woods to find Geralt with his back turned to him, kneeling with his pants pulled down around his thighs, clearly masturbating. 

The witcher has huge, full, low-hanging balls that make Jaskier’s mouth well with spit, blood pounding in his ears and groin as he stares.  They’re drawn slightly up between his tense thighs, swinging a bit with what’s clearly the force of his hand stripping his prick.  Never before has Jaskier been able to sneak up on Geralt, but it’s like the witcher is in another world: panting and rumbling harshly, the muscles of his legs and his back quivering with the strain of staying still until they can’t anymore.  Geralt’s ass flexes delightfully as he begins humping roughly forward into his own fist, sack now swinging with every thrust.  Jaskier’s breathless with how hot it gets him, the thought of them slapping against his ass, emptying in his guts or across his body.

Jaskier takes a few steps forward, deliberately making noise, and Geralt tenses up like he's been shot but doesn't stop, panting harshly.

Jaskier, who Very Much does not want the show to stop, tells him it's okay: it's to be expected, that a big, strong, athletic man like Geralt would have /urges./  Geralt huffs like a beast but doesn't tell him to fuck off, doesn't do anything but keep stripping his cock like he'll die otherwise.  He moans when Jaskier kneels down behind him and pets down his flanks, and the bard can't help himself, goddamn it, it's /so hot/— leaving one hand anchored on Geralt's hip, he reaches down to cup the man's balls, rolling them in his palm until the witcher grunts and /cums./

Jaskier tells himself that's that, he can remove his hand and chalk it up to a friend lending a hand without ruining his own underwear— but Geralt just Keeps Coming, balls taut and throbbing in Jaskier's hand, until there's an honest-to-god puddle in the dirt between his knees, every new spurt shooting hard enough to be audible into it.

Jaskier does, unfortunately, mess himself, although the lapse in control thankfully seems to ease off some of Geralt's own embarrassment.  After a somewhat awkward, mostly silent camp dinner post-cleanup, Jaskier coaxes Geralt into talking to him-- the man explaining how the same mutations that made him superhuman gave him a fucked-high sex drive, something about high testosterone and excessive semen production, to the point where (Jaskier actually laughs to hear) witchers are explicitly taught how to budget for brothels before being sent off the path.  Geralt tells him, somewhat shamefaced, that traveling with Jaskier has gotten him.... a little pent up.

Almost unable to contain his entirely inappropriate glee, Jaskier apologizes, telling Geralt that their being constantly around each other doesn't have to stop him from seeing to himself, really, jaskier doesn't mind at all!  As a matter of fact, not to brag, but he's been lauded for his clever hands on many occasions, and truly wouldn't mind..... helping Geralt clear the pipes, so to speak.

He thinks the comment has been ignored (well, it was worth trying) until they bed down.  Five minutes into trying to sleep and failing, fantasizing about what just happened in minute, explicit detail, he hears Geralt shuffle in his bedroll, before asking Jaskier if... if he'd really meant that.

Jacking Geralt off before bed becomes one of his favorite parts of the day, tied with the times Geralt guiltily pulls Jaskier's hand under his cloak in public, the two of them usually fairly well obscured but not quite enough to fully disguise the distinctive tugging of someone giving a handjob.  Geralt's stopped even asking for it at night: he just strips impatiently, cock springing up when he pulls his pants down, and lays sprawled on his back and expectant, sometimes snarling at Jaskier when he takes too long.  The man's so thick that the tips of Jaskier's fingers don't quite touch around him, and he bucks like a mustang when the bard grips as hard as he can with his thumb and middle finger and absolutely strips him, milking his shaft painfully hard.

Jaskier gave up the ghost of pretending not to be deeply invested the second week of their arrangement, burying his head between Geralt's legs as his hand kept working to lick and suck his balls, mouthing them worshipfully and /moaning/ when they jumped as he got Geralt off.  It's clearly a source of.... if not outright shame then at least chagrin for the witcher, so Jaskier always goes out of his way to praise him every time, telling him to take his pleasure, that's it, he must be so /full,/ healthy gorgeous stud that he is, wandering the path without company for so long.