#come marking

    The fire at your feet warms the air, smoke spiraling into the dark sky. Eskel is out hunting, having left you safe at the camp you had set up. You’ve been tracking a colony of endregas for several days, finally settling on a place close enough to where their nest must be, but far enough to keep you out of harm’s way.

Currently, you are stretched out along one of the bedrolls. You bask in the luxurious heat from the fire, letting your mind wander from beneath the canopy of trees. Eskel had told you that he planned on returning to the camp before the moon hit its peak in the sky, so you decided to plan accordingly.

You have left yourself bare, only a soft fur draped precariously over your body preserving any modesty you have remaining. You’ve been pent up all day, not for any particular reason other than Eskel going about his daily business. You bring out the best in each other, but gods does he bring out the most needy, wanting parts of you too.

You’ve not been, ahem, “providing each other comfort” for long, and Eskel has been nothing but sweet and attentive every time that you’ve been intimate. Sometimes, though, you find yourself yearning, aching for him to pin you down and use you for his own pleasure, but you haven’t been able to bring yourself to voice that quite yet.

You know that he’s scared, scared of the feelings that you both have for each other, scared of getting hurt, but mostly scared of hurting you. While you are no delicate flower petal pressed between pages, you are still human, and Eskel is terrified of one day losing control and pushing you past your limits. You trust him though, and you know that he trusts you, but he’s having trouble getting past the worry in his head. 

A sound pulls you from your thoughts, a low growl surrounding the air around you. You jolt upright, grabbing the dagger that you kept nearby. You relax though, when you see Eskel step through the trees into the light around your camp. You set the dagger back down and hold the soft fur in place along your chest, taking him in.

Eskel looks...relatively unharmed, especially considering the nest that he’d been tasked with taking down. He’s loosened his leather armor, letting it hang open over his chest. There is a scratch along one of his arms, but you can see that it has already stopped bleeding and has healed over. It’ll leave a scar, but what’s one more? Eskel’s dark hair is disheveled, even more so than usual. It sticks every which way, as if one of the endregas had decided to burrow itself in his hair. 

Oh, and his eyes. No longer are they the brilliant golden pools that burn with their intensity. Instead, they are completely black, dark voids bleeding into the veins of his skin. You know that Eskel hates you seeing him like this, but you can’t help the fresh wave of arousal that travels to your core. 

Eskel growls your name, removing his swords and armor before stopping again just at the edge of your camp. “I should...I should go somewhere for the night, I can’t be here like this…”

“Please, Eskel...stay…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear as you slip a hand under the blanket and bring it to your core. You moan as you run your fingers along yourself, Eskel’s jaw clenching as he visibly holds himself back. 

Finally, he takes a step towards you, but he stops once more before stripping his clothes off and throwing them to the side. Your fingers speed up as you watch him, the firelight flickering along the dark hair that dusts along his toned stomach and the swell of his arms, and oh gods, his thighs. You truly wish to plant yourself between them and allow him to smother you in their heft. When his cock is finally freed, you slide a finger inside of your cunt, gasping his name as you do. It is already hard, flushed and rising against his hip with arousal. 

Eskel grates out your name as gestures to you, wordlessly bringing you to your feet and crossing over to him. You let the blanket fall, leaving you bare and just out of reach of the Witcher. He inhales deeply through his nose and you see his cock throb, a bead of precome forming at the tip. 

“Fuck, you smell...amazing…” his voice is low and husky, and you see his features darken as he let go of whatever bit of resolve he had left. He lunges forward, grabbing your hips roughly and placing his mouth on yours, both of you moaning into each other in relief. His fingers dig into your skin, hard enough to bruise, and just the thought of it has you grinding your hips forward, glancing against his hardened length. 

Eskel catches your lip between his teeth and tugs, walking you backward until your back hits a tree. He breaks the kiss before spinning you, pressing your front against the rough bark as he spreads your legs. His mouth latches onto your neck, sucking and biting a mark into the soft skin. One of his hands threads between your legs and finds your cunt, dripping wet and flushed as he plunges two of his fingers inside. 

You throw your head back and cry out, hips canting against him as he relentlessly stretches you. Even like this, finally letting go and allowing himself to be rough with you, Eskel is still your sweet, considerate lover. He hums against your neck as you beg for more, faster, please…

He removes his hand and you feel him pull your hips back. He pushes your shoulders down so that you are bent over the tree, legs open as the warmth of the fire licks along your skin. You whine in impatience, but soon enough you feel the tip of his length at your entrance. He moves quickly, sheathing himself completely in one movement that was quicker than a heartbeat. Eskel holds the both of you still for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch of him. You pant against the tree, holding desperately as you feel the burn subside into pleasance. 

You glance over your shoulder, letting yourself look at him in a way that he never lets you see. Eskel looks animalistic, muscles tensed and teeth bared, his chest heaving as he tries to keep control. His eyes bore into you, the blackness striking in its depth. His visage speaks of tales of old, when passion was something that truly burned and caught all those around it in its fiery grasp.

You clench around him and he groans, head falling against his chest as he starts to lose composure.

“Please,” you moan, “Eskel, let go....take me…”

All at once, you see the last thread of control snap as he thrusts forward, hips snapping against yours at a breakneck pace. You cry out and let your head relax, lolling as you feel him everywhere inside of you. His cock brushes up against the bundle of nerves deep in your core and you thrust further back against him. 

You feel his hand come down on your rear, the sting burning through your senses. “Gods, you’re so impatient,” he grates out as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles where he had just hit. 

Eskel’s pace never falters, hitting deep in your cunt over and over again as you beg and plead and pray for more, to bring you to the brink and cast you over. 

You feel his cock throb within you and you know he’s close, so you clench around him again. Eskel wraps a hand around your throat and pulls you upwards so your back lays against him. 

“You want me to finish in you? Mark you, make you mine, my little whore? Is that what you want?” he murmurs in your ear, fucking up into you and placing his free hand on the apex of your core, making quick circles around your clit.

“Oh, gods, please, yes, Eskel!” you cry out, and you feel him start to spill within you. His teeth find purchase in the tender skin of your neck as he continues thrusting, his hot spend still pouring from his cock. He gives and gives, his spend dripping from the tight seal of his cock and down your legs. You feel him finally still as he moans into your neck, and that is enough to finally send you plummeting into bliss. 

Your fling your arms back, one threading into his hair and one holding onto his arm, grasping for something to hold onto as your hips cant sloppily through your climax. Your chest heaves as you ride out your pleasure, knees buckling beneath you as Eskel reaches back to your hips to hold you up. 

As you come back down, you feel Eskel’s length still inside of you, still hard and throbbing in your spasming walls. You gently shift forward, slowly removing him from inside of you. Eskel groans but lets you release him, his grip softening but not letting go. 

You turn in his arms, facing him and setting your hands on his shoulders. His gaze is still inky black, and when he speaks, his voice is lined with something primal, hungry.

“Oh, I am most certainly not finished with you.”

You feel your cheeks flush, and your cunt weep beneath you. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders as you push him to turn with you so that his back is to the hard bark of the tree. 

You trail your fingers down his body as you sink to your knees, the grass soft beneath you. You run your hands along his thighs, silently praising whichever god designed them. You lift yourself to his length and take it in your hand. 

This is something else that Eskel hasn’t really asked of you. You had asked him if he’d like it one evening, but he had told you that while he had enjoyed it from others, he wouldn’t want you to feel like you would have to with him.

However, you really, really wanted to taste him. You lean in, placing your tongue at the base of his cock and licking all the way up, circling the tip and bringing it into your mouth. Eskel moans above you, his hands tangling in your hair and tugging, but not holding so hard that you wouldn’t be able to move if you wanted to. 

You move slowly, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can fit, and circling your hand around the bit that remains. You taste your arousal on him, as well as the salty musk of his own arousal dripping onto your tongue. When you begin to move, Eskel whimpers, a frankly ridiculous noise coming from the man at the feeling of your mouth. You bob your head, sucking along his length and twisting your hand around the base as you work him to his peak. 

Eskel’s nails scratch along your scalp as he throws his head back against the tree. His cock is simply leaking precome down your throat and you pull off of him, taking a moment to catch your breath and swallow the musky spend in your mouth. His hips buck into your hand and his member throbs.

“Oh, gods, please, can I, I need to…” he gasps as you move your hand rapidly up and down his cock. 

“Mmm, you want to take your pleasure all over me? Paint me with your spend, make me smell of you for days, so everyone knows just who I belong to?” you purr before opening your mouth at the tip of his cock, letting it brush against your tongue as he cums. 

Eskel roars as he spends into your mouth, hunching over with the effort of staying upright. His climaxes are always long, but this one feels never-ending. He bats your hand away and takes himself, moving so that he gets everywhere, spend dripping along your cheeks, down the valley of your breasts, even some landing right at the apex of your cunt between your legs. 

You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you swallow, moaning at the taste of him. Eskel sags to the ground, finally growing soft as he pulls you close. He kisses you sweetly, and when you open your eyes again, you see that his eyes have turned back to their normal gold.

“Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He looks into your eyes, vulnerable and worried. 

You reach around, finally finding some cloth on the ground. It’s Eskel’s undershirt, and after flicking your eyes to him for permission, you clean off your face and run the soft fabric down your body. You think for a moment, feeling the bruises blooming on your hips and the mark of his teeth at your neck, and you smile broadly at him. 

“Oh love, I’ve quite truly never been better. I’ll probably feel a bit sore with every move for a couple of days, but my gods it’ll be worth it…” You reach to take his face in your hands, resting your foreheads together as you kiss him once more. 

You both move to the bedroll and drape the forgotten blanket over you, holding each other close. 

“So, what did you think?” you ask, turning to look at Eskel.

He blinks, his eyes softening under your gaze. “It was...much more enjoyable than I had thought...maybe, we can try it more?” He smiles, the action lighting his face in a glory not unlike the songs sung for the gods themselves.

Ever since he had first laid eyes on Geralt in Posada he had wanted him. He was weak for big, burly men who could choke him between their ridiculously muscled thighs, so sue him, but he had gotten nowhere closer to getting into the witcher’s pants as he had done that first done.

Despite suffering through long, sweaty hikes all day, rubbing blood and viscera and other disgusting bits from both of their clothes and not to mention the threat to his life, still, Geralt refused to look at him as anything other than annoyance. His own desire had only grown over time and definitely had nothing to do with the very sizeable cock he had seen hang between the witcher’s thighs and gods if he didn’t dream of choking on it, feeling it split it open as Geralt just took and took from him until he was a boneless mess, just a sleeve to warm Geralt’s cock until the witcher had used all of their famed stamina.

It was almost embarrassing how frequently he got off to the thought of Geralt, every night he let out a muffled cry into his fist as he coated his hand in his come after imagining just all the way Geralt could use him, what he could do to him using all that strength and muscle until finally he sank his cock into him.

That’s how he found himself now, laying in their shared bed in an inn, cock in hand, already red and dripping in precome at the thought of Geralt walking in and seeing him like this, needy and desperate with the witcher’s name already on his lips so that Geralt was helpless but to get his cock in him, all whilst said witcher was out ghoul hunting.

It was like an itch under his skin, the need to be pinned down and thoroughly fucked into the mattress so he couldn’t think straight, wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day, but as time passed his fist was slowly becoming not enough for him anymore, no matter how many fantasies he spun in his mind. He craved more, craved Geralt’s touch, his smell, anything.

Frustrated that he was getting nowhere, his cock still as achingly hard as it has been all night and no matter what he does with his hands nothing helps, he lets out a sigh and stretches out on the bed in an effort to clear his head.

That’s when one of his hands catch on a bit of cloth, Geralt’s shirt he realized, torn half to shreds and faded almost to grey through use, he remembers the witcher saying he was going to take it to get it mended, because that was easier than buying a new shirt apparently, but he can’t help but draw the fabric closer.

Geralt had been wearing it that day and had replaced it just before he left so as not to damage it further. He doesn’t know why but he can’t help but draw the shirt nearer, looking at it for a long moment and feeling inexplicitly drawn to it until he’s bringing it up to his face.

The first smell of the shirt has him grimace just a bit, it smells of sweat and horse, leather and smoke and a whole host of other things found in nature, but which all come together to make something distinctly Geralt about, and he’s quickly groaning into the shirt, his other hand finding his way to his cock as he begins to jerk off again.

There’s something distinct and real about having the smell of Geralt around him, almost as if the witcher could be there with him, imagining his lute calloused hand as Geralt’s sword calloused one, and when he opens his mouth to let out a groan his tongue meets the shirt. The taste is worse than the smell, but he can’t help but groan louder, his cock twitching as his senses are overwhelmed and he can’t help but suck the fabric a little more, to almost taste what Geralt’s skin would be like if he were to lick him from chest to navel and it’s that thought that has him coming with a muffled shout.

Once he finally managed to get his breathing under control from what had probably been one of the most intense orgasms in years he had the fleeting thought that he still had Geralt’s shirt in his mouth, which now had a large wet spot of his saliva staining it. A million thoughts flitted through his head, all of Geralt in varying states of anger at him using, and likely further ruining, his shirt and he quickly pulled it away to better inspect it.

To his own mortification, there were some spots where his come had landed, whilst he didn’t regret his actions leading to one of his better masturbation sessions he couldn’t help but curse as he saw the white staining the black shirt, unmistakable to him and even more so to a witcher with enhanced senses.

He didn’t even think before he brought the cloth back to his mouth, sucking out his come and leaving more of his saliva soaking the shirt, and much to his dismay he felt himself getting hard again, the taste of the two of them together was somewhat addicting but he didn’t want to ruin all his effort by coming on the shirt again so simply got up and chucked it in the bath he’d used earlier before wringing it dry and hanging it by the fire.

When Geralt got back later that evening he spent a moment looking around the room as if trying to see what had gone wrong in his absence, and where he was sat on the bed idly strumming his lute, he could swear he saw his nostrils flare as if smelling the room, and he couldn’t help the feeling that Geralt somehow knew what he’d done, especially when he went over to the shirt still by the fire and shoved it into his bag, and yet Geralt said nothing.

The logical side of him reasoned that the Geralt he knew definitely would have said something if he suspected anything, maybe he was just tired? Either way, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and carried on with his strumming as Geralt washed up and then collapsed beside him on the bed.

***

It carried on like that for the next few weeks. He took on the responsibility of doing their laundry at the riverside, which earned him an odd look from Geralt the first time he asked, but ultimately handed his clothes over. The next ten minutes were spent in a state of debauchery, Geralt’s clothes littered around him and often he had a pair of the witcher’s pants over his face just to smell the sweat and musk that had collected over the last couple of weeks, even taste it, before he came over Geralt’s still dirty laundry.

He’d make a concerted effort to first lick his come clean, some part of his mind telling him it was more conspicuous that way, that there was less of a chance Geralt would know before he washed the clothes in the river with a heavy dose of his soaps and oils. When he returned, there was a glint of something he couldn’t name in Geralt’s eye and he could swear a smirk tilting his lips as he took back his clothes, but he chose not to dwell on it and instead packed his clothes back into his bag.

It wasn’t just limited to Geralt’s clothes though. A couple of times when they were camping in the woods and Geralt had left for a hunt, he would sit on Roach’s saddle, left in the grass so the horse could graze for the night, and a couple of times over the night would ride said saddle, his precome slicking the leather to offer a nice glide for his cock which soon had him coming over the saddle horn whilst Roach nickered in the background.

When Geralt was on smaller hunts he’d leave his bags behind and would take up the chance to lay on his bedroll, the rope Geralt used for his trophies around his neck and tightened with one of his fists whilst his other hand would try and finger himself, nowhere close to the thick cock he wished was pushing into him, but he was so desperate for anything that a few strokes against his prostate had him coming with a shout.

On one notable occasion when Geralt had come stumbling in, drowsy and tired from a long hunt and about ready to collapse from how drained overcoming his potions were, he took it upon himself to clean Geralt’s things. There were some empty potion bottles he cleaned, but not before he came over them with his face buried into the witcher’s back, the smell of sweat and something inherently Geralt flooding his sense, not to mention the slight thrill at the thought that when Geralt next took a potion he might even be able to taste his come, to know what he did and finally do something.

That night he also cleaned Geralt’s swords and when the witcher finally rolled over managed to extract the knife tucked in at his waist, warm from Geralt’s body heat and he took one look at the leather hilt before he was divesting himself of his pants, hastily pushing two fingers into himself before slicking up the hilt and pushing that into his hole with a bitten-off moan.

There were a few awkward angles of the hint hat made it just a tad uncomfortable, but it was the closest thing to a cock he’d had in him since he started traveling with Geralt, and knowing it was the witcher’s as well, having Geralt snoring softly beside him, he couldn’t help but lean in to press his face into the other man’s neck and just lick at the hollow of his throat, to taste the dried sweat there and feel the heat of Geralt’s skin against him as he came clenched around the hilt of the witcher’s knife, face buried into his pillow to muffle his shout.

***

It was another week later when things came to a head. So far, apart from the occasional glance whenever he got back from a contract or returned from doing laundry, Geralt gave no indication that anything was different, that he knew what he had been doing. Namely humping and fucking himself with a variety of Geralt’s things and coming over them before cleaning in an effort to cover his tracks.

He thought he was getting away with it. It was the closest he felt to Geralt, intimate almost using his things in such a way and it did ease something tight in his chest every time he used one of Geralt’s things to get himself off, but it also made the desperate clawing need for more, to have Geralt bend him over the nearest surface and ride his ass through the night worse. But that was just something he had to get over himself.

At least that’s what he thought as he took their week’s load of laundry down to the river, several months ago he would have pawned this job off on Geralt, not wanting to deal with the ice-cold water and the incessant scrubbing, so he supposed it was a bit suspicious that he practically jumped at every chance to do it now, but he ignored Geralt’s questioning gaze and left a little too quickly towards the river, eager to bury himself in the shirt he’d seen Geralt sweat through as he trained with his sword two days ago.

That was how Geralt found him, face buried in the witchers shirt, mouthing at it even as he humped the rest of the witcher’s clothing, dick staining them with precome as he let out small moans into the fabric, always searching and desperate for more until he heard the low rumble of his name.

Immediately he was sat up, face already turning red trying to think of an explanation, eye wide as if staring down the end of a hunters arrow, waiting on who would make the first move as he watched Geralt stand a few paces away, hands balled into fists at his side and even from where he was laying he could see the witcher’s nostrils flare.

Before he could stutter out an apology, an excuse, anything really, Geralt interrupted, voice low and deeper than he’d ever heard it, rough almost as Geralt told him to keep going. His hips gave a stuttering thrust into the witcher’s clothing almost on instinct and when he got a pleased hum from Geralt did so again and again until he was frantically fucking the witcher's clothing.

When Geralt told him to mouth at his shirt like the filthy slut he was he didn’t hesitate to put his face into the fabric again with a broken moan, eyes boring into the witcher’s as he let out small broken whines the closer he got to his release and he spotted the hard line of Geralt’s cock through his leather pants. Gods he wanted, but it seemed Geralt was content to stand there and watch him debase himself by getting off on nothing more than the old, stale smell of the witcher through his clothing.

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was but with gold eyes focused on him, Geralt now having reached a hand down to stroke his cock through his pants he was now having to fight not to come too soon, especially at the thought of licking the come from the inside of Geralt’s pants once he came too.

In the end, it was Geralt’s rambling that did him in, about how the witcher had smelled everything right from the start, could smell the come staining his clothes, his potions, armor and weapons, even Roach, and how half the time he was always half-hard, fighting the urge to push his face into the dirt of the road or the nearest tree to fuck him right there, and it was with that he was coming with a cry of Geralt’s name, muffled only a little by the shirt still half in his mouth.

He collapsed back onto the ground, eyes never leaving Geralt as the witcher approached him and fisted a rough hand in his hair to lift him until he managed to bring his knees under him to kneel up, and suddenly he was met with the sight of Geralt’s cock, tip flushed red and dripping precome as the witcher held it in front of him like a treat.

He went to lean forward, to suckle at the head and get a taste of the witcher’s cock, to feel the warm, hard heat of him push deeper into his throat until he was choking on it, to lick at the slit of his cock to taste his pre until finally, Geralt would come over his tongue, but the witcher had other ideas.

The hand in his hair held him back and Geralt tutted, almost disapproving that of his wet, willing mouth on his cock, but then Geralt’s telling him what a needy bitch he is, how he’s got to earn his cock first and all he can do is groan, his mouth open and tongue peeking out as the witcher starts stroking his cock.

Again he began to ramble on everything he wanted to do, how he had even come on his lute a few weeks ago and he hadn’t noticed and he felt his cock twitch at the fact, too soon for him to come again but he would definitely lick every inch of the instrument later just to get another taste of Geralt before suddenly thick ropes of come were painting his face, the witcher purposefully missing his tongue and it was only when he let out a pitiful whimper that Geralt pushed his mouth onto the head of his cock.