#jb biting

The first guy that comes up to him is a bust. He's friendly and has kind eyes, and they talk for a bit, but Jaskier gracefully excuses himself and heads onto the dancefloor. He doesn't want kindness tonight. There's a beast growling in his chest, fighting to be unleashed, and he needs to let it out before it consumes him from the inside out. The bass of the song is thumping, pounding along to his pulse, and Jaskier starts dancing, rolling his hips to the beat. He knows what he looks like - young and available - and if this doesn't lure someone in, nothing will.

Someone slides behind him, and Jaskier smirks into the crowd as thick arms wrap around his waist. He might not be the one they take tonight, but it's always nice to have a partner. Geralt refuses to dance, so he'll take what he can get. They move together, bodies rocking as the song changes to something with the same underlying bass. The hands on his hips tighten, like the man is trying to keep him there, and Jaskier thinks they may have a winner.

After a couple songs - and a lot of rough groping - Jaskier turns to face the stranger. Even in the dim lighting of the club, he can see a hunger in his eyes. It's the same desperate look that Jaskier sees in the mirror when he gets too wound up. It takes a predator to spot one, after all. He plasters a soft smile on his face and bats his eyes up at the man. He's big, but nothing Geralt can't handle. His husband is always the most dangerous person in the room, no matter where they are.

The man leers down at him, and Jaskier does his best to look harmless. It works - of course - and the man leans in close so he can be heard over the din of the crowd. His voice is rough when he shouts, "Want to get some air?" against Jaskier's neck. It's all too perfect, and Jaskier doesn't even have to suggest getting out of here. Of course, he won't take the man back to their hotel. Never leave a trail. He nods and takes the man's hand, letting himself be led out of the bar.

The air outside is chilly, and Jaskier shivers as the man leads him towards the parking lot. Awfully ballsy of him, since Jaskier just agreed to get some air, but he plans on killing him anyway, so this just makes things easier. He laughs under his breath and looks over his shoulder to see Geralt following them from a distance. The man mistakes his shiver for desire and wraps an arm around him, pulling Jaskier's body closer. He smiles warmly up at him and lets himself be led to the man's truck. This is all too easy sometimes.

"You live close by?" Jaskier asks softly, and the man grins at him before opening the door to his truck for him. Jaskier wonders how many times he's done this before? Has he gotten good at luring pretty young things into his truck or is this new for him? Either way, Jaskier knows he means him harm, and that knowledge makes what he has planned sit better. He only hurts those inflicted with the same bit of evil as himself.

"Little bit of a drive, just outside of town," The man tells him. He reaches back behind his seat and holds up a can of hard seltzer in triumph. It's already been opened, and Jaskier just knows it's been drugged. There's something in the man's creepy smirk that lets him know he's being kidnapped right now. "No need to worry, though. I brought you one for the road. Should keep you busy while I drive."

Jaskier doesn't let it phase him, though, because this was their plan. He knows he makes excellent bait and trusts Geralt to trail them out of town. If all else fails, he has the GPS tracker in his pocket and the knife tucked in his boot. No, the danger isn't coming from the man next to him tonight, but vibrating inside Jaskier's chest. He pretends to sip the drugged drink, careful not to actually drink anything. He pays close attention to the driver and tips a bit of it down the side of the door when he's not looking. It's not like he'll ever be in this truck again.

Jaskier plays his part well since it's one he's had a couple of years to perfect. He starts acting a bit sluggish, slurs his words slightly as they talk about nothing. The man reaches over and plants a heavy hand on his thigh, and Jaskier just smiles over at him. He doesn't try anything in the truck, just lets the weight of his hand sit on Jaskier's thigh. Occasionally, he'll brush it with his own, making sure he keeps his movements slow and uncoordinated. It's a fun game, and he's here to win.

Eventually they pull onto a street lined with pine trees, and Jaskier knows full well the man has taken him more than "a little bit out of town" but he doesn't care. His fun is better off had in the shadows, and though he's worked in apartment buildings and hotels before, he doesn't like to. Geralt and him have grown, have gotten better at their craft, and he's far from sloppy nowadays. They turn into a long driveway, and he's practically vibrating in his seat with how perfect this is. There's not a neighbor to be seen. He sees a pair of headlights go past them, and knows Geralt is parking down the street before he doubles back on foot.

It's so easy for Jaskier to play up being drugged, to let the man take his weight as he pulls him out of the truck. Jaskier isn't small - not by any means - but he's had years of practice appearing delicate and knows how to use it to his advantage. He mutters slurred nonsense against the man's shoulder, hiding his grin when the man lets out an evil chuckle and pats his head. They bypass the house and head towards a garage that's set a bit away from it. By the time they make it to the door of the building, Jaskier is itching for this to begin. He's sick of waiting, needs to get his hands dirty and his teeth bloody.

The garage turns out to be a wet dream, and Jaskier can barely contain the gasp he lets out when the man flips the light on. Oh, he is a master at picking the evil ones out of the crowd, because this guy is fucked up. The garage is lit with harsh fluorescent lights and has the sterile look of a doctor's office. That is, until you focus on all the tools hanging along the walls. Without giving himself away yet, it's hard to focus, but there are rows and rows of neat lines of knives and other wicked looking things. There are several chains hanging from the ceiling and what looks like a homemade torture table in the corner. It has thick leather straps that look like they would hold someone for days.

Jaskier is hard before he even finishes looking around.

"This isn't your house," he says dumbly, and the man just snorts and manhandles him so they're face to face. Most of Jaskier's weight is still resting on him, and he does his best to look up at him with innocent eyes. Inside though, inside he's buzzing with the need to get into it. There's a crunch of shoes on the gravel outside, but the man doesn't seem to notice. He's probably way too cocky to think anyone would mess with his perfect setup here.

"Not my house, no. More like my playroom and tonight you'll be my pretty little plaything," the man tells him, laughing again as Jaskier blinks slowly up at him. "That's right, you're in for a long night. You're so fucking pretty, though. Maybe I'll keep you for a couple of days."

“Keep me?”

"Oh, you and I are gonna have so much fun. Try not to fight it. You're trapped, boy," the man says, and Jaskier lets him have his moment of triumph. He tilts his head in confusion and acts like he's tugging out of the man's grip, but doesn't bother trying too hard. It's all for show anyway. Geralt is standing on the other side of the door, and Jaskier is more than capable of handling this on his own.

"I hate to argue, but I'm not trapped with you," Jaskier says, letting his voice drop as he stands to his full height. "You see, you're the one who's trapped with me." The man looks so confused that Jaskier can't help giggling at him, the melodic sound a dark contrast to what he has planned. He easily shrugs out of the man's grip and takes a few steps back while the man grasps at him in confusion.

"Now you see here-" the man starts, but Jaskier is done playing around.

"Geralt!" he calls out in a sing-song voice and the door is kicked in, his husband's solid bulk nearly taking up the whole frame. The man looks panicked now, and isn't that how it's supposed to be? Jaskier loves playing like this. Nothing gives him more pleasure than turning the tables on some piece of trash like this. Justice may be dead, and Jaskier might get his kicks hurting people, but he's doing the world a service here.

"What? Who the fuck are you? What are you two doing here?" the man shouts as they begin to corner him. Geralt has a zip-tie in his hands, and Jaskier already knows where he wants the man chained up first. He doesn't look so cocky cowering in fear, and Jaskier has to reach down and adjust himself in his jeans while he watches Geralt overpower the man and lock his hands together.

"Just what were you planning on doing?" Jaskier asks, snorting as the man gawks at him. "I thought so. It's a lovely set-up you have here. I hope you don't mind me having a look around, maybe borrowing a few things. I do so like taking tips from a fellow enthusiast. Geralt, hook him up to the set of chains in the center, will you, love?" Geralt does as asked, his usual silent self. He rarely talks to their targets, just lets Jaskier direct the fun and chimes in when muscle is needed. They're a perfect pair, like two broken puzzle pieces jammed together.

Jaskier makes his way over to the wall where the tools are hung. It's all very neat and orderly, and he appreciates that. Everything is hung on hooks in one of those peg boards you can buy at home improvement stores. He supposes normal men keep boring things on them, but not in this garage. He still has his favorite knife tucked in his boot, but it wouldn't hurt to spice things up a bit. He selects a large buck knife and moves it from palm to palm until he's happy with the weight of it. There's also a set of shiny scalpels all lined up in a row, and he knows he'll be back for those later.

Geralt steps back a little as Jaskier saunters over to where the man is hung by his wrists in the center of the room. There is a drain on the floor beneath him, and Jaskier can't believe what a nice set up he has to play in. Geralt trussed him up nicely, his toes barely touching the ground. It can't be comfortable, which is the point after all. Jaskier trails his fingertips over the flat of the blade and debates where to start.

"You can't just do this!" the man shouts, and Jaskier just shakes his head at him. Gag first, then. He doesn't need a bunch of chitter chatter ruining his night. Yes, he'd love to hear him scream, but he can always remove it later.

"I think you'll find I can," Jaskier tells him before bringing a finger up to shush him. The man tries to bite Jaskier, and he just throws his head back in laughter. "Such a feisty one." He runs the tip of the blade across the man's shirt, not using enough pressure to cut, but wanting to see the fear in his eyes. He doesn't disappoint, and Jaskier soaks it all in before hooking the edge of the blade under the man's hem and slicing up the front of the shirt. He's skilled with a blade and doesn't break skin, just applies enough pressure to tear the fabric.

Once the shirt is split down the middle, Jaskier cuts through the top of the sleeves and catches it before it falls to the floor. He tucks the knife in the back of his jeans and then bunches up the torn shirt to make a proper gag. The man fights him, but he's strong and jams it past his lips while he squirms. It's hard to win when you're hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat. Jaskier leans in close and ties the make-shift gag behind his head, patting the man on the cheek as he steps back again.

There's so much untouched skin, such a brilliant canvas to work with, and Jaskier isn't sure where to start. He absentmindedly runs the flat of the blade across the man's chest, his pulse picking up as he watches him squirm. Fuck, it's been too long since he's had a night like this. He shivers, cock throbbing in his jeans, and he isn't sure how long he'll last before the need to get off overtakes the need to be violent. He decides he's waffled enough and presses the blade along the man's collar bone, watching as a thin red line appears in its wake.

This is what he lives for, these moments between the chaos of life. His hands have never been steadier as he decorates the man's chest, cross-crossing red lines as he covers him in shallow cuts. He has all night, and he wants to take his time, really appreciate this moment in time. He keeps the pressure light enough so nothing is life threatening and focuses on the way the man shouts into the gag, drool already collecting at the corners of his mouth. He looks stunning and Jaskier feels like a fucking god.

Soon the man has tears in his eyes, and Jaskier can hear his muffled pleas from around the spit-soaked gag. He has a lovely pattern of cuts down his torso, and there's blood staining the hem of his jeans. Jaskier runs the tip of the knife across his abdomen just to watch him shake. He has to reach down and palm himself, already straining in his jeans. Fuck, it's been too long.

He reaches down and undoes the button, hoping to relieve some pressure. Only it doesn't work, because the man just looks so good, so fucking helpless, and Jaskier's cock twitches as he watches the blood run down his chest. Geralt steps closer, his eyes wild as he studies Jaskier. Jaskier gets off on the pain he causes, but Geralt gets off on Jaskier.

"Need my mouth?" Geralt asks, licking his lips as Jaskier turns to face him. He bites back a groan and nods before unzipping his jeans and beckoning Geralt closer. At first he isn't sure what to do with the knife, but then he leans forward and tucks it in the hemline of the man's pants, patting him in thanks. He's not going anywhere.

Geralt looks gorgeous on his knees. Jaskier is forever grateful that they found each other. He shoves his pants and briefs down his own thighs and threads a hand in Geralt's hair before pulling him closer. Geralt teases him, lapping at the head of his cock, flicking his tongue in the slit. He groans as pre-come oozes out, quickly cleaned up by Geralt's talented tongue.

Jaskier's hands are blood-stained and soon Geralt's hair is tinged red. He looks so good like this, and Jaskier knows he won't last long. He groans when Geralt slowly swallows him down, bucking his hips into the wet heat of his mouth. Dragging his gaze away, he stares at his victim, who is sobbing pathetically. Something wild beats in Jaskier's chest, and he pulses against Geralt's tongue.

"Can I fuck your mouth, love?" Jaskier asks, making eye contact with his husband. Geralt moans in agreement, and Jaskier cups his head with both hands, cradling him like the precious thing he is. And then he starts to thrust, burying himself deep in Geralt's throat. He doesn't go for flair, just slams his hips forward as Geralt holds perfectly still for him, lets himself be used.

Geralt frantically works his own pants open, and Jaskier can see him jerk off while Jaskier fucks his face. He whines and the vibrations run through Jaskier dick, making him lose it. He really starts to fuck him, looking down with love and devotion in his eyes as he slams home. Geralt takes it so prettily, eyes wet and drool leaking down his chin.

Jaskier knows the exact moment Geralt comes, watches as his eyes roll back and he spills in his boxers. His hips stutter, and he fucks Geralt's mouth faster, crying out as his orgasm crashes through him. Geralt eagerly sucks down everything he has to give, keening as he milks him dry. Jaskier wraps a hand around himself and rubs the sensitive head of his cock against Geralt's ruddy lips, watching as one last burst dribbles out.

Geralt licks him clean before tucking him back inside his jeans, and Jaskier bends down to drag hip up by the armpits. Geralt is come-drunk and loopy, eyes glazed over as Jaskier crushes their mouths together. The taste of himself is a gift, and he licks it out of Geralt's mouth, grunting as their tongues slide together. When he pulls back, Geralt's cheeks are covered in fresh blood, and he's never looked more gorgeous.

"I love you," he whispers, leaning their foreheads together. They stand there for a long moment, just breathing in each other's exhales, and Jaskier almost forgets about their host for the evening. When they break apart, the man is still a sobbing mess, his feet dragging uselessly against the floor of the garage. Jaskier takes his knife back and tucks it in the back of his jeans. "Let's change venues, dear. Help me get him to the table?"

The man is heavier than he looks, but Geralt is so strong that Jaskier barely has to lift him. Once they have him face down on the table, Jaskier looks at the leather straps, grinning when they turn out to be exactly what he needs. He rolls the man to his stomach so he has a blank canvas and buckles the straps around him. Geralt gives him room to work, ready to step in if needed, but letting Jaskier run the show.

"You know as well as I do that no one will hear you scream. So I think I'll take this off. Don't hold back on my account...I want to hear you," Jaskier says as he bends down in front of the table. He tugs at the gag and works it over the top of the man's head, jumping back just as he tries to bite him. "Still got some fight left in you. Fantastic!"

"I have a lot of cash on hand," the man tells him, and Jaskier just pats his cheek.

"I'm sure you do, and I'll definitely help myself to that later, but that's not why I'm here. Surely such a like-minded fellow knows the endgame here?" Jaskier asks, grin widening when the man whimpers. It's music to his ears, and he can already feel his cock twitching in his jeans again.

Jaskier leaves him for a moment and wanders over to the wall of tools. Those scalpels he saw earlier are calling to him. He takes his time eying them up - it's not like his friend is going anywhere - and picks out one with a tiny blade. It looks to be for precision work, and Jaskier bets the cuts will sting like a bitch. He takes the knife out of the back of his jeans and drops it to the floor. He always finishes up a night with his lucky dagger tucked in his boot, anyway.

"You have such a lovely little layout here," Jaskier praises as he wanders back to the table. "Truly superb. We travel so much that it's not practical to bring much with me, but tonight has been wonderful. Thank you for your hospitality." He giggles as he steps closer and watches the man spit towards him. It lands in front of him, and Jaskier just steps over it as he moves to the table

The man shudders the best he can while he's strapped down, and Jaskier laughs again before trailing his fingertips down his spine. His skin is covered with goosebumps, and Jaskier can almost feel the fear in him. It's better than any drug he's ever tried. Riding the high, Jaskier braces his elbow on the man's lower back and carves a thin line across his shoulder blades.

He was right: the cut is so small he can barely see it at first. It's like the world is moving in slow motion as the blood wells up, droplets beading on the man's skin as he howls at the sting of it. Jaskier wets his lips and makes another cut, his heart pounding and his pulse deafening in his ears. All he knows is the pale white of the man's skin and the ruby red blood dripping out of him.

Time escapes him, and Jaskier gets lost in the feeling of dainty skin beneath his fingers. He takes his time, making a batch of small cuts that covers the entirety of the man's shoulders. He shouts as Jaskier works, begging and sobbing and praying when he finally gives up. Jaskier barely pays him any attention, just letting the sounds wash over him as he focuses on his masterpiece.

After awhile, he steps back and looks at his work. This scalpel will be coming with them. It's a thing of beauty. He checks in with Geralt, who holds up two fingers to let him know they should be leaving in the next two hours. That will give them plenty of time to be gone before anyone notices anything. He'd like to drag this out, but sadly they don't have that kind of time. Not with cleanup to think about.

The table looks sturdy enough, so Jaskier doesn't hesitate before he jumps up, straddling the man. He sits on his upper thighs and drags his nails down the man's back, smirking as more blood runs to the surface. He bends down as he works, dragging the knife over the man's skin again and again. The man barely makes a sound now, is lost in a constant mess of tears and prayers.

Jaskier's hips move before he realizes it, and he starts rubbing himself against the curve of the man's ass. He's not attractive, but that doesn't matter. Jaskier is running high on the power and the sexiness of his work right now. Nothing gets him going quite like this. His hands are stained red now, but his grip on the scalpel is firm. He starts making little stabbing wounds as he ruts against the man.

He gets carried away, too far gone in the haze of bloodlust and adrenaline, and the next thing he knows, his teeth are sinking into the top of the man's shoulder. He bites down hard enough to break skin, the coppery taste of blood rushing into his mouth. He's damn near wild when he pulls back and licks his teeth, looking down at the bite-shaped wound.

"Oh, I shouldn't have done that, should I?" he asks, though he's pretty sure the man has finally passed out from the pain. Still, it won't do to leave his mark on the body. They'll clean up and hopefully leave no traces, but he knows teeth can leave bruises deep under the skin. With a sigh he sets about removing that part of the man's shoulder. It isn't pretty, but he makes it work. He tosses the chunk of flesh to the ground and makes a note to take it with them when they leave. He can toss it on the side of the road a few states over.

"We should finish up if you want to have some fun still," Geralt chimes in, and Jaskier sighs but nods. His husband is always there to pull him back when he goes too far. It's been years since he's bitten anyone. He crawls up the man's body and takes hold of him by the hair, tilting his neck back. He reaches down and snags his dagger from his boot, pressing a quick kiss to the flat of the blade before lowering it. He slits the man's throat with quick precision, holding his body as the life drains out of him.

Only when he drops the lifeless body down to the table does he realize how fucking hard he is. He leans down and presses a soft kiss against the nape of the man's neck and then turns to Geralt. "Are you still ready for me, love?" he asks, letting out a groan when Geralt smiles back and nods sharply.

"Fuck, you're so good to me," Jaskier groans as he climbs off the table. He leaves the knife on the man's back and stomps over to Geralt. His husband is so pliant, so fucking amazing for him, and Jaskier crushes their lips together and tangles his fingers in Geralt's hair. He palms Geralt's ass and pulls their hips together, slowly rocking against him as he licks into his mouth. Geralt whines so beautifully for him, and Jaskier can't help nipping at his lower lip as he pulls back.

"Need you," Geralt begs, and Jaskier laughs - as if he'd deny him anything, especially at this point - and guides him over in front of the table. His victim's lifeless eyes watch as he kneels down to remove Geralt's boots before yanking his pants down and helping him step out of them. Geralt's cock is hard and leaking for him already, and Jaskier can't help leaning in and lapping at the pre-come gathering at the tip. He lets Geralt buck against him, teasing the head of his dick before pulling back and grinning up at him.

"Hands and knees," he grunts out, and Geralt scrambles to comply. He looks so good like this, so ready to be used, and Jaskier's so desperate that he has trouble with the button on his jeans. It probably doesn't help that his fingers are slippery with blood. He finally pops it open and lowers the zipper before shoving his jeans down as far as they'll go. He wraps his fingers around himself, pumping lazily as he takes in the scene before him.

Geralt said he was ready for him, and he really is. The black jewel on the base of the silver plug looks fantastic, and Jaskier taps on it gently just to see Geralt writhe for him. They learned years ago that a little pre-planning goes a long way, and he loves the thought that Geralt has had this in all night long. Grabbing the base, he teases Geralt with it, slowly tugging on the plug and stretching it against his rim. He doesn't remove it yet, just fucks Geralt with the toy, reveling in every broken moan it drags out of him.

He doesn't take pity on Geralt so much as he gets overwhelmed by his own need. Jaskier knows he gets greedy on nights like this, but he knows Geralt loves it. He slides the plug out, tossing it to the side before shoving two fingers deep inside Geralt's fluttering hole. He's so wet and tight and perfect, and Jaskier can't wait any longer, not when he's this keyed up. He spits in his palm and does his best to slick his own cock up, even though Geralt is practically dripping lube. He just wants to make sure this is as good for his husband as it is for him.

As soon as he lines up, Geralt is shoving back against him, whimpering as he looks for Jaskier's cock. He rubs the head against his eager hole, teasing for a moment before slowly sinking inside of him. Geralt is so perfect - so fucking tight - that it takes his breath away. Time moves in slow motion as he buries himself in Geralt's warm body. He's torn between watching his dick breach Geralt and watching the man's face, blood still dripping down the front of him.

And that's the final push he needs. Jaskier lets out an inhuman howl as he starts to fuck Geralt, fingers digging into his hips as he slams into him. Geralt hangs his head and lets himself be used, letting out a string of beautiful moans as Jaskier fucks him. There's no holding back, not when he's been on edge for so long. The taste of blood is heavy on his tongue, and he remembers sinking his teeth into his victim's skin. He's almost feral as he pounds into Geralt, barely able to hang on as his hips thrust and he chases his orgasm.

The small part of his brain that is still functioning reminds him to touch Geralt, and he drapes himself over his back and reaches beneath him. Geralt is hard and leaking, and Jaskier starts to pump him in time with his thrusts. His husband is growling now, almost as far gone as he is, and all he can focus on is the tight heat of his body and the silky feel of his cock in his hand. Their pants fill the garage, echoing as they move together.

And then Geralt comes, shouting as he spills in Jaskier's hand. He keeps jerking him off, works him through it, and then comes with a hiss as Geralt's ass clenches impossibly tight around him. He fucks him through his orgasm, hips stuttering and back bowing as he slams into him until he feels absolutely drained. They collapse to the floor, and Jaskier has enough sanity left to roll them to the side so he doesn't crush Geralt, but it's a close thing. He stays inside of him, rolling his hips until he feels empty and oversensitive.

He doesn't know how long they lay there recovering, but eventually Geralt makes him move. He's always useless after the fact, his thoughts slow as he comes down from the high of everything. That's one of the reasons why they work so well together. Geralt lets him get his kicks and then handles the cleanup. He lays there for a bit, watching Geralt work around him. By the time he's lucid, Geralt has done most of the work.

"Go check the house for anything valuable and I'll finish things up here," Geralt tells him before handing over his now clean dagger. Jaskier darts forward and pecks him on the mouth quickly. Then he tucks his knife away and heads for the main house. The man made promises of cash on hand, and he hopes that's true. They can always use more.

He has full faith that Geralt will finish up in the garage and then set things up for the fire. While Jaskier gets off on murder, Geralt's main deviance is arson. He's perfected fire-starters that give them plenty of time to leave the scene before the evidence goes up in smoke. Jaskier uses the man's keys to let himself into the house and suddenly remembers that he wanted to take the scalpels with him. He shoots Geralt a text and gets a quick already packed them up in return.