#soft babs

So maybe Geralt had asked him to stay back at camp with Roach, but Jaskier's never seen a water hag for himself and if he's going to write about them, he'll have to have the details correct.

The first time he gets mud chucked at him, he grumbles and complains, but he can hear Geralt's chiding voice in his head reminding him he should have stayed at camp and he holds his ground. A little mud in his face is nothing for the chance to see Geralt at work.

Geralt dispatches of the hags - there are three of them, in all - without much trouble, but he earns himself a pretty hefty swipe for his trouble and when he returns to Jaskier, he's favouring his left arm. Jaskier frowns, reaches out before he can think better of it, but Geralt just brushes past him and toward their camp.

Jaskier follows at a safe distance. Geralt doesn't much like to talk after he completes a contract, or at all when he's taken a potion, so Jaskier keeps quiet and sits across from him when he makes it to their camp. He watches as Geralt hauls his pack into his lap, wincing still as he rummages through it and he wants to help. Jaskier aches to reach across and take the bag from Geralt's hands, to find whatever is it he needs. To help. He knows Geraly would never allow it, but he crosses over to sit next o him anyway.

"Can I do anything?" he asks. Geralt just grunts at him in response and Jaskier sighs. Instinctively, he reaches out and touches a hand to Geralt's good shoulder and Geralt freezes under him.

Immediately, Jaskier realizes he's made a mistake. Geralt tenses up under him, his whole body stiffening at the touch, but then he does something Jaskier would not have expected. He leans into it.

Jaskier holds his breath, afraid to move lest Geralt realize what he's doing and pull away, but his heart is racing and that, apparently, is what breaks the spell. They've known each other a little over three years now and Geralt has never allowed him to so much as touch him before, not more than a simple brush of their shoulders as they walk side-by-side and Jaskier is overwhelmed.

When Geralt turns to him, he looks surprised, almost embarrassed and when Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, Geralt rises to his feet and stalks off out of sight. But Jaskier is determined, so he picks Geralt's pack up from the ground and replaces the vials that spilled from it in his haste to escape. Setting it with the rest of their things, Jaskier turns to lighting the fire and laying out bedrolls. It's the least he can do to ensure things are as comfortable for Geralt as they can be when he returns.

And he does, a couple of hours later, silent as always. But he's given Jaskier something to go off, a brief glimpse into what Geralt actually wants but won't allow himself, and Jaskier, armed with this new information, is determined to give it to him. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction.

For the next few days, they're in and around town, so Jaskier keeps a close eye on Geralt, especially his interactions with others. He's not sure how he never noticed before, the way Geralt stands taller, straighter when other people are around, or the way his whole body goes stiff when someone approaches him unprompted. He's bracing himself for the worst; for pain and hate, like the words spat at him in the streets, and Jaskier finds himself wondering if Geralt has ever felt a kind touch that wasn't paid dearly for.

But Jaskier knows now that that's something he wants; Geralt longs for kind touches, like anyone who's been denied for so long, and Jaskier hates the people who have made him feel like he's not allowed. And since no one else is willing, Jaskier will have to do it himself.

He starts small that very afternoon, stepping a little closer to Geralt's side as they make their way out of town. He isn't pushed away and if Geralt notices his proximity, he doesn't mention it, so when they lay down to sleep that night, Jaskier lays his bedroll out next to Geralt's. He'll be a little further from the fire, but the late spring weather is warm enough that it shouldn't matter.

When he wakes in the morning, Geralt had shifted and he's further away than he normally sleeps. It's frustrating, but Jaskier isn't one to back down from a challenge - especially not where Geralt's well-being is concerned.

So that night, he tries a new tactic. Maybe if he can get Geralt to initiate the touch himself, he won't be so quick to pull away. They find themselves at an inn, so Jaskier's initial plan of closeness through cold isn't going to work as well as he had hoped, but when they arrive the inn is old and cold enough that it just might work.

Once they've laid down for the night, he wraps himself in the scratchy blanket provided for them and stares out into the room. Geralt has made himself a bed on the floor - much to Jaskier's displeasure. It would make things so much easier if Geralt would just climb up here and sleep with him.

"I'm cold," he whispers into the darkness. There's nothing at first, then a rustling and footsteps fading away and returning. A very small part of him hopes that Geralt will come back and lay down next to him, but as always, he doesn't.

"Take this," Geralt says, draping something heavy over him. Jaskier turns to sit up, but Geralt is already moving away, back to his makeshift bed on the floor.

Jaskier resists a sigh of defeat, if only because Geralt would hear him, and settles back into bed, pulling the new blanket up over his shoulders. Only it isn't a blanket and when Jaskier inhales, Geralt's scent engulfs him. A quick grope around tells him the new addition to his bed is Geralt's travelling cloak, thick and woollen and likely warmer than the thin blankets that they carry with them. Despite the failure of his plan tonight, Jaskier can't feel entirely disappointed, though he worries that the way his heart thumps heavily against his chest is obvious to Geralt, sleeping only a few feet away.

After failing to fall asleep that night, surrounded by Geralt's scent, Jaskier takes a different approach. It's probably easier for him to reach out to Geralt first, but he wants Geralt to be comfortable with touch and he continues his attempt to get Geralt to reach out to him.

He pretends to be hurt or to have an itch somewhere he can't scratch himself, but Geralt never falls for it and Jaskier just gets more and more frustrated. On the one hand, he can understand why, after however many years of being met only with hate and disgust, Geralt would seclude himself. But Jaskier has never treated him that way and all he wants is to help. Because he knows how it feels to go without, to spend weeks alone without the faintest trace of human contact. It's awful, he can't even imagine the need for it after years. There are occasional visits to brothels in the bigger cities, but even then touch is a luxury paid for when Geralt can find someone who'll have him. Because he's a Witcher. Because he's inhuman.

Only Jaskier has never seen him that way, not even in the very beginning of this complicated relationship, and he longs for Geralt to understand that. After Geralt has been turned away from brothels, Jaskier has considered offering it himself. He could set his own feelings aside to give Geralt what he needs, but he suspects Geralt would see it as nothing more than a pittance and that's the last thing Jaskier wants him to think. Geralt is so much more than what everyone thinks and says about him and Jaskier is on a mission to prove that. A mission that apparently starts with convincing Geralt himself.

So one night, when Geralt is called out to take care of a wraith that's been haunting the village graveyard, Jaskier follows him. Geralt hasn't been sleeping well lately, and Jaskier has insisted on him sitting this one out, but they need the coin and what Jaskier earned at the tavern last night won't even cover their room for another night. So Geralt, exhausted and worn out, traipses up to the cemetery unknowingly with Jaskier in tow.

Jaskier sits and waits as Geralt disappears into the crypt, but he keeps an ear out for anything that could mean Geralt's in trouble. It doesn't take long before he hears the sounds of a fight, and right from the start, it doesn't sound good. Then abruptly, silence and nothing more.

Jaskier aches to run in after him and make sure he's okay. His fingers twitch against his thighs, and he runs through what he'd do over and over in his head, but he knows there isn't much he can do against a wraith. Something physical, maybe, but this is somewhere he can't really help. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest and without realizing it, Jaskier's on his feet and heading to the entrance of the crypt when he spots Geralt, staggering through the arch and toward him.

Immediately, relief floods through him and his legs shake but manage to hold him well enough to get to Geralt. Without thinking, Jaskier ducks under Geralt's arm, pulling it around his neck and helping him back toward camp. He's surprised at how well he manages to support Geralt's weight, and it's not until they reach the unlit fire at their camp that Jaskier realizes how much of Geralt is pressed against him. And for the first time, he panics.

He helps Geralt down to sit on a stump near the fire pit and while Geralt sits and catches his breath, he continually assures Jaskier that he's fine. By now, Jaskier knows he can hear Geralt's heartbeat, how fast it's racing right now, and he knows the words are just to placate him. He knows Geralt must be injured but he doesn't trust Geralt to tell himself, so as much as he hates to push further than Geralt is ready for, Jaskier starts unbuckling his armour.

He stands behind him, laying each piece out carefully on the ground next to them, keeping an eye out for any hesitation, but Geralt seems resigned to this. It's not until his armour is off and piled neatly, and he's in nothing more than his tunic, that Geralt flinches when Jaskier reaches for him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes. "I can't see how bad it is with this on, can I-" He doesn't even finish the question before Geralt gives a curt nod and drops his gaze to the ground. He lifts his arms to let Jaskier pull it off, wincing as his muscles pull.

There's bruising all the way down his side and Jaskier fists his hands in Geralt's tunic, pushing out the anger that always accompanies seeing him like this. Maybe if the people who cursed him in the street could see him now, they'd think better of Witchers. Then again, he supposes, most of them are probably beyond changing. He shakes his head to keep from wondering about how it happened and steps away to find salve and bandages.

When he does, he digs a spare piece of linen from the bottom of his pack, using it to wipe away any remaining blood where the skin is broken. Geralt lets him, sitting still until Jaskier spreads salve on the worst of his wounds. He winces then and pulls away, turning to scowl at him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes, " just- please, let me help." After a moment, Geralt turns back around and rests his elbows on his knees, relenting.

Jaskier is as gentle as he can be, though suspects the only reason he's allowed to do this is because Geralt, despite his many talents, can't reach his own back properly to do it himself. It doesn't stop Jaskier, once he's finished bandaging him, from brushing his fingertips down Geralt's back.

He doesn't mean to, doesn't even realize he's doing it at first, but Geralt presses back into the touch and Jaskier tries again. He doesn't want to take advantage, but Geralt's muscles are tense under his hands and he knows if he can just get Geralt to let him, he can ease that stress.

Jaskier eases into it, touching him softly and just letting his hands drift over Geralt's skin to start. And slowly, Jaskier can feel him relax under his hands and he risks a little more pressure. Geralt's breath comes a little quicker as Jaskier's hands slide forward over his shoulders, but Jaskier pauses, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Geralt's collarbone until he feels the muscles there relax again.

Jaskier is elated to be allowed such a simple thing and he revels in the heat of Geralt's skin under his hands, the scent of his hair, though tinged with dirt and sweat. He lets himself get caught up in it, slipping his hands further down Geralt's chest and back up to rub the sides of his neck. Geralt's head drops back against his stomach, a soft groan slipping between his lips. Jaskier stiffens, afraid that he's pushed too far, but when he looks down, Geralt seems relaxed - more relaxed than he's seen him.

It's so rare that Jaskier - or anyone, he suspects - gets to see Geralt like this, that he feels almost like he's intruding on a private moment. He knows it's only due to exhaustion that Geralt submits so easily to him now, but he likes to believe a part of it has to do with trust as well.

Jaskier brings his hands back to Geralt's shoulders, fingertips pressing into the stiff muscle and working out the knots. He tries to concentrate, but Geralt keeps letting out soft little huffs of breath that are incredibly distracting and quite often he finds himself losing focus and slipping too far forward. He realizes his mistake when his fingers brush over a nipple and Geralt shudders under him.

Jaskier withdraws as Geralt sits forward shifting awkwardly. This time he knows he's pushed too far - accidentally, but he doubts that matters now. Jaskier shuts his eyes and as Geralt shrugs out from under his hands, he lets him go. When he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes what the problem is and he hates himself for the initial heat that runs through him. He rips his gaze from where Geralt's cock is hard in his trousers, but he knows he's too late and he knows Geralt has seen him looking.

Geralt turns away and Jaskier curses himself as the Witcher stalks off into the dark. He tries to tell himself it wasn't his fault, but maybe he shouldn't have tried anything at all. He didn't mean to push, he didn't mean to turn him on and he definitely didn't mean to see. But Geralt was definitely aroused and the fact that Jaskier is the one who affected him like that is something he struggles to reconcile.

As far as his progress in getting Geralt to open up, this incident has a negative effect. Geralt closes himself off again afterward and Jaskier is upset with himself for taking advantage because it was the first time Geralt let him get that close and he went and fucked it up. For both of them. But he has to keep trying because Geralt does so much and gets so little. And he never takes anything for himself so Jaskier wants to try and give something back.

So he starts small again because he knows Geralt's trust isn't easily earned, and he finds his progress hasn't been undone as much as he'd expected. Geralt doesn't pull away when Jaskier walks close and even when their hands brush together, he seems unconcerned about it. Which is a relief and Jaskier doesn't think too much about why. He wants Geralt to adjust to his touch in any context, though since the incident with the wraith, Jaskier can't help thinking about making him feel good in other ways. It's a dream and nothing more, but it's in his mind nonetheless. He just wants Geralt to be more open, to be able to let himself have something good besides the sex he pays for.

For months, Jaskier works tirelessly to acclimatize Geralt to soft and gentle touches. He puts his own needs and desires aside in favour of trying to convince the most stubborn man he's ever met that not all touch has to be bad. On occasion, Geralt relents, but it's only when he's injured or exhausted and while it's a small victory, Jaskier will take what he can get.

But after a little while, Geralt seems to realize what Jaskier is doing. He doesn't back off like Jaskier expected him to. On the contrary, he'll even give a little back on occasion. If he's trying to hold Jaskier back, more often he'll press a hand to his shoulder rather than grabbing his clothes and pulling him back. The first time it happens, Jaskier is so surprised he stops dead in his tracks. But he appreciates the effort.

Then, one night, Gerallt surprises him.

It's been over a year now since the wraith incident and Jaskier always keeps that night in the back of his mind, reminding himself not to be too bold when Geralt gives him an inch. But he still thinks about it all the time, how he got Geralt hard with only his hands and how he so desperately wants to do it again, he just needs Geralt to let him. And it's not that things are going badly between them, but Jaskier has no delusions of anything like that happening again. Especially not intentionally.

They're in Temeria, staying at a little in that looks like it's seen better days and they've only just paid for their room when Geralt goes off saying he has to do something. Jaskier's sure something is heading to the local whorehouse and he wants to tell him he doesn't need to, but Geralt is determined and Jaskier keeps quiet. He heads up to their room alone.

He feels helpless and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do because he can't just come out and tell Geralt to fuck him instead. He wants to be able to, but it's so much more than just sex for him, even if maybe it's not for Geralt. But he wants Geralt to know that there's an alternative to how he's been living, that Jaskier is here to offer him more than just soft touches and a conversational companion. Geralt can get what he needs from someone who loves him, someone who wants to be with him. He can have kindness and affection without having to pay for it. He could be there for Geralt if he'd just let him. But every time he tries to offer, the words fail him.

Jaskier pushes the thoughts aside in favour of tidying the room and organizing their things before heading down to find his own company for the evening. He orders an ale for himself and sits at a table near the low-burning fire, keeping an eye on the crowd, but no one strikes his fancy tonight. If he's honest with himself, it's been a while since he's been truly dedicated to pleasing himself rather than Geralt.

He only stays long enough to finish his drink and by the time it's gone, he's still alone so he heads back to the room alone. Only when he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with Geralt, looking a little sheepish.

"I had a bath poured," Geralt says. "If you want."

Jaskier does his best not to show his confusion, but he's speechless trying to figure out why Geralt would order him a bath. The only words he can manage to get out are "I don't need it" and he regrets it immediately. He quickly corrects himself adding, "go ahead. I'm sure you would enjoy it."

Geralt doesn't look at him and for a second, Jaskier thinks he's offended him, but when he really looks at him, Geralt looks... conflicted, like he's struggling with himself.

"Join me?" he asks so quietly Jaskier almost doesn't hear him.

Oh. "Are you sure?" he asks, watching for any sign of hesitation, but if Geralt is wary of what he's offering, he doesn't show it. He just nods quietly and Jaskier is still trying to figure out what's happening because this is very unlike Geralt and he doesn't want to agree to something if Geralt is going to be uncomfortable about it later.

But he seems anything but uncomfortable. Geralt undresses like it's the most casual thing in the world and Jaskier catches him as he's unbuttoning his trousers, tugging his shirt loose. He finds himself staring, watching the way Geralt moves as he drops his arms backs to his sides, and Geralt notices. Just as Jaskier turns his head to look away, Geralt steps toward him and catches his attention again.

He reaches out, undoing the top few buttons on Jaskier's shirt and despite his careful composure, Jaskier's throat goes dry and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Geralt has never willingly let Jaskier get this close to him unless they're asleep and Jaskier is starting to feel like maybe all of his hard work has paid off.

"You can't bathe in your clothes," Geralt says by way of explanation which, Jaskier supposes, is true. When he looks up from where Geralt's hands are on his shirt, Geralt is looking at him so softly, almost nervously, and Jaskier's skin flushes under the attention. He wants so badly to close the rest of the distance between them, but Geralt is already putting himself out here in such a huge way and Jaskier want to let him take this at his own pace. Whatever this is.

He does reach out cautiously, letting his fingers brush over Geralt's shoulder and when he's met with no resistance, he lets his palm settle. And Geralt takes another small step forward, returning to Jaskier's buttons.

"Why do you always want to touch me?" he asks. Jaskier moves his head to meet his eyes, but Geralt is avoiding him, his focus solely on getting Jaskier's shirt undone. He hadn't realized Geralt had been quite that attentive. He'd thought his little advances could have been passed off as just trying to be closer or, well, something. But he should have known better.

"When was the last time someone touched you with kindness?" he asks and this time Geralt's head snaps up, eyes meeting his with confusion. "When was the last time someone touched you without getting anything in return?"

"Last winter," Geralt says without hesitation and the quickness of his response only makes Jaskier's heart sink further.

"Not every touch has to be hard and biting," Jaskier breathes. His hands rise on their own, softly wrapping around Geralt's wrists and lowering his hands from their task. "Not every kind gesture has to be transactional. You deserve good things just for the sake of it."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Geralt," Jaskier says a little more firmly, "if you don't understand by now that I care about you, I don't know how to convince you." Well, that's not entirely true, but he's taking things at Geralt's speed, not his own. "I know I don't have to do that, I don't have to do anything and yet, here I am. I want you to know I'm here for you."

Geralt shifts his weight, looking anywhere but at Jaskier like he's not sure how to process this. Maybe it's a good thing Jaskier can never find the words to tell him everything. Jaskier's heart beats a million times a minute as he takes a step forward into Geralt's space. He reaches out, meeting Geralt's eyes again as he presses his palms to his chest. Slowly, cautiously, he pushes his hands up Geralt's chest, slipping over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

They're so close now that Jaskier can smell the oils on him and he realizes Geralt must have taken a lot of care in choosing them because the scents he picks up on are lavender and cedarwood, two of his favourites. And his chest constricts at the thought of Geralt putting that much effort into anything so frivolous, especially for someone else. Especially for him.

When he meets his eyes again, they're soft and every instinct is telling him to lean in, to press his lips against that soft mouth but the last time he pushed too hard, he fucked it all up. This time feels like something real and he doesn't want to risk making another mistake.

But he's leaning in without realizing and Geralt meets him halfway, bumping their foreheads together. All Jaskier can hear is the sound of his own breath and the blood rushing in his ears like thunder. He shuts his eyes and Geralt tips his head just so, bumping their noses together. And if Jaskier is feeling this overwhelmed by their closeness, he can't possibly imagine how Geralt is feeling right now.

"Jask..." he breathes and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and moves without thinking.

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against Geralt's. He feels his breath against him as he draws back, hears a soft little noise that sounds something like relief and then Geralt's leaning in again and kissing him in earnest. His mouth slots against Jaskier's like that's what it was made for, hot and wanting, but Geralt seems unsure of what to do with his hands.

Jaskier never considered what with Geralt's want for a gentle touch that he might also want to touch. His hands hover in mid-air, just shy of brushing Jaskier's hips like he's never done this before, but it doesn't take much encouragement. Jaskier takes Geralt's hands and presses them against his own hips and it's all the direction Geralt needs to be given. He slides his hands up Jaskier's sides, pushing under his shirt and the heat from his skin sends a shudder up Jaskier's spine.

He moans softly against Geralt's lips, sliding his own hands up to tangle in his hair and Geralt hums appreciatively in response, one warm hand sliding up to the center of his back to hold him close. His lips part against Jaskier's, deepening the kiss and gods, Jaskier has never thought about how Geralt would kiss, but now that he's been given the chance, he doesn't hold back. And once he gets his hands on him, he doesn't let go.

Jaskier absolutely delights in how tactile Geralt is. Even his mouth doesn't leave his skin, straying from his lips only to press against his jaw and slide down his neck. Jaskier's head tips back giving him better access and Geralt groans against his skin, a low rumbling sound that rips right through him. The low simmering in his guts spikes and he wants to lean into the touch and press himself against Geralt but he draws back instead, not that Geralt lets him get far. Geralt looks at him with big, dark eyes and whatever reservations Jaskier was about to voice die on his tongue.

His breathing is shallow and as he meets Geralt's eyes, he can feel his chest heave with each breath. Geralt looks at him like he's just seeing him for the first time and he reaches between them, tugging Jaskier's shirt up over his head before slipping his fingers beneath the waist of his trousers. Jaskier tips his head down, watching as Geralt's fingers work open the clasps. Then Geralt pauses, tips Jaskier's chin up to look at him and kisses him again, hard and eager.

Jaskier's breath pulls from his lungs and he finds himself walking backward. When his knees hit the tub, he stumbles a little, but Geralt winds his arms around his waist, bracing him. When Geralt draws away again, Jaskier is breathless, and the way Geralt's hands move back to his trousers again doesn't help matters.

His hands slide over Jaskier's hips, catching on the silky fabric and pushing his trousers down. Jaskier holds his breath as the fabric slides over his heated cock and Geralt's hands slip back over his ass, forcing the roll of his hips. He's already half-hard, but he can hardly control the state of his cock with Geralt pawing at him like this. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he lets out a low, breathy "oh" as his cock presses into Geralt's hip.

And he realizes maybe he doesn't have to be so cautious with Geralt after all. Jaskier risks a quick roll of his hips and Geralt rumbles pleasantly, pushing back against him. He kisses him again then, slow and sweet and just this side of too much and Geralt moves against him, lips parting as he presses against Jaskier's chest. He's so close and Jaskier can feel every inch of him, every tiny little movement of muscle and Geralt is hard against him which is a feeling infinitely better than any of Jaskier's wildest dreams.

He aches to touch him, to feel more than just the press of Geralt's cock against his hip, wonders if he could get a hand around him because he feels huge. Geralt breaks away to kiss Jaskier's jaw, down the side of his throat and Jaskier can't help the little gasp that slips from his lips. In a hundred years, he never expected Geralt to be like this when he was finally allowed free reign to touch.

Before he realizes it, Jaskier has a hand between them, snaking down to cup Geralt through his trousers. Geralt's hips jerk into the touch and he rumbles low in the back of his throat. Jaskier pulls back. He thinks he's gone too far again, that Geralt isn't ready for so much, but then Geralt's arms wind tightly around him and his feet lift the floor. A rush of excitement goes through him and he loops his arms around Geralt's neck as they head toward the bed.

"What about the bath?" he asks and Geralt meets his eyes with a dark look.

"Later," he growls and Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him. He'd mention the bath getting cold, but he doesn't think it would matter; Geralt is nothing if not focused and Jaskier is thrilled to be the one at the center of his attention. He's not about to sabotage it over a little cold water.

Geralt drops onto the mattress with Jaskier in his lap. He shuffles back, stacking the pillows behind him with one hand, the other still firmly curled around Jaskier's hip. When he's satisfied, he slips his other arm around Jaskier, too, tugging him closer and Jaskier groans at the way their cocks grind against each other. Geralt is still maddeningly hidden, tucked away just out of Jaskier's reach, which is so unfair he could cry. Because he's thick and hard and pressing up under Jaskier's balls in a way that makes him needy.

Then one of Geralt's hands slips down, squeezing his ass as he lifts him and pulls him close against him. His fingers slip down, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Geralt's trapped cock is pushed to the back of his mind.

Jaskier's eyes flutter shut as Geralt's fingers graze against his hole. He tips his head down, pressing his nose into Geralt's neck, speechless for the first time in a long time. If anyone had told him a week ago that this would happen, he never would have believed them, might have even told them off for teasing him and yet.

Jaskier rolls his hips encouragingly, and Geralt's mouth finds his shoulder, teeth grazing the smooth skin, but he doesn't give any more than he already is. But his grip is firm and Jaskier is happy just to be in his arms; it's more than he could ever have hoped for, considering Geralt's (apparently prior) aversion to touch. He's enthusiastic about it now, fingers lipping against Jaskier's hole in repetition, pressing just a little firmer each time. And Jaskier breathes praise into his skin, humming softly where he can't find the right words to tell Geralt how he feels without chasing him away. Because he loves him too fiercely already and Geralt is only just learning how to accept him as a friend. Although after this, maybe.

Geralt shifts under him, reaching out and Jaskier's eyes follow his hand to where it dips into one of their packs of the floor. He nips at Geralt's jaw, running his mouth along the line of it, and as Geralt settles back into position, he tips his head to catch Jaskier's mouth with his own. His gentleness is gone now, replaced with eager intent and for a moment, Jaskier is so wholly captivated by his mouth, that he doesn't realize what Geralt is doing with his other hand.

Cool, slick fingers slide against Jaskier's hole, prodding gently at the muscle and Jaskier nearly jumps in surprise. For his movement, he earns a soft huff of a laugh against his lips and that's- well, that's incredible. He draws away, smiling down at Geralt even as Geralt's fingers press into him, stretching Jaskier around him. Teeth dig into his bottom lip but Jaskier keeps his eyes open, enthralled by the little half-smirk that remains on Geralt's face, by the wonder in his eyes as he slides into Jaskier like that's where he belongs.

"Fuck," Jaskier groans, worrying his lip between his teeth. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, but he doesn't miss the way Geralt's grin spreads as he gives a couple of short thrusts into him.

Geralt is unsurprisingly quiet, apparently too caught up in Jaskier's pleasure to worry about his own. And he's barely giving Jaskier a chance to think, much less worry about anything but Geralt's fingers inside him. It's not exactly how Jaskier was expecting this to happen - not that he ever really believed it would - but Geralt seems more than happy with things as they are. Next time, Jaskier decides, if he gets a next time - he'll show Geralt just how good a gentle touch can be and he'll drag those noises out of him one way or another.

When Geralt gets a third finger into him, Jaskier groans impatiently. His hips work hard, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers and gods it feels good. And he needs this. As much as he wants to prove to Geralt that he's good and deserving of kindness, he needs this, too.

"I'm good," Jaskier huffs, but Geralt seems inclined to let him continue like this. His eyes are dark and focused where they roam over Jaskier's body and Jaskier can feel his cock beneath him. He feels the way it jerks, in need of attention, when Jaskier whimpers or pushes his hips down and he wonders if Geralt is already imagining the feeling of him, hot and tight around him. Jaskier lets out a soft moan at the thought, but it's not until he pushes Geralt's shoulders back against the wall, that he seems to break the Witcher's spell.

Geralt looks up at him slowly, meeting his gaze, but as soon as his fingers slip from Jaskier's body it's like a dam has broken. Both of them fumble with Geralt's trousers, getting them undone and shoving them open just far enough that Jaskier can pull Geralt's cock from its confines. He gives him a quick stroke before shifting forward and sitting back on him.

The stretch is a lot more than he was expecting, but he rocks back onto him, easing the way without having to slow down. Because Geralt's fingers dig into his hips and his breath comes in short heavy puffs. And when Jaskier lets himself relax when he sinks a little lower, Geralt's eyes roll back and he moans so sweetly. It's a sound Jaskier will never forget for the rest of his life and he makes it his job to draw as many of those sounds from Geralt's lips as he can.

When Jaskier fully seats himself, he feels like he can't breathe. He's so full of Geralt's cock that he can barely think straight, but his body moves on its own. He rocks his hips forward without rising up and Geralt follows the motion, pushing somehow even deeper into him.

"Oh fuck," Jaskier whines, lifting his hips to slide up Geralt's cock. He drops back onto him just as quickly and the growl he gets in response makes his own cock throb.

When Jaskier realizes just how much Geralt likes letting go, likes letting him take the lead, he leans back, bracing himself on Geralt's thighs. He works his hips quick and hard while Geralt touches him. Geralt keeps one hand on his hip, but the other slips up his stomach, fingers sliding softly up the column of his throat and over his jaw. Jaskier likes it almost as much as he likes the cock up his ass. He preens under the attention, presses his chest out, moans a little louder when Geralt's fingers press into his skin.

It's rushed and inelegant, but Jaskier's heart swells when Geralt tugs him into a bruising kiss. Jaskier pants against him, moaning into Geralt's mouth as they move as one. Like this, he can feel every little change in Geralt's body and he has to wonder if it's not similar to how Geralt always seems to know how he's feeling. A shuddering moan escapes Geralt's lips, a little gasp, and Jaskier knows he's getting close. He loves it, loves to know he's the one making Geralt feel this way. He's the one with Geralt's cock inside him and his hands on him and even as he leans forward to rest against his chest, it feels unreal.

Geralt's hips snap up and he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, holding him close as he buries his face in his neck. He's mumbling something, but Jaskier can't quite make out the words, muffled by his own skin.

"Beautiful," Jaskier huffs, tilting his head and pressing his nose into Geralt's hair. He presses his cock into Geralt's stomach, rutting against him with every forward thrust.

When Geralt comes, he pulls his knees up, pushing Jaskier closer against him and letting out a moan that nearly has Jaskier coming undone right after him.

He works Geralt through it, fucking him steadily until Geralt's grip on him loosens and his legs drop back against the mattress. He mumbles a stifled "fuck, Jas," and pushes his fingers up Jaskier's back and into his hair, seeking out his mouth and kissing him softly.

Jaskier shifts without breaking the kiss and Geralt shifts under him, his fingers tightening in his hair. But when Jaskier moves to lift himself out of his lap, one of Geralt's hands drops to his hip, holding him down.

"No," he breathes, "don't stop."

"O-okay," Jaskier huffs, "do you want to-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss and a quick snap of his hips. Fuck, he's still hard. Jaskier shifts his hips and when he's met with a groan, he looks up to meet Geralt's eyes. "Touch me," he whispers and Geralt's tongue darts out between his lips before one hand curls around the base of Jaskier's cock.

He lets out a sob, reaching out to curl a hand around the back of Geralt's neck. He's wanted to say those words for longer than he can even remember now, and in all that time, he was never expecting Geralt to be quite so eager to comply.

His hand is warm, even around Jaskier's heated cock, and he grips him firmly, stroking straight up to the head. He squeezes around the crown, rubbing his thumb underneath and Jaskier drops his head forward against him, hips jerking forward against his hand.

"Geralt-" he chokes, "oh, Geralt."

It takes him a moment to adjust to the additional sensation, but Jaskier manages to find a rhythm that suits them both, fucking back onto Geralt's cock and forward into his hand. He's already veering quickly toward the edge and when he shifts in Geralt's lap, he realizes he's not the only one.

Geralt's mouth drops open against his own, a soft moan escaping as Jaskier squeezes around him. Gods, it's barely been any time since he came and already Geralt looks like he's struggling to hold on.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, bumping their noses together, "are you close?" The only answer he gets is a quiet hmm, but it's as much confirmation as Jaskier needs. He works his hips a little quicker, wraps both arms around Geralt's neck and kisses him. He nips at Geralt's lips and when the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, he buries his face in Geralt's neck, clenching his fingers in his hair. One hard tug is all it takes to push Geralt over the edge a second time and he pulls Jaskier tightly against him.

When Geralt comes again, Jaskier is right there with him. His legs shake under him and only Geralt's arms wound around his back, keep him from toppling over completely. His cock continues to rub against Geralt's stomach and Jaskier has to bite down on the Witcher's shoulder to keep from crying out.

Neither of them moves for a few moments, panting heavily against each other until Geralt shifts to pull out. Jaskier whines at the loss, but it's a weak protest and Geralt appeases him with a soft kiss, rolling Jaskier onto his side so they're facing each other. It isn't until then that reality sets in and Jaskier realizes exactly what they've done.

He opens his mouth to say... something, but Geralt moves closer, cupping his jaw and humming softly against his mouth. It's not a kiss, really, barely a brush of lips before Geralt pushes himself back up again, but it's enough to soothe Jaskier's worries.

"Would you still like that bath?" he asks and Jaskier smiles despite the prospect of very cold bathwater.

"It'll be cold."

"I'll warm it up," Geralt promises, setting a hand on Jaskier's hip.

"Okay."

He does, indeed, warm the water with igni before peeling himself out of his trousers and stepping into the bath. Jaskier watches from the bed. His legs are still a little shaky, but when Geralt tilts his head and spreads his knees it feels like an invitation, one Jaskier isn't willing to turn down.

He crosses to the center of the room, stepping into the warm water and Geralt's hands are on him again, turning him so when he settles he has his back to Geralt's chest. It's nice, leaning back against him like this. Bathing is one of the few indulgences Geralt allows himself and Jaskier is happy to be able to share this with him. Sighing softly, he tips his head back against Geralt's shoulders and runs his hands down Geralt's thighs, smiling as they only spread further apart.

"I like it when you touch me," Geralt hums from behind. His voice is soft and low, so much so that Jaskier doesn't quite hear at first, but as the words register, he smiles.

"I noticed that."

"I don't mean-" he lets out a little scoff, but his hands come up to cover Jaskier's fingers entangling with his own. "I mean like this, the small things."

"Oh?"

"Like when you pretend to be cold so I'll come sleep closer to you." Jaskier starts at that and leans forward to turn and face Geralt.

"You knew I was pretending?"

"Yes."

"And you still-?"

Geralt hums, a low rumbling sound that Jaskier would never tell him reminds him of a cat purring. "I told you," he says, "I like it."