Work Text:
It all started with small kisses on his neck.
Jaskier smiles, the cold and rough lips giving him shivers all over his body. He feels the mouth open and, the next thing he knows, teeth are biting his earlobe. He flinches but refuses to open his eyes.
The mattress shifts. Soon, a pair of big and strong hands are landing on his waist, holding it down possessively. Such an act would definitely leave marks, but the bard couldn’t care less. He liked the pain. A tongue licks and sucks the bard’s nipples, one at a time, until they are both red and swollen. He couldn’t hold the moan that came out. For a moment, he worries. What if he remembers he’s not with a woman?, but if anything, the low growl that emerges from the other man’s throat tells him that the sound is appreciated. Wanted. His body quivers.
His lips start tracing a path to Jaskier’s cock, making sure to leave marks on their way down. He trembles in excitement. When they are almost there, the man lifts his head. The confusion on the bard’s face must’ve been pretty evident for he hears a chuckle from the other man. He almost, almost, opened his eyes, but his lover surprises him by grabbing his legs and biting the inside of his thigh. Jaskier moans louder. His cock twitches in anticipation. He was on the verge of begging the other one to blow him or to just fuck him already.
Suddenly, this man's lips are clashing against his own, the kiss hot and urgent. The moment Jaskier gasps, the man takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside the bard’s mouth. He melts under the kiss. Jaskier can feel the other’s length on his leg, pre-cum dripping on his skin.
Oh god. He wants to be fucked. By a man. And not any man.
The man breaks their kiss. He truly wants to be fucked by him. By—
‘’Jaskier, open your eyes.’’ The hoarse voice commands.
In the next moment, the bard’s jumping out of the bed, fully dressed and covered in sweat, his heart thumping inside his chest.
No.
No.
He didn’t just— right?
He didn't just dream about Geralt and him almost fucking, right? With himself, Jaskier— bard, amazing singer and extraordinary poet—, being the bottom?! And even worse, he actually wanted it?!
He looks down and… shit. He’s hard. And leaking. He’s fucking hard and leaking!
Correction: it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare.
A thousand explanations go through his mind. He hasn’t fucked anyone since the clusterfuck with Yennefer, when he’d gotten sick. Whenever he approached a lady, the image of the sexy but crazy sorceress would come to his head. If a gorgeous woman like that could be so insane, what about other women? What could they be hiding behind their masks? Knowing himself, he would notice the danger once it was already too late. He wants to keep his limbs intact, thank you very much. Besides, his adventures with his Witcher made his life a very fulfilling one.
Or should he say, his past adventures with the Witcher. He’s been thinking about Geralt a lot, ever since they parted ways.
Ever since their fight, taking Gerald out of his head proved to be a difficult task. It was maddening. Jaskier felt truly wronged by the man, but he couldn’t bring himself to get completely angry at him— in fact, his anger vanished after the first couple of days. They had a long story together and, even though Geralt didn’t care about anyone besides himself (and apparently, Yennefer), Jaskier cared about him and missed the company of the Witcher.
That’s it. He hasn’t fucked in months and his mind was occupied by Geralt. These were the culprits for that terrible drea— nightmare. He wasn’t attracted to Geralt. Not that the Witcher wasn’t attractive because, come on, he definitely—
No. The bard shook his head, trying to get rid of his thoughts. A glance at the window tells him that it’s too early to be awake, and there’s no way he’d be able to sleep again, so the best option was a bath.
Geralt in a tub.
Jaskier groans in frustration.
His hands rubbing Geralt’s arse.
It was going to be a long day.