ok this is a little Out There, but for a whump prompt: a muzzle. not on the wolf, as good as that may be, but on jaskier. he cant sing like that, he cant even beg.
The sorceress dies at the end of his sword, but instead of fear or anger, Geralt sees amusement in her eyes. She falls to the ground in a slump, dust pluming around her in dark brown cloud.
Geralt wastes no more time with her, and instead looks through the cells to find Jaskier. He'd gone missing nearly two weeks ago. At first, Geralt thought nothing of it. Jaskier had disappeared with a beautiful person before, frequently seen hand in hand and whispering sweet poems in their ears.
This time, though, this time was different. Rumors swirled about the crazed sorceress, hungry for fame.
When he finds Jaskier, curled up in a corner or a cell, hardly the size of a closet, Geralt knows he's late. The bard's head is leaning up against the filth covered wall, his movements slow.
There's a leather fucking muzzle covering the lower half of his face.
Red hot rage courses through him, but he knows this isn't the time to deal with that, and pushes it down and away, and instead drops to his knees next to Jaskier, reaching for the cuff behind his head.
"Mmph!" Jaskier presses further back into the wall, eyes wide and glassy. He shakes his head and presses his hands to the muzzle.
"Jaskier?" Geralt frowns and sits back. Against his chest, his medallion vibrates lightly. He looks down at the silver wolf's head before returning his gaze to the plain looking mask. "She cursed it." He concludes."
Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and jerks his head up and down once.
"If I remove it, you'll be in pain?"
This time, Jaskier shakes his head. With a slow, shaking hand, Jaskier touches his throat.
What's worse than pain? Geralt asks himself. He knows that for many, it would be suffocation. If he removed the muzzle, that would be a likely contender for some.
But the dread creeping in at the corner's of his mind know that's not what would torment Jaskier the most. "Your voice." He concludes. "It'll steal your voice away?"
A single tear rolls down Jaskier's face. His hand falls away from his throat, and he looks away.
Geralt still sees him though. The way his clothes hang loosely on his body, his hollow cheeks, the way he hardly moves at all. "Jaskier. You'll starve. You'll die."
Jaskier lifts his chin defiantly, and glares at Geralt with as much energy he has left.
Even with no words, the message is clear: find a way to break the curse, or watch Jaskier waste away.
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(written for @whataboutthebard‘s September 25th wreck prompt: handjobs)
(modern au, porny concept with a slightly dub-con premise, sex worker masseuse jaskier/first time massage parlor patron geralt who doesn’t know about the sex work part, explicit)
It was just a massage, Geralt told himself.
Lambert had apparently booked the appointment for Geralt after “hearing him bitch” about pulling his shoulder at the gym for a week. It was a nice gesture (unusually so, for Lambert), so Geralt reluctantly decided against blowing off. It was his first time for this kind of thing. Geralt had never been big on being touched by strangers in general, but the tightness in his lower back and the stabbing pain whenever he twisted his body too sharply went a long way to prodding him out of his comfort zone.
“Geralt?” a smooth voice called, and Geralt looked up from his waiting room magazine to see an attractive young man in a white button-up shirt smiling at him. It was such a startling sight that Geralt took a peek around the waiting room before standing, as if there was likely another Geralt in the vicinity. “I’m Jaskier,” the man introduced himself with a wide smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he gave Geralt a slow once-over. “Believe me when I say it will be a pleasure to get my hands on you today, mister ...”
“Geralt,” Geralt said answered, flustered. “And that’s, uh, what I’m paying you for I guess.”
“Don’t worry,” Jaskier turned with a last wink, guiding Geralt down a long hallway. “I‘ll make sure you get your money’s worth.” Jaskier paused at the entrance of The Dandelion Room, flipping the sign on the door to “occupied” before gesturing Geralt inside.
The room was surprisingly clean and cozy, painted in a light blue which made Geralt think of clear summer days and robin’s eggs in spring. It also smelled relaxing - light and herbaceous rather than the smoldering scented candles in the waiting room.
“So your appointment sheet mentions that you have been feeling some stiffness in your lower back,” Jaskier said, flipping through a tablet, and Geralt wondered what Lambert had inputted for him. “I be sure to take a look at that. Any other areas I should concentrate on?”
It was a professional question, but the flirtatious little look Jaskier slid Geralt from under his eyelashes was anything but.
Geralt felt flustered again. Maybe Jaskier got bigger tips when he flirted with customers. “My shoulders have been a bit sore lately ... and my neck gets a crick when I sleep on it wrong,” he said, deciding to ignore the innuendo.
“Got it,” Jaskier said, making a note on his tablet “You can get undressed now.”
Geralt stiffened, but when it didn’t look like Jaskier was going anywhere, he dutifully peeled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans, stepping out of them as he toed off his shoes and socks. He was self-conscious about his scars (a lifetime of working with rehabilitated wildlife), but Jaskier was professional enough to maintain a smile throughout, even winking at Geralt when their eyes met. Finally, Geralt’s hands fell uncertainly to the waistband of his briefs. He shot Jaskier a tentative, questioning look, feeling extremely out of his depth.
“Your choice whether you would feel more comfortable with them off,” Jaskier said smoothly, then handed Geralt a towel. “For modesty, if you need it.”
Geralt looked dubiously at the bandana-sized towel and wondered why it felt like Jaskier was challenging him to bare-ass it on the massage chair. Well, Jaskier probably knew what he was doing. People got massages all the time, and mostly naked. Geralt could do this.
At least Jaskier made some pretense to look away, fiddling with some vials and bottles as Geralt slid his briefs down his hips, feeling embarrassingly exposed as he climbed onto the massage table, clumsily arranging the towel to cover as much of his ass as he could before easing himself face-down.
Geralt closed his eyes, breathing slowly and trying to slow his pounding heart. He really didn’t want to be one of those creeps who got aroused just because an attractive person was touching him.
Maybe Lambert was right. Geralt did need to get laid.
Geralt found himself tensing at the anticipation of Jaskier’s touch, but it didn’t come for a while. First, Jaskier turned on some music - acoustic guitar with a folksy air. Then, Geralt heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, and smelled the oil being held under the table, near his nose.
“What do you think?” Jaskier asked. “I judged from the smell of your body wash that you don’t like strong scents. This is camomile. Very subtle.”
The intimate implication that Jaskier had been scenting Geralt’s body - his skin - made Geralt flush hot. He tried to nod before realizing that his current position made it rather difficult. “It’s fine,” he said, and Jaskier’s hand withdrew.
There was the sound of liquid sloshing around the vial, then the slick noises of oiled hands rubbing over each other. Warming the oil, Geralt thought distantly, though it sounded ... obscene. Sternly telling his body to behave, Geralt shifted uncomfortably on the massage table.
“I’ll start with your shoulders and work my way down,” Jaskier said distantly, and Geralt drew a breath as he felt the first touch of Jaskier’s hands on his back. “You weren’t kidding about the stiffness,” Jaskier said cheerfully, rubbing his palms firmly over Geralt’s shoulders. “It’s knots upon knots up in here. Is your job very stressful? You’re carrying an awful lot of tension ...”
Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a sharp groan as Jaskier dug his thumb into a spot that made pain and pleasure burst like fireworks behind Geralt’s eyelids. Embarrassed, Geralt quickly shut his mouth, but Jaskier seemed heartened by the reaction, focusing his efforts in the places that made Geralt shudder and dig his fingers into the side of the massage table.
Geralt had been afraid that his aversion to touch would have made him run for the door, but Jaskier was good, warm and firm and sure, his fingers seeking the throbbing, tangled clusters of muscle and working them slowly until Geralt felt loose and limp as a handful of cooked spaghetti, melted onto the massage table.
Jaskier was so good that Geralt didn’t even mind his low level of constant chatter, bright and aimless, following little rabbit holes of his own creation. Eventually, it melted into the white noise of the room and became soothing in its own right
Fuck, Geralt was going to have to buy Lambert a drink for recommending this place. Geralt was going to have to buy him a dozen.
Geralt was so dazed that he didn’t realize Jaskier had given him some instruction until the masseuse repeated it again.
“Can you turn over for me?”
“I ... alright,” Geralt said faintly, pushing himself up on his arms before he suddenly froze. His cock was aroused in an embarrassingly obvious manner, half-hard and already starting to dribble from its tip. Flushing to the roots of his hair, Geralt hoped desperately that he had not been humping the massage table unconsciously.
Misunderstanding Geralt’s hesitancy, Jaskier smiled indulgently and turned to face the wall. “You really should consider changing your shampoo-conditioner regimen, you know,” he said, continuing a conversation he had been having with himself over Geralt’s head for the past ten minutes. “You have such gorgeous hair-” Jaskier turned around his eyes growing wide when he saw Geralt sitting on the massage chair with the towel clumsily clamped over his lap, though it did little to hide the bulge of his half-hard cock.
“Sorry,” Geralt said hurriedly, his face flaming, expecting Jaskier to dash outside and call for security.
But to Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier lips pulled into a smile. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Jaskier purred, pouring a dollop of massage oil over his hands before rubbing them together with wet noises. “Makes my job so much easier when I don’t have to work you up for it.
Geralt made an embarrassing noise of surprise when Jaskier slipped a slick hand under his towel, grabbing his cock in a firm grip. “What-”
“You know most clients who put back problems on the appointment form are really just asking to be fingered,” Jaskier said conversationally, as if he wasn’t stroking off Geralt’s cock under his laughably tiny towel. “But you were really hurting, poor guy. I think we made some progress today, though.”
Geralt tried to voice his confusion, but then Jaskier twisted his wrist just so and suddenly all Geralt could do was pant, his thighs twitching with pleasure as he slapped a hand over Jaskier’s wrist
Jaskier stiffened upon looking at Geralt’s face, withdrawing his hand. “Are you alright? This ... is what you paid for for, right? You know the kind of massage parlor this is?”
When Geralt just blinked blankly, Jaskier made a crude hand gesture, made all the more by the oil dripping down his wrist.
“Oh,” Geralt said, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. “I ... I didn’t, no.”
“Shit,” Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Um, do you ... you probably don’t want-”
Geralt’s fingers twitched on the leather massage table, feeling as though he was about to burst out of his skin. Melitele ... that kind of massage parlor. He was going to throttle Lambert.
Then again, this was the best hand job Geralt had received up to this point. Under the towel, his cock twitched, now fully, throbbingly, hard.
“You can keep going,” Geralt mumbled, laying back down and staring at the ceiling. After a beat, he felt Jaskier pull off Geralt’s towel and his hands settle on Geralt’s body once more.
“Close your eyes,” Jaskier said soothingly, and Geralt did. Not because he was trying to imagine anyone else in Jaskier’s place, but because he did not think he could keep from coming early if he watched Jaskier’s long, clever fingers working him over.
Biting his lip, Geralt took a breath which smelled of chamomile, his hips arching from the table as he felt Jaskier’s fingers begin pulling firmly, the lubricant creating a slick, glide.
“There we go,” Jaskier said softly, pressing his thumb under the glans and Geralt bit down on a whimper. “Do you like that?” Jaskier asked, and did at slow, rolling motion again, playing with the head of Geralt’s cock until he was panting, thighs twitching open at the feeling of Jaskier’s other hand petting over the sensitive skin of Geralt’s sac, and ... lower.
Jaskier hesitated there, petting his oiled fingers gently over the entrance until Geralt opened his eyes.
“I could finish you like this,” Jaskier said, his eyes bright and blue on the flush of his face. “But I would really, really like to finger you.”
Weakly, Geralt nodded. He played with himself back there once in a while, and had enjoyed Yenna’s strap way back when, but it had ... been a while.
Jaskier’s smile, however, made Geralt feel incandescent. It was worth the burn of the first digit, curling into Geralt’s tightness as he panted through the intrusion. The twist of Jaskier’s other hand on his shaft was enough to distract him until the finger began stroking against-
“Fuck,” Geralt hissed, and heard Jaskier’s chuckle.
“There we go,” he said, curling his finger again and again as Geralt gasped wordlessly, adding another digit when Geralt’s legs drifted open.
There was some magic in Jaskier’s hands, his long, slender fingers crooking and stroking and teasing. It wasn’t long before he reduced Geralt to a panting mess, fucking three fingers into him with wet, obscene noises.
“Oh fuck,” Geralt forced through gritted teeth, his stomach clenching as he shook through an orgasm so powerful that it felt like it was ripping through him. But when he looked down, Geralt was surprised to see that he was still hard, his cock dribbling onto his stomach, still pulsing in Jaskier’s fist.
“It’s okay,” Jaskier said softly, “I’ve got you.” He sped up the motion of his fingers, and Geralt gasped as, impossibly, pleasure began spiraling in his lower stomach again, his ass clenching desperately around the twist of Jaskier’s knuckles. His eyes slipped closed and he had a sudden fantasy of Jaskier fucking him, his bright blue eyes fixed on Geralt, his mouth filled with sweet praise for how good Geralt felt, how tight he was for Jaskier-
“I’m-” Geralt growled, hands clamping the sides of the massage table as he shook, coming for real this time as he striped his chest.
“Fuck,” Jaskier muttered, and Geralt turned his head weakly to Jaskier’s visible interest pressing against the front of his jeans. When Geralt dragged his eyes back up to Jaskier’s face, Jaskier had evidently scrambled to regain his professionalism, smiling shakily as he grabbed a handful of wet wipes and began scrubbing the oil off of his fingers before swiping at the mess on Geralt’s stomach.
“I can ... I can do that,” Geralt said hurriedly, shuddering when Jaskier jostled his limp, oversensitive prick.
“Okay,” Jaskier said softly, then gestured to the door. “I’ll just ... be outside. Take your time.”
Geralt nodded mutely, watching Jaskier slip away before focusing on cleaning himself up and pulling on his clothes with shaking fingers. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bar of Jaskier’s cock pressing against the fly of his jeans, how very much Geralt wished he had stayed, pulled down his zip and slid his prick in Geralt’s eager mouth.
He wondered if Jaskier was fucking his own fist in the next room, thinking about Geralt as he came. Geralt groaned under his breath, feeling a throb in his cock even though it felt as wrung out as a damp towel.
Somehow, Geralt managed to slip into his clothing, stepping outside the room to find Jaskier chatting aimlessly with receptionist. Lending credence to Geralt’s fantasies, Jaskier looked beautifully tousled, collar just a touch askew and lips bitten pink.
“How did you like your massage?” Jaskier asked, and the tentative curl of his lips threw Geralt for a loop. As if Geralt hadn’t messed his chest with the evidence of his pleasure twice over.
“Different than I expected,” Geralt said gruffly, feeling himself flush when Jaskier’s smile widened knowingly.
The receptionist rolled her eyes, evidently used to such displays. She intoned Geralt’s total and Geralt handed her his card, dropping his gaze to keep from staring at Jaskier like a creep. Even now, as he shifted Geralt could feel the stretch of Jaskier’s fingers deep in his ass, the throbbing which persisted despite the feeling of bone-deep satisfaction which permeated every other pore of his body. He left a handful of bills for Jaskier’s tip, too dazed to count them properly. When Geralt turned to the entrance, it was to find Jaskier opening the door for him.
“Please come again,” Jaskier winked, holding out a business card.
“Sure,” Geralt said weakly, automatically palming the slick bit of cardboard. All his muscles felt weak as he walked out into the sunlight, momentarily disappointed when he glanced down to see that Jaskier had slipped him only a generic business card, with the parlor’s number on it and their hours.
Then Geralt turned it over, finding Jaskier’s name and cell phone number scrawled next to a small drawing of a flower. Smiling widely, Geralt slipped the card in his back pocket.
Okay, maybe he owed Lambert that drink after all ...
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