#hope yall like! be kind its my first time posting smut fdskfjsnk

[roughentumble]

Pay Me Some Mind, Love

Geraskier, explicit, 5k. Here’s the AO3 link

SUMMARY:: Jaskier and Geralt confess their love, and Geralt prepares to live happily ever after with him, only to discover Jaskier is a rather selfish lover. It stings a bit, of course, but perhaps lessons are in order...

(top!geralt for the majority. bottom!geralt only briefly mentioned)

@greyduckgreygoose​ asked to be @’ed when/if i ever got around to writing the concept, and thanks to the lovely @hale-of-stiles-heart for giving it a once-over for me before posting.

FIC::

Jaskier settles between Geralt's thighs, nudging them wider, pressing in closer, and Geralt finally gets what Jaskier is aiming at. "I don't usually..." he starts, hands on Jaskier's shoulders.

"Don't usually what?" he asks, brow furrowed adorably, head cocked in confusion. He's a bit breathless already, just from kissing, and Geralt's heart swells at the sight of him. It's not that Geralt hates bottoming. And Jaskier's so eager, surely this one time wouldn't hurt.

It's their first time together, and the mutual confession had been so wonderful, heads spinning with love and promises and devotion-- Geralt can give him this, it's no hardship. He smiles and tugs Jaskier back in, nuzzling their noses together. "It's nothing, don't worry about it." Jaskier's answering smile makes him melt. This will be good.

==========

Fifteen minutes later and Geralt wonders what just happened. Cum leaks out of him. He's just as hard as he'd been when they started this little tryst. And Jaskier snores beside him-- already asleep.

So-- okay, it wasn't the most mind-blowing first time. Perhaps it was the anticipation, mythologizing everything in his mind. And perhaps Jaskier was one of those men who fell asleep right afterwards no matter what, the hormone changes effecting them more intensely than others. Geralt would never begrudge someone that. Especially not Jaskier, whom he loves so dearly. He sighs at the erection he will apparently have to deal with himself, but still leans over to kiss his sleeping partner on the temple.

He snuffles sweetly in his sleep, and Geralt's heart clenches with love once more.

The next time will be better.

==========

It...

Is not.

Geralt wonders why Jaskier doesn't even bother getting a hand on his dick. Being a quick shot, he would understand, falling asleep he gets, but not even attempting to touch him? To bring him off at all?

How strange...

And kind of worrying.

============

"Hey," he asks the third time, before Jaskier can fall asleep. "Are you still planning on performing tonight?"

"Yeah, my nap shouldn't interfere with getting downstairs in time. Thank you for worrying, though, love." he says. He doesn't sound tired in the slightest. He rolls over and falls asleep, apparently just by choice, because he just wants to nap, and NOT due to any sudden hormone dumps.

Geralt is still hard. Jaskier hasn't touched him there beyond a flirty squeeze once.

Fuck.

=============

Okay, so his boyfriend is a selfish lover. Not... ideal. They'll need to talk about it.

...Geralt HATES having talks like this.

==============

He works out a whole speech in his mind, really he does, and he's going to approach it gently. Delicately. He's going to be a good boyfriend, and he's going to give Jaskier so much space to be upset because it's a very delicate and personal thing, sex.

But then Jaskier overhears a snippet in a tavern, and he snorts derisively into his ale about braggarts, about the ridiculousness of sex lasting more than an hour. "The stories people invent, trying to one up each other." he says, rolling his eyes in good humor.

Geralt feels a brow twitch. "I've had sex that lasted that long. Longer, even." Jaskier laughs, a loud, boisterous sound, and the irritation grows.

"Oh come on, don't be preposterous. Everyone says that to make themselves sound better, but it doesn't really happen."

"It does. Not every time, surely, the world'd never get anything done, but sometimes. Are you saying you've never had sex last longer than a few minutes?"

Jaskier flushes a bit, mouth twisting down into a derisive frown. "So what if I am? I'm right, there's no reason to do it any longer, not unless you want to chafe. It's all for bragging rights, not about actually feeling good. It's useless."

Geralt should be nicer about this. About his stupid, pretty, awful, selfish boyfriend's myopic views on sex. He should be nicer, because they're new and fragile and despite it all he wants this to work, because the love is true. Instead, what he says is a sharp "And the not bringing your partners off, is that because it's useless too?"

Jaskier sputters into his drink, eyes wide with shock. "Wh-- that-- I'll have you know I'm an EXCELLENT lover!"

"Right," Geralt replies calmly, "that's why you barely take any time, and never give a good reach around. All hallmarks of excellent lovers."

"You!" he replies in outrage, puffing up angrily. "There isn't a point, actually." he replies hotly. "Sex is about feeling good, I've just refined the system. If they want to get off the best they can, they can take themselves in hand. We both reach absolute bliss with absolute efficiency."

"You think whatever little peak you can reach in fifteen minutes is the same as the pleasure reached in hours?" he's not sure he can believe what he's hearing.

"It's all the same end point, isn't it? And like I said, it's not normal to go so long, surely it must be a witcher thing." He turns away to take a haughty little sip of his ale. "Maybe your partners feel bored in bed, having to take so long just for one measly orgasm."

"Sex is about feeling good together. Not on your own. What you're describing isn't efficiency, it's selfishness. And by the way?" Geralt leans in closer, lowers his voice just a bit. "It isn't just one orgasm."

Jaskier's eyebrows fly up. "Multiple...? Now I know you're winding me up."

Geralt sends a silent apology to all the fairer sex who'd had Jaskier before he was thankfully taken off the market by Geralt, them and their unique suitability to many, many orgasms in a row. If it wasn't so vain, he would wonder if perhaps fate is real, and his existence was her attempt at balancing things out. He's so shocked that he has no idea what he's about to say, until it tumbles out of his mouth. "What if we bet on it?"

Jaskier looks interested in that-- he loves a chance to come out on top. Little peacock. "What sort of bet?"

Geralt leans in again, to keep the rest of the tavern from getting all the details-- and hopefully entice Jaskier. "We try it my way. A few hours, alone in a bed, just you and me. I take the reins, I set the pace the whole time, and I show you how good it is when both people feel good together. If I can take you apart for hours, and you have fun, then I win."

He swallows hard, eyes flitting between Geralt's eyes and his lips. "And... if I'm bored? If I decide I didn't like it?"

Geralt shrugs, leans back. "Then I lose. You'll get bragging rights, and I'll even admit you've got a point."

Jaskier's eyes flash-- Geralt admitting that he's right. "You've got a deal."

=================

This, Jaskier thinks, will be the easiest bet he's ever won.

Surely some of it, for a few minutes, is going to feel good, but for hours? No way. And even if it does, he can just lie and say it wasn't his thing. It cant be that hard to fake. He is so, so excited to win, and rub this is Geralt's face.

When they get back to their room, Geralt's immediately shoving him up against the inside of the door and kissing him. Instead of fire or passion, though, Geralt kisses him deliberately, cupping his face with infinite softness, his lips moving slow and carefully.

Even with his wounded pride, and Geralt's insults, and insistence that he doesn't know what he's doing-- the kiss is so sweet, and loving, and tender, and he can't help but melt a little. He wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, and opens up for his probing tongue. Oh his sweet, gorgeous, frustrating witcher.

Soon enough, though, he judges himself ready for the next stage, and starts grinding against Geralt's hip. Implacably, Geralt just reaches down and holds his hips firmly, pinning them in place. Jaskier makes a frustrated sound, but Geralt just keeps him there, pressed against the door.

He doesn't kiss faster, either, keeps it slow and deep, only pulls back to nip and suck at Jaskier's lips. He eyes seem alight with amusement, though Jaskier isn't in on the joke. He seems intent on exploring every single corner of Jaskier's mouth, even running along the back of his teeth. He isn't sure what to do with such a thorough mapping.

It doesn't leave him breathless. It doesn't.

He doesn't know how long passes for the kiss, time stretching out like molasses with no marker for how much of it goes by. By the time Geralt backs away, though, Jaskier's lips tingle, feeling raw from Geralt's careful ministrations. Geralt only pulls away when Jaskier's impatient squirming reaches a peak. He presses one last, chaste kiss to his mouth, then pulls Jaskier away from the door.

"Finally," he gripes, "thought I'd die of old age, lip locked with you."

"So you didn't like it?" Geralt asks, though he mostly sounds amused. He deftly slides his fingers up to push Jaskier's doublet off his shoulders-- oh, when had that come unbuttoned?-- and then back down to cup his crotch meaningfully. "Then I guess all this is just for show." Jaskier's half-hard, and he squirms at the contact, rocking into that warm hand.

"Just anticipation over my inevitable win, darling, don't get too full of yourself." he says, and even manages to not sound strained, which he's rather proud of. It makes Geralt laugh, and he kisses him again, this time short and sweet.

"Fair enough." he replies, brushing some of Jaskier's hair out of his face with startling reverence, eyes unspeakably fond. "Now, let's get you on the bed."

"Yes please." Jaskier replies eagerly, scrambling onto the mattress. He expects the first part to be very fun indeed, before Geralt mucks it all up by dragging everything out, and he's looking forward to that part. Geralt chuckles, but stops him before he can get comfortably seated by the pillows. He crawls up while Jaskier's still on his hands and knees, covers Jask's body with his own. Somehow he's managed to strip to just his smallclothes in the intervening moments.

"Before we get too into it, I want to ask-- have you ever bottomed before?" he asks, chin hooked over Jaskier's shoulder.

"I have. It's pretty good, if a bit more prep than I usually waste time on, why?"

Geralt smothers a flare of irritation at that-- he hadn't communicated his preferences, so that's on him. He takes a deep breath to purge himself of that useless feeling-- and takes the opportunity to delight in Jaskier's scent, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder. His hands work on slowly tugging Jaskier's shirt out of his pants.

"Normally, I'd want you on your back for this sort of thing," Geralt says, speaking directly into Jaskier's ear, "would want to fuck you face to face, look you in the eye as I sink inside. But unfortunately, for what I have planned, I need you on your knees." Something about it makes Jaskier's hair stand on end, goosebumps raising all down his neck. He decides to ignore it.

Geralt doesn't know what he's talking about. Sex does not take that long, and if it did it'd be boring. He rolls his eyes at the bravado behind him. "Could we just get on with it please?" he asks, tone dripping with irritation.

Geralt smooths a hand down his spine, dips his fingers under the hem of Jaskier's shirt to dance across his bare skin. "Hush. We're doing this at my pace. That's the whole point. and remember--"

"I can call it off whenever I want if I'm getting overwhelmed, right." Jaskier says, cutting Geralt off, repeating what he'd been told on the walk back to the room. "Pretty bold to assume you'll even be able to overwhelm me." Geralt doesn't respond to that, just pushes his hand up Jaskier's back, his palm dry and warm as it glides across Jask's skin.

His shirt bunches up with the movement, and Geralt helps him out of it, fingers trailing down his arms as he chases the fabric. He feels aware of the skin in a way he normally doesn't, and Geralt presses a dry kiss to his shoulder.

Geralt keeps kissing him, pace agonizingly slow, little dry pecks down his back, coming to settle in the dimples at the base of his spine. Geralt's fingers barely ghost over his ribs before coming to settle on the waistband of his pants. "Can we at least hurry up the disrobing, I--"

"You're beautiful." Geralt says, and that stops Jaskier in his tracks. "Let me appreciate it. Let me show you how beautiful I find you."

Jaskier's mouth feels a bit dry. "...Yes, well, that-- g- go ahead, then."

He feels Geralt's smile pressed against his skin.

Geralt keeps his movements slow, light, deliberate. With each patch of bared skin he finds something else to kiss, and his touch somehow wakes Jaskier's skin up, hyperaware of each sensation, even the air moving against it. Despite the agonizingly slow pace, Jaskier finds himself preening under the attention.

He is thoroughly impatient by the time he's entirely bare, though, as nice as it is to be fawned over in Geralt's own special way. He shifts his weight, ready for the pleasure to start.

Geralt just keeps kissing though. "Is this actually going to start anytime soon? or shall I wither away to bones, first?" he asks, derision dripping from his voice.

Geralt ignores him, kissing down one thigh and up the other, and it's lovely, really, except it's boring, and if he thought he could start this bet without Jaskier whinging, he has another thing coming. He kisses one of Jaskier's cheeks, and then the other, and the set-up for a quip about kissing his ass is so perfect that Jaskier can't resist, but then suddenly his cheeks are pulled apart and Geralt's kissing between them, and Jaskier cant help the surprised little yelp that cuts him off, brain short-circuiting at the sensation. "G- Geralt, what--?"

"Has anyone ever done this for you?" he asks, thumb rubbing feather-light against Jaskier's rim. Somehow, Jaskier understands what he's asking.

"N- no, too much foreplay..." Jaskier replies, and Geralt 'hmm's. He pulls his thumb away and for a moment there's nothing. Then, he blows cool air directly against Jaskier's hole. He startles, jumping forward a bit and yelping again. "What the hell was that for?"

"Thought it'd look cute." Jaskier can hear him holding back laughter. "It did, by the way."

Jaskier wants to curse him out, but Geralt finally leans forward, and any complaints die in his throat. He starts slow-- because of course he does-- just little kitten licks. The sensation is all new though, and Jaskier squirms under his ministrations, dick twitching with interest between his thighs. Geralt's fingers rub soothing little circles into his skin, easing some of his nerves, and slowly he finds himself sinking into the sensation. His skin feels hypersensitive beneath Geralt's tongue, and distantly he wonders if the air had actually done something more than make him flinch.

He adjusts his stance so he can slip a hand down and wrap it around his length. His hand moves nice and fast, jacking himself quickly, and it feels so good his toes curl. Geralt allows it for a while, just lightly licking over his hole while Jaskier chases his orgasm. After a minute, though, Geralt grips his wrist and tugs it away.

Jaskier whines and struggles, twisting in Geralt's grip. "What the fuck, let go!" he whines, trying desperately to get his hand back on his dick.

"We're going at my pace, remember?" Geralt replies, placing Jaskier's hand up by the pillow and holding it there. "Hands to yourself. Unless you'd like to forfeit the bet."

Jaskier groans and grumbles, but keeps his hands where they've been put. Geralt watches him for a moment, making sure he's truly complying. When he stays, Geralt pats his hip. "Good boy." he says, and it sends a wave of heat through Jaskier's body, dick throbbing where it hangs untouched.

It takes him by surprise-- that's never happened to him before. He prays Geralt doesn't notice how still he's suddenly become.

Geralt leans back in, breath ghosting over Jaskier's skin and sending another wave of goosebumps down his arms. He licks a hot line from perineum to tailbone that makes Jaskier's toes curl and his breath catch in his throat. Geralt licks him again, and again, deeper than before. It's not quite penetrating, just barely pressing into his hole, and yet it's so sudden it has Jaskier shaking. He dips just inside, and then slowly he circles Jaskier's rim with his tongue, over and over. Jaskier gasps at the foreign sensation, hips rocking back against Geralt's face. "Oh, oh fuck... hurry up, c'mon," he begs breathlessly, rules forgotten again already.

Geralt pays his pleading no mind, tongue fucking steadily deeper into him with no heed to the pace he begs for. His mouth opens wide so he can get that much closer, that much deeper, and Jaskier lets out a reedy sound. Suddenly Geralt's hand encloses his dick, palm coated in oil, and Jaskier jumps at the opportunity, muttering "Yes, fuck, finally," as he starts fucking into Geralt's hand and back onto his tongue, eager for the orgasm he can feel waiting in the wings.

Geralt doesn't let him, keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the base of his dick until he settles before starting to pump again. Jaskier growls in frustration, pressure mounting. It feels good but it's not enough. He moves again, squirming and bucking in Geralt's grip.

"Hurry up and fuck me already," he demands, nearly snarling, and Geralt lets go of his dick to pin his hips in place. He whines and squirms, but cant buck out of it, and his poor deprived dick throbs between his legs.

Geralt remains focused behind him, and it does nothing to abate the itch, the need under Jaskier's skin-- if anything it makes it worse, the constant licking and sucking, the wet filthy sounds, as if Geralt could lick all the way to the very core of him. Jaskier's stomach clenches. It's good but it isn't enough.

"Just relax," Geralt burrs, "it feels good. Let it feel good." He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the small of Jaskier's back, and he shivers, fingers clenching in the sheets. Geralt's oil-slick hand returns, but instead of wrapping around Jaskier's dick, a finger circles his hole, then presses inside. Jaskier moans in relief, hips twitching-- but he's learned better. He doesn't want it to stop again so soon, so he stays as still as he can stand, silently begging Geralt to continue. "Good boy." he says again, and starts pumping his finger in and out.

It feels so good, the friction against his hole, the well-lubricated drag of Geralt's callouses against his sensitive insides, and Jaskier can't help but moan, arms shaky at finally getting some relief. Geralt's tongue loosened him up enough that it's easy for a second finger to slip inside, though soon enough they stop thrusting and start petting, exploring his insides, poking and prodding until he finds the spot that has Jaskier groaning deep in his chest. "There we go," he croons.

His fingers don't move, they stay right there, making gentle but relentless circles over his prostate, watching as he squirms and writhes uncontrollably. He feels warm with it, sweat starting to dot his forehead, pleasure licking up his sides and pooling in his stomach. "That's it, baby, just like that..." Geralt dots a few kisses over Jaskier's back, then trails them lower, leaning in and licking the spot where his fingers are sunk inside Jaskier's ass.

He gasps and moans, arching under the contact, as Geralt starts licking back inside him, fingers never letting up on their steady motion, tongue fucking deeper and deeper, only to stop and return to playing with his rim. It feels endless, hazy, and Jaskier moans with it, hips trying to rock back but stuck in Geralt's iron grip.

Somewhere along the way he collapses, arms giving out. He turns his head so he can still breathe, cheek mashed against the pillow, feeling horrifically exposed with his face in the sheets and ass in the air, but unable to do anything to rectify it.

He feels like a mess, whining and clawing at the sheets, sweating and cursing, and Geralt stays right behind him, as steady and composed as ever. It does something to Jaskier, to think that, and he whines again, louder, the sound breaking out of his chest as his dick throbs again, precum drooling out of the tip.

Jaskier learns something about Geralt, stuck suspended there on his fingers and his tongue.

Geralt likes to build the heat like a good fire; in layers, log upon stick upon kindling upon dry moss, until Jaskier is ablaze, every inch of his skin burning, a fire in his belly that threatens to consume him or melt him like lead. His thighs tremble from the strain of holding himself up, and sweat drips down his skin to soak the mattress uncomfortably. But it's all peripheral.

"Please," he finally says, not a demand, but a broken plea. His legs burn along with the rest of him, his dick painfully hard beneath him. "Please, Geralt, I need-- I need--" his words slur together, tongue thick and useless in his mouth. Geralt's free hand pets the damp small of his back, up his spine, a soothing motion to offset the slow, filthy grind of his other hand.

His tongue is as insistent as when they'd started, only stopping occasionally to gently suck at his sore, sensitive rim. Those fingers inside don't let up that calm, steady pressure, making the same little maddening circle over that same damn spot over and over and over, steady as a clock, pleasure crashing over him like ocean waves, only without any ebb. He's hard as steel with no air in his lungs and he burns, burns, burns.

It's been building inside him for so long, he doesn't know what to do with himself, he cant escape it, and his hips have no power behind them to even squirm away. It feels like Geralt's hand-- now stopped petting and returned to it's spot where stomach meets thigh-- is the only thing holding him up. He gasps for air like a dying man, and still he feels lightheaded, like it does nothing, and he makes a sound he didn't even know himself capable of-- high and reedy and broken.

There is... something building inside him, though he cant put a name to it. Have Geralt's fingers sped up, or is he imagining it? He cant tell. He claws at the sheets, gasps again, and the feeling creeps inescapably up his spine, no matter how he tries to curl away from it, threatening to swallow him whole, while Geralt's thick fingers move inside him, pleasure zinging through him like a live wire, up and down his spine, up and down. His balls draw up, his dick red-hot and throbbing.

The tension snaps, and the building pressure inside him explodes as his vision goes white.

He cums screaming, the sheets tearing beneath his hands, as Geralt milks him through it all, steady behind him. He barely even registers how gently Geralt treats him, the slow tapering of movements instead of a sudden stop, the hand that guides him as he collapses into a puddle of his own spend. He becomes distantly aware that his face is wet with tears. Geralt pets his flank with firm strokes, shuffles until he's straddling Jaskier's thighs, waits until Jaskier's gasps sound a little less like he's dying. He's briefly grateful to not have to spread his legs so wide anymore, thighs still burning from exertion, hips given out entirely for now.

Then he feels something hard press against his hole.

"Wh-- wha--?" Jaskier mumbles, head spinning.

It's so loose, so fucked out from what must be hours of Geralt playing with it, that he slides in without any resistance, slicked with oil that Jaskier didn't notice him apply. He rests flush against Jaskier's ass, thighs bracketing Jaskier's own, arms slowly sliding up to tangle with Jaskier's and hold him close. He nuzzles sweetly at Jaskier's neck, heedless of the sweat that must now be coating him.

"You had your fun. Now it's my turn." he replies, voice a rough caress murmured right into Jaskier's ear. "Remember, this is about both of us feeling good." Jaskier is dizzy with pleasure, and he whimpers, tries to scoot away, because surely it will be too much, oversensitive and weak as he is-- but there's nowhere to go. Geralt is big and hard and everywhere, inside him and on top of him. Jaskier moans, a weak little sound, as Geralt starts to move.

It feels like there's no more space inside of him, like he can't even breathe, lungs and everything else pushed aside to make room for Geralt's cock inside him. He starts slow, easy rolls of the hips, same ebb and flow as before, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up out of Jaskier's mouth at the idea of enduring hours more of this maddening pleasure. He doesn't think he'd come out the other side unscathed. Geralt takes pity, though, or else has waited long enough he has just as little patience, and he picks up speed as he finds his rhythm-- it's just as measured, though. Precise and punishing, leaving no room in Jaskier's mind for thoughts. No room for anything.

That feeling inside him hasn't had time to bank fully, and every point of contact between them feels like liquid fire, racing up his back, pooling in his hips, his sore cock rubbing against the sheets in time with Geralt's pounding, deeper than Jaskier's taken anyone before. Maybe it's pushed past his lungs into his brain-- cock drunk and needy.

He can't control the sounds that come out of his mouth or his limbs, mewling pathetically as he claws at the sheets, and the whole time Geralt keeps going, steady as a metronome, hands wrapped around Jaskier's wrists in a way that shouldn't make even more heat flare in Jaskier's stomach but it does. He's started to drool as he open-mouth pants into the pillow, yet another liquid to soak the bedding beneath them, and yet he cant find the wherewithal to do anything about it, just lays there open and wanting and takes it.

Jaskier whines suddenly, a wild, desperate, almost frightened sound, because he realizes something is building inside him, again. It's sitting right behind his teeth, hot on his heels, as Geralt pants and grunts above him, and it's too soon, this has never happened to him before, it's too soon. He doesn't know what to do, Geralt's steady thrusts pressing right against that spot inside him, any painful overstimulation turned to pure molten pleasure-- he screams again as a second orgasm rips through him, and surely this time he will combust, burn Geralt and the inn down to cinders, fire and pleasure racing through his veins, racing to see which will burn him up first.

He thinks he hears Geralt murmuring sweet nothings, but it's hard to tell with his ears ringing.

A moment later and Geralt's stilling, grunting, spilling inside Jaskier with one last filthy grind of his hips. They lay there like that, touching from head to toe, formed to each other, Geralt still seated deep inside him as they both catch their breath.

Geralt, of course, is the first to move. He doesn't go that far, just leans back to pepper Jaskier's cheek and shoulders with kisses. Jaskier makes a noise when he finally pulls out, but Geralt's right there to soothe and comfort, hands petting him like Geralt's worried his skin will get lonely.

Which-- it-- kind of weirdly does feel lonely, actually. Jaskier's only peripherally aware of this lonely feeling, though, as Geralt pulls all the way away to get up off the bed. His mind is blissfully blank-- except the raw, hungry, unmitigated loneliness to not be touching. He must make some little noise of despair, because Geralt shushes him again, and soon a cool washcloth appears to wipe away the worst of the evening. He whimpers when it cleans his crotch, and between his legs, the skin hypersensitive, but Geralt is efficient and kindly doesn't linger.

Geralt gently brushes Jaskier's damp fringe away from his forehead. "Gonna' roll you over onto the clean side." he says, and Jaskier nods mindlessly. He finds himself on clean sheets, with Geralt up against his side before he knows it. The aching loneliness goes away the more Geralt holds him, so he burrows into the embrace as well as he can.

It takes forever for Jaskier to come back to himself. It happens in stages, the mindless peace fading into a slow awareness of his surroundings-- Geralt's hand petting his hair, the uncomfortable way the new sheet is bunched under his hip, the gentle ticking of the room's clock. His breathing has evened a bit, but his lungs and thighs still burn, and he finds his stomach muscles sore as well, presumably from all the clenching. He's handed a cup of water before he can think to ask for it, and it helps, but it doesn't soothe his raw throat as well as he'd like.

"Well," he says, voice rough, "that's one way to win a bet." He's trying to keep it casual, as if his whole world hasn't just been turned on its head, but he's pretty sure it doesn't work. Geralt's brow just furrows, though.

"I still haven't won the bet." Geralt says, sounding confused. "We'll have to go again sometime for that."

"What?" Jaskier responds, not because he's opposed precisely, but because it simply doesn't make any sense. "You just went at me for hours, I feel like I just lost a boxing tournament."

Geralt raises an eyebrow. Fuck him for looking so unaffected. "Jask, it's been an hour."

What? That's not possible. Jaskier flops his head to the side to stare at the clock on the wall, squinting to try and read it's face. Oh melitele, his vision's blurry. He's been fucked blind. "An hour and forty-five" Geralt amends-- he must be able to see it. "I had to stop, you were getting too overwhelmed."

"Don't worry, we'll work you up to more." Geralt rumbles into the skin right behind Jaskier's ear, then presses a kiss there. It's sweet, despite how filthy the promise is, and Jaskier's weak, fucked-out body shivers.

Maybe being shown up isn't so bad. This once.

Jaskier's definitely going to find some way to one-up him, though. If only to wipe that smug look off his face. He hasn't figured out what yet, but he'll think of something, he's sure.

#witcher tag #ogc tag #writing tag #uhhhh i dont think i have anything else i usually tag things as #witcher #geraskier #fanfic #*shrugs* ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #hope yall like! be kind its my first time posting smut fdskfjsnk