Visiting Marilka - Chapter 9
Title: Visiting Marilka
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 57,262
Warnings: Brief mention of sexual desires by an underaged minor character. Genderfluid minor character.
A/N: Visiting Marilka was written for the 2021 Witcher Big Bang. Thanks to my artist, Rogue Pyrola whose awesome artwork can be seen below, seren and the Witcher Big Bang mod team, and my wonderful beta Gillian who always makes my writing better. Thanks to The Witcher’s author, showrunners, and actors, (especially Mia McKenna-Bruce!), who inspire us to make more art.
This fic is dedicated to Nathan, who conceived it to be so.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
After Jaskier kissed his mother on the cheek, he led Geralt through the long corridors to his room in the villa. They climbed a staircase, turning this way and that until they reached a landing with an ornately carved door. Jaskier opened the door and stood aside so Geralt could enter.
A steaming bath had already been prepared. Curtains hung from the four-poster bed which had been turned down for the night. A merry fire burned in the fireplace. Two chairs faced each other before the hearth. Candles had been lit and their glow reflected off the plush bedding patterned with a rich brocade. The familiar scent of sage and bergamot piqued Geralt’s interest in spending the night with Jaskier in his childhood home.
“When did you have time to arrange all this?” Geralt asked in surprise.
“Darling, the role of viscount comes with certain privileges,” Jaskier said. “I managed to sneak away from my ridiculous siblings and put in a request with the servants. I hope you’re pleased with your stay at Lettenhove so far.”
“I hardly expected the solemn occasion of your family reunion to end in a food fight,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “But my stay has been illuminating in more ways than one.”
Jaskier stepped into Geralt’s space and fumbled with the buckles of his armour. “I can’t believe you had already met my mother,” he said.
Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and distracted him with soft kisses to his fingers as they worked. “She’s an amazing woman,” he said. “It’s no wonder that she raised an amazing son.”
“You’ll sleep here tonight?” Jaskier asked. “Unless you want a room of your own… I can have one of the servants-”
“No, of course I’ll stay here with you,” Geralt said. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He slid his fingers beneath Jaskier’s chin and tipped his head to kiss him deeply.
Jaskier moaned in delight. His fingers, rendered motionless by passion, stopped unbuckling and unbuttoning Geralt’s armour and the pearl buttons of his shirt.
This thrilled Geralt to no end. He took Jaskier’s hands in his and brought them to his waist. Grinding against the handsome bard, Geralt’s cock grew swollen with lust. When his lips left Jaskier’s, he murmured, “Julian…”
“Hah!” Jaskier cried. “I never thought I’d hear you say my given name.”
Geralt hummed, taken aback by Jaskier’s surprised response. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s sort of weird, coming from you,” Jaskier admitted. He brushed his fingertips across Geralt’s cheek.
“I’ll continue to call you Jaskier, then,” Geralt said.
Jaskier bit his lip. “No, Julian is fine, I guess,” he said.
“Or my dearest darling bard?” Geralt asked. He slipped his hands beneath the leather and pushed the crimson coat off Jaskier’s shoulders.
“That’s a bit much,” Jaskier laughed. “Even for me.”
“Or the esteemed troubadour of Kerack?” Geralt asked as he gently draped Jaskier’s prized coat onto a chair.
“No! That’s too much like Valdo Marx’s undeserved title,” Jaskier said, waving his hands.
“Professor Pankratz?” Geralt’s fingers worked to unfasten the buttons of Jaskier’s chemise.
“Too formal, Geralt, don’t be ridiculous!” Jaskier stilled as Geralt’s fingers brushed against the bared skin of his chest.
“The bath is getting cold,” Geralt whispered, Jaskier’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“You can just witcher it for us,” Jaskier said, reaching one hand behind Geralt’s neck and drawing him into a kiss.
Without a second thought, Geralt cast the sign for Igni at the tub.
“You didn’t even need to look?” Jaskier asked, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s.
“My skills know no bounds,” Geralt said. Geralt unfastened the last button of Jaskier’s chemise. He spread the garment open, revealing the dark swirls of hair on Jaskier’s chest.
“Don’t let Leocretia hear you say that.”
“She’s rather dangerous.” He let a finger wander from Jaskier’s throat, down to the centre of his chest where his chemise hung open.
“Tell me about it-she’s my sister!”
“I don’t know what I was expecting when I agreed to meet your family,” Geralt said, bending to suck one of Jaskier’s nipples into his mouth.
“And…?” Jaskier asked in an abrupt squeal.
“I never could have imagined any of them as they are,” Geralt said, pressing kisses upward from Jaskier’s chest until he reached his lips. “But somehow, they fit with you perfectly.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Jaskier asked, his pupils dark with lust.
“It’s perfect,” Geralt said against Jaskier’s lips. “Just like you.”
“Geralt…” Jaskier moaned.
Geralt took a step backward and peeled off his shirt, discarding it on the floor.
Jaskier’s fingers danced over the witcher’s chest, tracing every scar that marked his healed wounds, many of which he had stitched with his own hands.
Jaskier’s touch sent a frisson of pleasure up Geralt’s spine. Geralt inhaled the scent of sage and bergamot, revelling in the knowledge that Jaskier wanted him. He kissed at the juncture of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, stripping off his chemise entirely.
“How is it that I should feel chilled, but instead I feel like I’m on fire?” Jaskier whispered.
“Sit,” Geralt said, pushing Jaskier into a chair beside the hearth.
Jaskier obeyed, but not before reaching down to palm at his cock that tented the fabric of his trousers.
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured, kneeling on the floor and tugging Jaskier’s boots off his feet. The stockings followed before Geralt buried his head in Jaskier’s lap and inhaled the intoxicating scent of his arousal.
Strong fingers stroked Geralt’s back soothingly. Jaskier bent forward, leaning over Geralt. His voice, rich and melodic, murmured into Geralt’s ear, “We could both use a bath, love.”
Geralt took a deep breath and sat back on his heels. He waited and watched as Jaskier untied the laces of his trousers. Deft fingers unbuttoned the fastenings that held them in place. When Jaskier, eyes hooded with pleasure, finished with his task, Geralt got to his feet and stepped out of his boots, following suit with the black leather trousers that clung to his thighs and had grown uncomfortably tight around his groin.
Jaskier hummed appreciatively as Geralt exposed his nakedness to the bard. He held an outstretched hand to Geralt, turning it palm-side up with a flourish.
Geralt slid his hand into Jaskier’s and pulled him to his feet.
Steam rose from the bath, giving the room an otherworldly ambiance.
Jaskier’s trousers and smallclothes fell to the floor. He stepped out of them carelessly, the matters of the heart outweighing any concerns for expensive fabric and detailed tailoring.
Geralt considered himself lucky that Jaskier valued him more than his ostentatious clothing. Jaskier’s attention made Geralt feel cherished, valued, and adored… something he had never experienced with a lover from a brothel or even with a partner who he held in high esteem.
Jaskier kicked their clothing aside and pulled Geralt close. He wrapped his hands around Geralt, groping his arse and rutting against him like an animal in heat.
Geralt had no complaint. He held one of Jaskier’s hands and supported him while he stepped over the rim and into the tub. When Jaskier seemed sure-footed, Geralt placed both hands on the rim and climbed into the tub beside him.
“I’m grateful that Lettenhove has a large enough tub to fit both of us,” Geralt said.
“Believe me,” Jaskier said. “I plan to make good use of it while we’re here.”
“Are you going to sit down?” Geralt asked.
“I want you to sit first. Then I’m going to get on top of you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt sputtered out a laugh. “You’ve got this figured out better than I do.”
“Not really,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “My arse is getting cold and I want you to displace enough of the water that it will cover my arse when I’m facing you.”
“Not sure what you mean, but I’ll give it a try,” Geralt said. He knelt in the water, then rested his back against the edge of the tub. Dodging Jaskier’s feet, he stretched his legs out in front of him.
“That’s it,” Jaskier said, making room for himself between Geralt’s legs. “I’m loving the fact that you’re game.”
Geralt planted his feet against the opposite wall of the tub, bending his knees. “How’s this?” he asked, his face flushed with the heat of the water.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” Jaskier said. He put his weight on Geralt’s knees, using them for balance. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No, I’m fine,” Geralt said. His eyes roved over Jaskier’s naked body. The bard could do anything he wanted with him and Geralt would accept it willingly.
“I know how your old knees must feel after a day of walking,” Jaskier said with a grin.
“I’m not that old,” Geralt defended the condition of his knees. He had barely given them a second thought because of his training every year at Kaer Morhen and the physical conditioning required to battle monsters every time he caught wind of a contract.
“Older than my mother,” Jaskier laughed.
Geralt rolled his eyes. “Will I never hear the end of it?” he asked. He placed his hands over Jaskier’s and held on tight.
Jaskier only smiled and lowered himself into the water, kneeling in the space he had created between Geralt’s legs.
“Cosy,” Geralt said, the hot water soothing his tired body. He released his hold on Jaskier’s hands and reached for one of the many glass bottles of shampoos, soaps, and oils that occupied a shelf perched above the tub. This was clearly one of Jaskier’s preferred locations to spend time in when he visited his home.
Jaskier sat back on his heels, his hands still on Geralt’s knees. He slid his palms up Geralt’s thighs, lingering often to squeeze as he stroked the tired muscles.
Geralt exhibited a great deal of control over his arousal as he uncorked the bottle and sniffed the contents. Mint and rosemary, a shampoo whose scent only marginally offended Geralt’s senses.
Jaskier leaned forward, pressing his chest against Geralt’s. “Are you in need of a hair-washing?” he asked, trailing his fingers down Geralt’s neck.
Geralt moaned softly at the sensation of the bard’s chest against his own. “Please,” he begged.
“Lean back,” Jaskier urged, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over Geralt’s long white hair.
Geralt did as he was asked and delighted in the soothing rush of water that fell from Jaskier’s palms.
When Jaskier seemed satisfied that Geralt’s hair was sufficiently wet, he took the bottle from Geralt. “Help me out, here,” he requested, lowering his head, almost to the surface of the water.
Geralt quickly caught on to what Jaskier wanted. With both broad hands, he gathered water and held it above Jaskier’s bowed head. Sloshing the bath water onto Jaskier’s hair, Geralt repeated the motions until Jaskier’s hair was dark and dripping wet. The leather thong that had secured his ponytail was lost in the tub. Geralt suspected that his own was lost as well.
“Very good, witcher,” Jaskier said raising his head again. “It’s been far too long since either of us have had a proper hair-washing.” He tipped a good amount of the shampoo into his hand and applied it to Geralt’s head.
Geralt held out a hand and allowed Jaskier to pour some of the lightly fragranced shampoo into his own palm. He admired how Jaskier’s wet skin gleamed in the candlelight.
Jaskier stoppered the bottle of shampoo and set it back on the shelf before plunging his fingers into Geralt’s white hair.
Geralt gasped and tilted his head from side to side as Jaskier massaged him. As Jaskier leaned over him, Geralt worked the shampoo through the bard’s locks. Geralt suspected that he had the easier job of the pair, since Jaskier’s silky hair was of a length that didn’t tangle easily. He happily scrubbed his fingertips into Jaskier’s scalp, taking a moment to groan in pleasure as Jaskier performed the familiar task of untangling Geralt’s long wispy locks.
“This is fun, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked huskily, kissing the tip of Geralt’s nose.
“We should have done this years ago,” Geralt agreed, sinking back into the bath to rinse the shampoo from his hair. When he finished, he watched Jaskier get onto his hands and knees.
“Can you help me rinse it out? Jaskier asked.
Geralt gladly cupped handfuls of water onto Jaskier’s lowered head. He bit his lip as he admired the muscles that flexed beneath the rivulets of hot water. The gleam of candlelight shimmered over the muscles of Jaskier’s arms and his broad shoulders, no longer disguised by doublets or fancy leather coats.
“You’re done,” Geralt whispered, wringing the last of the soap out of Jaskier’s clean hair.
Jaskier rose to kneel between the witcher’s legs. Droplets clung to his chest hair, wet and matted to his skin.
Geralt adored Jaskier’s scruffy face and his delicious mouth, his lips that begged to be kissed and tasted. He surged forward, taking Jaskier in his arms, their legs a tangle of limbs beneath the surface of the water.
Their mouths met in a kiss, deep and searching. Geralt’s tongue slid through Jaskier’s parted lips. They were as soft and inviting as Geralt had been dreaming about all day. His fingers pressed into the warm wet skin with a desire that refused to be restrained.
Jaskier drew back, his eyes hooded with lust. “Will you fuck me, Geralt?” he asked, a question that needed no answer.
Geralt groaned and clasped Jaskier’s hand, bringing it to his hardened cock. He took a moment to revel in the sensation of the bard’s lute-calloused fingers as they touched his sensitive skin.
Jaskier grinned with delight. He gazed toward the shelf, squinting as he examined the various bottles and their contents. He gave Geralt’s cock a hard squeeze as he found what he needed.
Geralt lamented the loss of Jaskier’s touch, but the bard quickly returned his hand to his cock.
“How’s this?” Jaskier asked, holding the bottle for Geralt’s approval.
Geralt examined the hand-lettered label briefly before taking the bottle from Jaskier. “Hmm,” he hummed, tugging on the stopper.
“I think it’s one of your favourites,” Jaskier said, his fingers stoking the underside of Geralt’s stiffened cock.
Geralt held the bottle to his nose and inhaled the familiar scent. “Chamomile,” he whispered, trying to keep a sly grin off his face.
Jaskier held out his hand for Geralt to tip some of the slippery oil onto his fingers. “I can’t believe you let me rub it on your arse when we first met,” Jaskier said.
“I didn’t know it would be the first and last time,” Geralt said with regret. He watched as Jaskier reached behind himself, his fingers probing in such a way that made him close his eyes and bite his lip in concentration.
“I assure you, my love, this will not be the last time that we take each other apart."
“I don’t deserve this,” Geralt said, at a loss for what to do with his hands as the bard fingered himself open for Geralt’s delight. He settled for running his hands down Jaskier’s chest, teasing at his nipples as the bard knelt tall before him, his hard cock bobbing in the water.
Jaskier moaned as the muscles of his shoulder strained, allowing his fingers to reach their intended target. “You deserve all good things,” he murmured.
“I don’t deserve you,” Geralt whispered. He had hated himself for so long, but now, when he listened to Jaskier’s words of love, he believed that he might be forgiven for whatever transgressions made him unworthy of such happiness.
“I want you so badly, Geralt. I’ve always wanted you,” Jaskier huffed out before biting his lower lip in concentration.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” Geralt said, barely holding back the coil of pleasure that threatened to surge from him.
“I’ve been ready for you for so long,” Jaskier whispered. He returned his hands to Geralt, placing them on the witcher’s warm shoulders.
Geralt’s cock throbbed with desire. The heat of Jaskier’s hands pinned him in place.
Jaskier nudged at Geralt’s thighs, urging them together while he shifted to sit astride them. “Just take it slow,” he whispered.
There had been no need to ask. Geralt would have gladly treated Jaskier as if he were made of glass if it meant that he could enjoy him in this intimate way. He felt Jaskier reach for his cock. The callouses from years of playing his lute added to the sensation of the hot water against Geralt’s overly sensitive skin.
Jaskier’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he held Geralt’s cock in place. His pupils widened into a dark and bottomless well, except for Geralt’s reflection.
Geralt held onto Jaskier’s waist as the bard lowered his body, filling himself with Geralt. He let out a shuddering breath when Jaskier seated himself fully onto the witcher’s lap.
“Is this good for you?” Jaskier whispered.
Geralt grunted, willing himself to remain still until Jaskier indicated that he was ready to move. “You?”
Jaskier nodded, then sputtered out a laugh as he pressed his forehead to Geralt’s. “I always knew you’d feel amazing,” he said.
“You feel pretty amazing yourself,” Geralt answered. The tight heat of Jaskier’s body sent Geralt’s desire soaring. His chest rose and fell erratically, rendering Geralt powerless to control his breathing.
“I’m going to move a bit,” Jaskier said.
Geralt nodded. He willingly deferred to Jaskier’s better judgement, but he sincerely hoped that the bard did not expect their lovemaking to be another test of a witcher’s stamina, since Geralt was already well and truly gone. He tightened his grip on Jaskier’s waist as the bard rose onto his knees.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” Jaskier whispered before lowering himself again onto Geralt’s cock.
“You…” Geralt murmured, but his words were lost in Jaskier’s mouth as they shared each other’s breath between kisses. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of Jaskier’s flanks. He already knew he would be compelled to apologize for any bruises in the morning.
Not that Jaskier seemed to care. His own fingers gripped Geralt’s shoulders tightly as his chest slid against the witcher’s scarred skin. He bit at Geralt’s earlobe. “I’m not going to last,” Jaskier lamented, his cock trapped against Geralt’s muscular abdomen.
Geralt had his own doubts about his ability to rein in the desire that burned through him, his balls drawn up, already rushing toward a blissful release. Knees bent, he braced his feet on the wall of the tub, giving Jaskier as much comfort as the witcher could bear.
Water splashed over the edge of the tub with every rise and fall of Jaskier’s body.
“I’ve got you,” Geralt whispered, reaching for Jaskier’s cock. He wrapped his fingers around the hardness, much in the way he would grip his own cock when he pleasured himself. He fought to keep his eyes open, wanting nothing more than to gaze upon Jaskier’s face in his ecstasy.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Jaskier threw his head back and let out a deep groan. Beads of moisture dotted his forehead, his shoulders, his neck, from the heat of the bath. Gods, he was beautiful, just as Geralt suspected he would be. The bard shook from head to toe, his milky white spend dissipating in the bathwater as quickly as it emerged.
Geralt felt a certain amount of pride that he was responsible for Jaskier’s pleasure. Although Jaskier had done most of the work, surely he contributed at least a little bit. The thought made him grin for a moment until Jaskier collapsed onto him with a wet slap, his chest heaving. Geralt was overcome with his own surge of pleasure that struck him like a bolt from a crossbow, the tight heat of Jaskier’s body milking him of his seed.
Jaskier whispered, “Love you,” into the witcher’s ear. Although his breathing grew more evenly paced, his heartbeat still pulsed wildly.
Geralt mouthed at Jaskier’s neck, allowing the rush of bodily passion to overrun all his senses. Everything he wanted fell together, the scent of sage and bergamot, the warm wet skin beneath his fingertips, the taste of Jaskier’s hair that drifted into his mouth. And the joy that he had found with his beloved bard.
When Jaskier’s heart had stopped beating so loudly, Geralt tilted his head back. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked.
“Splendid,” Jaskier said. “But I hope I won’t be required to ride a horse tomorrow.”
Geralt laughed. “Sorry,” he said with a thrust of his hips.
Jaskier touched a finger to Geralt’s mouth. “Don’t apologize, darling,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to have you again.”
Geralt bit Jaskier’s finger. He took it into his mouth and sucked on it, watching Jaskier’s eyes gleam at the innuendo. “Maybe after a bit of a rest?” he asked after drawing off the finger with a pop.
“I think we’ll both sleep well tonight,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger down Geralt’s neck. He adjusted his seat and let Geralt’s cock slip out of him.
Geralt groaned at the absence of the clenched heat around his cock. “Shall I warm the water again?” he asked, willing to do whatever Jaskier suggested.
Jaskier took Geralt’s hands and brought them to his thighs. He leaned close and whispered, “Let’s go to bed.”
Geralt nodded and gave Jaskier’s thighs a squeeze. There would be plenty of time to explore this new aspect of their relationship as the days passed in Lettenhove. Perhaps he would even convince Jaskier to join him in Kaer Morhen for the winter. The future was full of possibilities.
Jaskier pressed down on Geralt’s shoulders, using the witcher as a brace to help him stand.
Geralt gladly let his hands trail over Jaskier’s naked body as he stood. He joined Jaskier in taking a warm linen towel from where it hung beside the tub and drying himself off. He playfully ruffled Jaskier’s hair as he held him close. Geralt took his time, rubbing the towel over Jaskier’s damp skin, paying attention to the space behind his ears, the silky hair beneath his armpits, and his softened cock now drained of pleasure.
With no more flesh left to dry, Jaskier took Geralt’s hand and led him to his bed, blowing out candles along his way.
Geralt followed. The soft mattress dipped down beneath Geralt’s weight. He basked in the comfort of the luxurious bedding, fit for a noble. How far he had come. He held Jaskier to his chest and pressed kisses into his hair, grateful for all that this diversion in his journey on the Path had brought him.
Soon, Jaskier’s soft snores filled the room.
Geralt remained awake for some time, thinking about the events of the day. His anguish over Renfri’s death, something that disquieted him for as long as he could remember, had been greatly alleviated by what he learned from Marilka. In his mind’s eye, he could see her, lifting Renfri’s body into the cart and carrying her to her final resting place. She looked to be a strong girl, from what Geralt remembered about her in Blaviken. She took a considerable risk, Geralt supposed, in burying Renfri when Stregobor dismissed her. There was no telling whether the wizard would change his mind and demand the body for his twisted investigation.
“Marilka,” Geralt hummed, shaking his head. He had so much to be grateful for, when it came to Marilka. It became obvious to Geralt that Jaskier got his spirit from her. And now, with his lover in his arms, Geralt understood that he was the recipient of whatever blessings Marilka’s lifelong bold determination and relentless imagination had inspired.
Geralt guessed that Marilka must be nearly sixty years old. The years had treated her well. She didn’t look frail or as if she were about to face a death of old age anytime soon. Jaskier’s father’s heart trouble didn’t seem something that was passed on to his children. In fact, the Pankratz children all certainly aged well. Jaskier’s siblings each barely looked a day over twenty. And Jaskier, well… he looked no older than the day they had met in Posada, more than twenty years ago.
With any luck, if Jaskier were careful, he might live another thirty years or more. Geralt turned his head and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s brow. In the firelight, Geralt admired the bard’s smooth skin and youthful appearance. Still, he lamented that their future years would pass in no time at all when considering a witcher’s lifespan. There would never be enough time to make up for the twenty-two years that Geralt fought to stay on the lonely Path, without the need for the love he found in Jaskier’s arms.
~
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 57,262
Warnings: Brief mention of sexual desires by an underaged minor character. Genderfluid minor character.
A/N: Visiting Marilka was written for the 2021 Witcher Big Bang. Thanks to my artist, Rogue Pyrola whose awesome artwork can be seen below, seren and the Witcher Big Bang mod team, and my wonderful beta Gillian who always makes my writing better. Thanks to The Witcher’s author, showrunners, and actors, (especially Mia McKenna-Bruce!), who inspire us to make more art.
This fic is dedicated to Nathan, who conceived it to be so.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
After Jaskier kissed his mother on the cheek, he led Geralt through the long corridors to his room in the villa. They climbed a staircase, turning this way and that until they reached a landing with an ornately carved door. Jaskier opened the door and stood aside so Geralt could enter.
A steaming bath had already been prepared. Curtains hung from the four-poster bed which had been turned down for the night. A merry fire burned in the fireplace. Two chairs faced each other before the hearth. Candles had been lit and their glow reflected off the plush bedding patterned with a rich brocade. The familiar scent of sage and bergamot piqued Geralt’s interest in spending the night with Jaskier in his childhood home.
“When did you have time to arrange all this?” Geralt asked in surprise.
“Darling, the role of viscount comes with certain privileges,” Jaskier said. “I managed to sneak away from my ridiculous siblings and put in a request with the servants. I hope you’re pleased with your stay at Lettenhove so far.”
“I hardly expected the solemn occasion of your family reunion to end in a food fight,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “But my stay has been illuminating in more ways than one.”
Jaskier stepped into Geralt’s space and fumbled with the buckles of his armour. “I can’t believe you had already met my mother,” he said.
Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and distracted him with soft kisses to his fingers as they worked. “She’s an amazing woman,” he said. “It’s no wonder that she raised an amazing son.”
“You’ll sleep here tonight?” Jaskier asked. “Unless you want a room of your own… I can have one of the servants-”
“No, of course I’ll stay here with you,” Geralt said. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He slid his fingers beneath Jaskier’s chin and tipped his head to kiss him deeply.
Jaskier moaned in delight. His fingers, rendered motionless by passion, stopped unbuckling and unbuttoning Geralt’s armour and the pearl buttons of his shirt.
This thrilled Geralt to no end. He took Jaskier’s hands in his and brought them to his waist. Grinding against the handsome bard, Geralt’s cock grew swollen with lust. When his lips left Jaskier’s, he murmured, “Julian…”
“Hah!” Jaskier cried. “I never thought I’d hear you say my given name.”
Geralt hummed, taken aback by Jaskier’s surprised response. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s sort of weird, coming from you,” Jaskier admitted. He brushed his fingertips across Geralt’s cheek.
“I’ll continue to call you Jaskier, then,” Geralt said.
Jaskier bit his lip. “No, Julian is fine, I guess,” he said.
“Or my dearest darling bard?” Geralt asked. He slipped his hands beneath the leather and pushed the crimson coat off Jaskier’s shoulders.
“That’s a bit much,” Jaskier laughed. “Even for me.”
“Or the esteemed troubadour of Kerack?” Geralt asked as he gently draped Jaskier’s prized coat onto a chair.
“No! That’s too much like Valdo Marx’s undeserved title,” Jaskier said, waving his hands.
“Professor Pankratz?” Geralt’s fingers worked to unfasten the buttons of Jaskier’s chemise.
“Too formal, Geralt, don’t be ridiculous!” Jaskier stilled as Geralt’s fingers brushed against the bared skin of his chest.
“The bath is getting cold,” Geralt whispered, Jaskier’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“You can just witcher it for us,” Jaskier said, reaching one hand behind Geralt’s neck and drawing him into a kiss.
Without a second thought, Geralt cast the sign for Igni at the tub.
“You didn’t even need to look?” Jaskier asked, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s.
“My skills know no bounds,” Geralt said. Geralt unfastened the last button of Jaskier’s chemise. He spread the garment open, revealing the dark swirls of hair on Jaskier’s chest.
“Don’t let Leocretia hear you say that.”
“She’s rather dangerous.” He let a finger wander from Jaskier’s throat, down to the centre of his chest where his chemise hung open.
“Tell me about it-she’s my sister!”
“I don’t know what I was expecting when I agreed to meet your family,” Geralt said, bending to suck one of Jaskier’s nipples into his mouth.
“And…?” Jaskier asked in an abrupt squeal.
“I never could have imagined any of them as they are,” Geralt said, pressing kisses upward from Jaskier’s chest until he reached his lips. “But somehow, they fit with you perfectly.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Jaskier asked, his pupils dark with lust.
“It’s perfect,” Geralt said against Jaskier’s lips. “Just like you.”
“Geralt…” Jaskier moaned.
Geralt took a step backward and peeled off his shirt, discarding it on the floor.
Jaskier’s fingers danced over the witcher’s chest, tracing every scar that marked his healed wounds, many of which he had stitched with his own hands.
Jaskier’s touch sent a frisson of pleasure up Geralt’s spine. Geralt inhaled the scent of sage and bergamot, revelling in the knowledge that Jaskier wanted him. He kissed at the juncture of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, stripping off his chemise entirely.
“How is it that I should feel chilled, but instead I feel like I’m on fire?” Jaskier whispered.
“Sit,” Geralt said, pushing Jaskier into a chair beside the hearth.
Jaskier obeyed, but not before reaching down to palm at his cock that tented the fabric of his trousers.
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured, kneeling on the floor and tugging Jaskier’s boots off his feet. The stockings followed before Geralt buried his head in Jaskier’s lap and inhaled the intoxicating scent of his arousal.
Strong fingers stroked Geralt’s back soothingly. Jaskier bent forward, leaning over Geralt. His voice, rich and melodic, murmured into Geralt’s ear, “We could both use a bath, love.”
Geralt took a deep breath and sat back on his heels. He waited and watched as Jaskier untied the laces of his trousers. Deft fingers unbuttoned the fastenings that held them in place. When Jaskier, eyes hooded with pleasure, finished with his task, Geralt got to his feet and stepped out of his boots, following suit with the black leather trousers that clung to his thighs and had grown uncomfortably tight around his groin.
Jaskier hummed appreciatively as Geralt exposed his nakedness to the bard. He held an outstretched hand to Geralt, turning it palm-side up with a flourish.
Geralt slid his hand into Jaskier’s and pulled him to his feet.
Steam rose from the bath, giving the room an otherworldly ambiance.
Jaskier’s trousers and smallclothes fell to the floor. He stepped out of them carelessly, the matters of the heart outweighing any concerns for expensive fabric and detailed tailoring.
Geralt considered himself lucky that Jaskier valued him more than his ostentatious clothing. Jaskier’s attention made Geralt feel cherished, valued, and adored… something he had never experienced with a lover from a brothel or even with a partner who he held in high esteem.
Jaskier kicked their clothing aside and pulled Geralt close. He wrapped his hands around Geralt, groping his arse and rutting against him like an animal in heat.
Geralt had no complaint. He held one of Jaskier’s hands and supported him while he stepped over the rim and into the tub. When Jaskier seemed sure-footed, Geralt placed both hands on the rim and climbed into the tub beside him.
“I’m grateful that Lettenhove has a large enough tub to fit both of us,” Geralt said.
“Believe me,” Jaskier said. “I plan to make good use of it while we’re here.”
“Are you going to sit down?” Geralt asked.
“I want you to sit first. Then I’m going to get on top of you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt sputtered out a laugh. “You’ve got this figured out better than I do.”
“Not really,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “My arse is getting cold and I want you to displace enough of the water that it will cover my arse when I’m facing you.”
“Not sure what you mean, but I’ll give it a try,” Geralt said. He knelt in the water, then rested his back against the edge of the tub. Dodging Jaskier’s feet, he stretched his legs out in front of him.
“That’s it,” Jaskier said, making room for himself between Geralt’s legs. “I’m loving the fact that you’re game.”
Geralt planted his feet against the opposite wall of the tub, bending his knees. “How’s this?” he asked, his face flushed with the heat of the water.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” Jaskier said. He put his weight on Geralt’s knees, using them for balance. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No, I’m fine,” Geralt said. His eyes roved over Jaskier’s naked body. The bard could do anything he wanted with him and Geralt would accept it willingly.
“I know how your old knees must feel after a day of walking,” Jaskier said with a grin.
“I’m not that old,” Geralt defended the condition of his knees. He had barely given them a second thought because of his training every year at Kaer Morhen and the physical conditioning required to battle monsters every time he caught wind of a contract.
“Older than my mother,” Jaskier laughed.
Geralt rolled his eyes. “Will I never hear the end of it?” he asked. He placed his hands over Jaskier’s and held on tight.
Jaskier only smiled and lowered himself into the water, kneeling in the space he had created between Geralt’s legs.
“Cosy,” Geralt said, the hot water soothing his tired body. He released his hold on Jaskier’s hands and reached for one of the many glass bottles of shampoos, soaps, and oils that occupied a shelf perched above the tub. This was clearly one of Jaskier’s preferred locations to spend time in when he visited his home.
Jaskier sat back on his heels, his hands still on Geralt’s knees. He slid his palms up Geralt’s thighs, lingering often to squeeze as he stroked the tired muscles.
Geralt exhibited a great deal of control over his arousal as he uncorked the bottle and sniffed the contents. Mint and rosemary, a shampoo whose scent only marginally offended Geralt’s senses.
Jaskier leaned forward, pressing his chest against Geralt’s. “Are you in need of a hair-washing?” he asked, trailing his fingers down Geralt’s neck.
Geralt moaned softly at the sensation of the bard’s chest against his own. “Please,” he begged.
“Lean back,” Jaskier urged, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over Geralt’s long white hair.
Geralt did as he was asked and delighted in the soothing rush of water that fell from Jaskier’s palms.
When Jaskier seemed satisfied that Geralt’s hair was sufficiently wet, he took the bottle from Geralt. “Help me out, here,” he requested, lowering his head, almost to the surface of the water.
Geralt quickly caught on to what Jaskier wanted. With both broad hands, he gathered water and held it above Jaskier’s bowed head. Sloshing the bath water onto Jaskier’s hair, Geralt repeated the motions until Jaskier’s hair was dark and dripping wet. The leather thong that had secured his ponytail was lost in the tub. Geralt suspected that his own was lost as well.
“Very good, witcher,” Jaskier said raising his head again. “It’s been far too long since either of us have had a proper hair-washing.” He tipped a good amount of the shampoo into his hand and applied it to Geralt’s head.
Geralt held out a hand and allowed Jaskier to pour some of the lightly fragranced shampoo into his own palm. He admired how Jaskier’s wet skin gleamed in the candlelight.
Jaskier stoppered the bottle of shampoo and set it back on the shelf before plunging his fingers into Geralt’s white hair.
Geralt gasped and tilted his head from side to side as Jaskier massaged him. As Jaskier leaned over him, Geralt worked the shampoo through the bard’s locks. Geralt suspected that he had the easier job of the pair, since Jaskier’s silky hair was of a length that didn’t tangle easily. He happily scrubbed his fingertips into Jaskier’s scalp, taking a moment to groan in pleasure as Jaskier performed the familiar task of untangling Geralt’s long wispy locks.
“This is fun, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked huskily, kissing the tip of Geralt’s nose.
“We should have done this years ago,” Geralt agreed, sinking back into the bath to rinse the shampoo from his hair. When he finished, he watched Jaskier get onto his hands and knees.
“Can you help me rinse it out? Jaskier asked.
Geralt gladly cupped handfuls of water onto Jaskier’s lowered head. He bit his lip as he admired the muscles that flexed beneath the rivulets of hot water. The gleam of candlelight shimmered over the muscles of Jaskier’s arms and his broad shoulders, no longer disguised by doublets or fancy leather coats.
“You’re done,” Geralt whispered, wringing the last of the soap out of Jaskier’s clean hair.
Jaskier rose to kneel between the witcher’s legs. Droplets clung to his chest hair, wet and matted to his skin.
Geralt adored Jaskier’s scruffy face and his delicious mouth, his lips that begged to be kissed and tasted. He surged forward, taking Jaskier in his arms, their legs a tangle of limbs beneath the surface of the water.
Their mouths met in a kiss, deep and searching. Geralt’s tongue slid through Jaskier’s parted lips. They were as soft and inviting as Geralt had been dreaming about all day. His fingers pressed into the warm wet skin with a desire that refused to be restrained.
Jaskier drew back, his eyes hooded with lust. “Will you fuck me, Geralt?” he asked, a question that needed no answer.
Geralt groaned and clasped Jaskier’s hand, bringing it to his hardened cock. He took a moment to revel in the sensation of the bard’s lute-calloused fingers as they touched his sensitive skin.
Jaskier grinned with delight. He gazed toward the shelf, squinting as he examined the various bottles and their contents. He gave Geralt’s cock a hard squeeze as he found what he needed.
Geralt lamented the loss of Jaskier’s touch, but the bard quickly returned his hand to his cock.
“How’s this?” Jaskier asked, holding the bottle for Geralt’s approval.
Geralt examined the hand-lettered label briefly before taking the bottle from Jaskier. “Hmm,” he hummed, tugging on the stopper.
“I think it’s one of your favourites,” Jaskier said, his fingers stoking the underside of Geralt’s stiffened cock.
Geralt held the bottle to his nose and inhaled the familiar scent. “Chamomile,” he whispered, trying to keep a sly grin off his face.
Jaskier held out his hand for Geralt to tip some of the slippery oil onto his fingers. “I can’t believe you let me rub it on your arse when we first met,” Jaskier said.
“I didn’t know it would be the first and last time,” Geralt said with regret. He watched as Jaskier reached behind himself, his fingers probing in such a way that made him close his eyes and bite his lip in concentration.
“I assure you, my love, this will not be the last time that we take each other apart."
“I don’t deserve this,” Geralt said, at a loss for what to do with his hands as the bard fingered himself open for Geralt’s delight. He settled for running his hands down Jaskier’s chest, teasing at his nipples as the bard knelt tall before him, his hard cock bobbing in the water.
Jaskier moaned as the muscles of his shoulder strained, allowing his fingers to reach their intended target. “You deserve all good things,” he murmured.
“I don’t deserve you,” Geralt whispered. He had hated himself for so long, but now, when he listened to Jaskier’s words of love, he believed that he might be forgiven for whatever transgressions made him unworthy of such happiness.
“I want you so badly, Geralt. I’ve always wanted you,” Jaskier huffed out before biting his lower lip in concentration.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” Geralt said, barely holding back the coil of pleasure that threatened to surge from him.
“I’ve been ready for you for so long,” Jaskier whispered. He returned his hands to Geralt, placing them on the witcher’s warm shoulders.
Geralt’s cock throbbed with desire. The heat of Jaskier’s hands pinned him in place.
Jaskier nudged at Geralt’s thighs, urging them together while he shifted to sit astride them. “Just take it slow,” he whispered.
There had been no need to ask. Geralt would have gladly treated Jaskier as if he were made of glass if it meant that he could enjoy him in this intimate way. He felt Jaskier reach for his cock. The callouses from years of playing his lute added to the sensation of the hot water against Geralt’s overly sensitive skin.
Jaskier’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he held Geralt’s cock in place. His pupils widened into a dark and bottomless well, except for Geralt’s reflection.
Geralt held onto Jaskier’s waist as the bard lowered his body, filling himself with Geralt. He let out a shuddering breath when Jaskier seated himself fully onto the witcher’s lap.
“Is this good for you?” Jaskier whispered.
Geralt grunted, willing himself to remain still until Jaskier indicated that he was ready to move. “You?”
Jaskier nodded, then sputtered out a laugh as he pressed his forehead to Geralt’s. “I always knew you’d feel amazing,” he said.
“You feel pretty amazing yourself,” Geralt answered. The tight heat of Jaskier’s body sent Geralt’s desire soaring. His chest rose and fell erratically, rendering Geralt powerless to control his breathing.
“I’m going to move a bit,” Jaskier said.
Geralt nodded. He willingly deferred to Jaskier’s better judgement, but he sincerely hoped that the bard did not expect their lovemaking to be another test of a witcher’s stamina, since Geralt was already well and truly gone. He tightened his grip on Jaskier’s waist as the bard rose onto his knees.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” Jaskier whispered before lowering himself again onto Geralt’s cock.
“You…” Geralt murmured, but his words were lost in Jaskier’s mouth as they shared each other’s breath between kisses. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of Jaskier’s flanks. He already knew he would be compelled to apologize for any bruises in the morning.
Not that Jaskier seemed to care. His own fingers gripped Geralt’s shoulders tightly as his chest slid against the witcher’s scarred skin. He bit at Geralt’s earlobe. “I’m not going to last,” Jaskier lamented, his cock trapped against Geralt’s muscular abdomen.
Geralt had his own doubts about his ability to rein in the desire that burned through him, his balls drawn up, already rushing toward a blissful release. Knees bent, he braced his feet on the wall of the tub, giving Jaskier as much comfort as the witcher could bear.
Water splashed over the edge of the tub with every rise and fall of Jaskier’s body.
“I’ve got you,” Geralt whispered, reaching for Jaskier’s cock. He wrapped his fingers around the hardness, much in the way he would grip his own cock when he pleasured himself. He fought to keep his eyes open, wanting nothing more than to gaze upon Jaskier’s face in his ecstasy.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Jaskier threw his head back and let out a deep groan. Beads of moisture dotted his forehead, his shoulders, his neck, from the heat of the bath. Gods, he was beautiful, just as Geralt suspected he would be. The bard shook from head to toe, his milky white spend dissipating in the bathwater as quickly as it emerged.
Geralt felt a certain amount of pride that he was responsible for Jaskier’s pleasure. Although Jaskier had done most of the work, surely he contributed at least a little bit. The thought made him grin for a moment until Jaskier collapsed onto him with a wet slap, his chest heaving. Geralt was overcome with his own surge of pleasure that struck him like a bolt from a crossbow, the tight heat of Jaskier’s body milking him of his seed.
Jaskier whispered, “Love you,” into the witcher’s ear. Although his breathing grew more evenly paced, his heartbeat still pulsed wildly.
Geralt mouthed at Jaskier’s neck, allowing the rush of bodily passion to overrun all his senses. Everything he wanted fell together, the scent of sage and bergamot, the warm wet skin beneath his fingertips, the taste of Jaskier’s hair that drifted into his mouth. And the joy that he had found with his beloved bard.
When Jaskier’s heart had stopped beating so loudly, Geralt tilted his head back. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked.
“Splendid,” Jaskier said. “But I hope I won’t be required to ride a horse tomorrow.”
Geralt laughed. “Sorry,” he said with a thrust of his hips.
Jaskier touched a finger to Geralt’s mouth. “Don’t apologize, darling,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to have you again.”
Geralt bit Jaskier’s finger. He took it into his mouth and sucked on it, watching Jaskier’s eyes gleam at the innuendo. “Maybe after a bit of a rest?” he asked after drawing off the finger with a pop.
“I think we’ll both sleep well tonight,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger down Geralt’s neck. He adjusted his seat and let Geralt’s cock slip out of him.
Geralt groaned at the absence of the clenched heat around his cock. “Shall I warm the water again?” he asked, willing to do whatever Jaskier suggested.
Jaskier took Geralt’s hands and brought them to his thighs. He leaned close and whispered, “Let’s go to bed.”
Geralt nodded and gave Jaskier’s thighs a squeeze. There would be plenty of time to explore this new aspect of their relationship as the days passed in Lettenhove. Perhaps he would even convince Jaskier to join him in Kaer Morhen for the winter. The future was full of possibilities.
Jaskier pressed down on Geralt’s shoulders, using the witcher as a brace to help him stand.
Geralt gladly let his hands trail over Jaskier’s naked body as he stood. He joined Jaskier in taking a warm linen towel from where it hung beside the tub and drying himself off. He playfully ruffled Jaskier’s hair as he held him close. Geralt took his time, rubbing the towel over Jaskier’s damp skin, paying attention to the space behind his ears, the silky hair beneath his armpits, and his softened cock now drained of pleasure.
With no more flesh left to dry, Jaskier took Geralt’s hand and led him to his bed, blowing out candles along his way.
Geralt followed. The soft mattress dipped down beneath Geralt’s weight. He basked in the comfort of the luxurious bedding, fit for a noble. How far he had come. He held Jaskier to his chest and pressed kisses into his hair, grateful for all that this diversion in his journey on the Path had brought him.
Soon, Jaskier’s soft snores filled the room.
Geralt remained awake for some time, thinking about the events of the day. His anguish over Renfri’s death, something that disquieted him for as long as he could remember, had been greatly alleviated by what he learned from Marilka. In his mind’s eye, he could see her, lifting Renfri’s body into the cart and carrying her to her final resting place. She looked to be a strong girl, from what Geralt remembered about her in Blaviken. She took a considerable risk, Geralt supposed, in burying Renfri when Stregobor dismissed her. There was no telling whether the wizard would change his mind and demand the body for his twisted investigation.
“Marilka,” Geralt hummed, shaking his head. He had so much to be grateful for, when it came to Marilka. It became obvious to Geralt that Jaskier got his spirit from her. And now, with his lover in his arms, Geralt understood that he was the recipient of whatever blessings Marilka’s lifelong bold determination and relentless imagination had inspired.
Geralt guessed that Marilka must be nearly sixty years old. The years had treated her well. She didn’t look frail or as if she were about to face a death of old age anytime soon. Jaskier’s father’s heart trouble didn’t seem something that was passed on to his children. In fact, the Pankratz children all certainly aged well. Jaskier’s siblings each barely looked a day over twenty. And Jaskier, well… he looked no older than the day they had met in Posada, more than twenty years ago.
With any luck, if Jaskier were careful, he might live another thirty years or more. Geralt turned his head and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s brow. In the firelight, Geralt admired the bard’s smooth skin and youthful appearance. Still, he lamented that their future years would pass in no time at all when considering a witcher’s lifespan. There would never be enough time to make up for the twenty-two years that Geralt fought to stay on the lonely Path, without the need for the love he found in Jaskier’s arms.
~