The Child of Surprise

Stay

"Stay with me," Geralt whispered before closing the distance between them. The kiss was tentative at first, testing the waters to gauge Jaskier's reaction. His words rang out in Jaskier's head over and over again— staywithmestaywithmestaywithme —three little words loaded with so much meaning. Did he mean just for tonight or forever? Jaskier didn't know, but he made his feelings perfectly clear by sliding his hand across Geralt's waist and pulling him closer. He'd wanted this since Geralt had called him out of the blue a few days ago. Even after everything that had happened since then, knowing that their lives were about to change forever, Jaskier's feelings hadn't changed— he still wanted Geralt. Now that he was sure that Geralt wanted him too, he wasn't going to mess up his chance with him. Not again.

The tentative kiss became more heated as Geralt began pulling at Jaskier's clothes. Everything seemed to move in a blur then as they groped and kissed, hands slipping under clothes and dragging over bare, hot skin as they shed their shirts and trousers. Geralt didn't even give Jaskier the opportunity to completely remove his jeans, leaving them tangled around his ankles, before climbing onto his lap. Jaskier only had a brief moment to appreciate Geralt in all his glory—his toned arms, muscular thighs and his thick, swollen cock rearing upwards, leaking at the tip—before Geralt lurched forward and captured his lips in another searing kiss. Jaskier responded by wrapping his arms around Geralt's body, pulling him closer. When Geralt started rubbing his entrance insistently against the tip of Jaskier's cock, he broke the kiss and asked breathlessly, "Have you got any..."

"In the bedroom." Geralt climbed off of Jaskier's lap, but when Jaskier moved to follow him, Geralt pushed him back onto the settee. "Wait here. I want to fuck myself on your prick, right here on the couch."

Geralt didn't even give Jaskier time to let that promise fully sink in before he sauntered over to the bedroom to get lube and a condom. Jaskier stared after him before taking the opportunity to kick off his jeans completely, wondering to himself—not for the first time and definitely not for the last—how the hell he'd manage to wind up here with Geralt. The man was perfection personified and he couldn't quite understand what Geralt found so appealing about him. But when Geralt reappeared a moment later and planted himself on top of top of Jaskier's lap again, he figured it was something that he could give greater consideration another time—he had more important matters to contend with right now. Namely, fucking Geralt until he couldn't walk straight, just the way he liked it.

When Geralt sank down onto Jaskier's cock, taking the full length in one smooth slide, they both let out a low, shaky moan of pleasure. Geralt buried his face in Jaskier's shoulder, taking a moment to catch his breath. Jaskier caressed Geralt's hair and whispered words of praise, telling him how fucking gorgeous he is and how good his tight little hole felt wrapped around his cock. Geralt responded in kind by undulating his hips, sending a surge of pleasure up Jaskier's entire body. Jaskier groaned and felt Geralt smile against his skin before he withdrew, almost pulling off entirely, before grinding back down again to the hilt. Jaskier gasped as another wave of pleasure washed over him, dizzy and breathless as Geralt began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

As Geralt fucked them both closer to climax, Jaskier's head began to spin. Even though he was gasping for air, he couldn't seem to get enough oxygen to his brain. All he could do was feel—he relished the feeling of Geralt's hot skin, slick with perspiration, pressed against his own, and the way Geralt's heart pounded against his heaving chest, which rose and fell as he gasped and moaned. He savoured the way Geralt's calloused fingertips dug into his forearms to steady himself as he bounced up and down on Jaskier's cock, almost to the point of being painful. Everything about Geralt was intoxicating, and Jaskier wanted everything of him. He kissed Geralt's neck and breathed him in, wanting to fill every part of himself with this man; the smell of Geralt's cologne—clean and earthy like sweet grass after rain—filled his nostrils and made him feel drunk with desire. Lost to his senses, Jaskier ran his tongue up Geralt's neck, desperate to taste him, pulling a low growl from Geralt when he did so.