Chapter Text
Normally Geralt would have heard the man coming from miles away but then, normally, Jaskier wouldn’t have been so excited by the sight of Geralt in action during a hunt that he begged the witcher to fuck him against the wall of the nearby farmhouse. So really neither of them were at their best this evening.
Jaskier normally put up at least a token protest before they fucked outdoors but this time he’d only yelped in delight as Geralt pushed him face-first into the wall and held him there. He didn’t even jokingly plead with Geralt not to accidentally use necrophage oil to finger him open, something he normally took great delight in doing when they fucked post-hunt.
Clearly the sight of Geralt taking out five ghouls in a matter of minutes had appealed to him in some way.
By the time Geralt gets inside Jaskier the bard’s already moaning a litany of encouragements peppered with shouts of Geralt’s name and it really shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is when a man appears around the corner of the, apparently not abandoned, farmhouse and demands to know what the fuck they think they’re doing. They both freeze.
Axii seems an excessive solution to a problem like this but Geralt’s a little too distracted by the warm press of Jaskier’s body against his, the soft little sounds he’s still making and the addictive feeling of being inside him to think of any other. And he’d really like to finish soon. He makes the sign with the hand he’d been bracing against the wall and growls, as quickly as he can, “Leave. Go home. Forget you saw us here.”
The man’s face goes slack and he walks away without another word.
Jaskier comes instantly.
**
At first Geralt assumed it had been the witness. Jaskier always loves an audience, he loves the idea of being watched. Geralt suspects he knows exactly how good he looks and sounds taking cock and likes the thought of other people getting to see it too.
But then, not even a full day later, Jaskier starts asking questions. Pointed questions.
“Would it work on me?” he’d stopped strumming as he walked a few minutes ago and Geralt had been waiting for him to come out with whatever it was he was thinking about, “your Axii trick, could you do it on me?”
“Yes.” Geralt realises how it sounds as soon as he says it, “I don’t. I haven’t.”
“What? Oh don’t fret, I know,” Jaskier waves a hand dismissively, “I was just thinking that you could have shut me up and sent me on my way after we first met, if you wanted to. But you didn’t really want to, did you?”
Jaskier’s smiling cheekily, completely unperturbed by the knowledge that his travelling companion could influence his mind whenever he felt like it, and Geralt feels the not unfamiliar urge to shout at him, force him to see just how much danger he’s putting himself in just by being around a witcher.
He doesn’t. Instead he ignores Jaskier’s knowing grin and hopes that’s the last he’ll hear from his bard about Axii.
**
It isn’t.
It’s in the aftermath of a particularly well-received performance that Jaskier next brings it up. He joins Geralt at the table flushed and happy and immediately starts asking questions about what exactly Geralt could make him do with Axii. From anyone else Geralt would have assumed it was an assessment of threat but Jaskier just seems genuinely curious, if not utterly delighted, to learn a bit more about his witcher. His line of questioning has grown awfully repetitive and Geralt’s starting to tire of answering ‘yes’ to his every inane question when the bard excuses himself and steps outside.
Geralt follows him out. Normally he’d grant Jaskier some privacy to take care of his needs but he’s spent the evening watching a sour-faced, bulky man eye the bard from the corner of the tavern and he suspects he either wants Jaskier dead for some past transgression or simply wants Jaskier. Either way, Geralt was loathe to let his bard visit the dim, deserted back alley alone.
If the company bothers Jaskier he certainly doesn’t show it, chattering happily to Geralt as he pulls out his cock and starts to piss. He lets out a tiny, contented sigh and then, seemingly out of nowhere, the sharp smell of arousal floods Geralt’s nose.
“Could you…” Jaskier begins cautiously, “could you stop me from doing this?” His voice is remarkably level. If Geralt couldn’t smell him he’d have no way of knowing how much the idea is turning him on.
“Yes.”
“Bollocks!” he says, incredulously, “could you really?” Jaskier’s voice is starting to betray his excitement. He shakes himself off and tucks his cock back into his pants.
Geralt nods.
“….would you?” It was the inevitable request, the one all the questions had been leading to. Geralt thinks about it. He imagines Jaskier desperate and helpless, pleading with Geralt to let him piss. He thinks about how fucking good Jaskier would look in the moment he’s right on the edge of leaking and imagines stretching that moment out as long as he pleased, Jaskier powerless to stop him. He imagines the look of betrayal on Jaskier’s face afterwards. He imagines Jaskier scared of him, afraid of being violated again, leaving.
Wordlessly Geralt turns away from Jaskier and walks back into the tavern.
**
Jaskier doesn’t leave him alone with his thoughts for long, half-jogging to follow him upstairs and kissing him lightly as soon as he has him alone.
“I only asked because I trust you, Geralt,” he kisses the witcher again, with more heat this time, “I know you’re not going to really hurt me, it’s not who you are. It turns me on when you take charge. I like the idea of you denying me.” Geralt can feel just how much Jaskier likes the idea where the bard is pressed against him. Obviously Jaskier can feel that Geralt, despite himself, likes the idea too because he starts to slowly rock his hips into him as he talks.
“If it got unbearable I’d use the word but if not…” the slow grind of Jaskier’s erection against his is making a compelling point, “if it works you’d be completely in control of when I get to go. I’d be helpless. And I’d love it.”
“It would work.” Geralt has absolutely no doubt of that. Jaskier takes his words as the encouragement they very nearly are.
“Think about it! I could beg you to let me go and you could ignore me. You love ignoring me, it’s perfect!”
Geralt thinks he may need to give it some more consideration. But, right now, the only thing he’s sure he needs is Jaskier.
**
Afterwards Jaskier lets himself flop heavily on top of Geralt. If past experience is any indicator he’ll want to move again and clean up before they sleep but, for the moment, Geralt allows himself to enjoy the closeness for what it is. It’s a few minutes before Jaskier talks again.
“If you truly don’t want to do it we don’t have to. I always have a wonderful time with you regardless,” he kisses the tip of Geralt’s nose, “but please don’t say you won’t do it because you think you’re going to scare me away. I trust you more than anyone, Geralt, and you don’t scare me.”
Damn the bard and his infuriating ability to always know exactly what was bothering Geralt.
“Can you trust me?” Jaskier’s voice is gentle and he smells content and affectionate with a darker hint of eager anticipation, “Can you trust me to trust you?”
Geralt waits for a few moments but Jaskier’s scent doesn’t change. He isn’t lying; he really isn’t scared by the idea of having a witcher in his head, forcing his body to deny its own needs. He isn’t scared of Geralt being in his head. Because he trusts him. Eventually Geralt hums an affirmative.
“Good,” Jaskier nips playfully at his jaw, “don’t be nice to me tomorrow.”
**
The less than subtle hopeful glance Jaskier sends him the next morning as he sleepily makes for the chamber pot is the only confirmation Geralt needs that he truly does want to go through with this. He waits until the bard is positioned and right on the edge of letting go before he makes the sign. Jaskier’s eyes cloud a little.
“You will not be able to piss, however much you need to, until I say you can.”
Jaskier blinks and his dazed expression lifts. For all his eagerness to experiment with Axii it’s obvious to Geralt that he still doesn’t really expect this to work. He shoots Geralt a cocky grin and tries to piss.
And tries.
And tries.
He visibly strains himself to do it, gritting his teeth and tensing every muscle in his body. He even hops up and down a little. Geralt watches him the whole time with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile, waiting for him to realise it isn’t going to work. By the time Jaskier gives up he’s flushed and panting and he hasn’t managed to spill a single drop.
“I don’t need to go that much yet,” Jaskier says, unconvincingly, “but this won’t hold up when I do, bodies don’t work like that Geralt.”
It would hold up. It would hold up no matter how desperate Jaskier got.
“If that’s true, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Geralt hands him a mostly full waterskin, “finish it.”
Jaskier’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously. For a moment Geralt thinks he might give up then and there but Jaskier’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. Though he’s squeezing his thighs together by the end of it he holds eye contact with Geralt as he drinks the whole thing.
**
By the time they make it downstairs Jaskier’s fidgeting constantly. Geralt ignores him and strikes up a conversation with the innkeeper about which nearby towns would be likely to have work for a witcher. She’s much more relaxed around Geralt than she had been when she met him yesterday and Geralt suspects he has Jaskier’s songs from the night before to thank for it. The bard himself is uncharacteristically quiet through the exchange.
“Is he alright?” The innkeeper looks behind Geralt to where Jaskier is shuffling from foot to foot and fiddling with the strap of his lute. He startles at the attention.
“Who me? I’m fine, better than fine! Just eager to go,” he flinches at his wording, “that is to say, eager to get back on the road and take in some more of the rapturous beauty of Velen!”
She looks unconvinced and Velen is conspicuously devoid of any rapturous beauty but she lets them leave without any more questions. As soon as they’re outside Jaskier darts around the corner of the inn and tries, again unsuccessfully, to empty his bladder.
“It will feel worse if you keep trying.” Geralt warns to no avail. Privately he’s a little thrilled at the thought of it getting worse for Jaskier, the bard is already showing his need so dramatically and his bladder can’t possibly be full already.
**
In all honesty, Jaskier hadn’t really been expecting this to work. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in his witcher, not at all, it was more that, well….
Geralt had a tendency to overestimate just how horrifying his witcher abilities were at times. Whether it was due to an inclination to think of himself as monstrous or a sheer inability to understand just how durable humans could be Jaskier wasn’t sure but, despite his fantasies, he hadn’t truly thought Geralt would be able to make him physically incapable of pissing.
And then he’d tried to go.
It had felt completely bizarre. It was as if the piss made it all the way to the very tip of his cock and then just….stopped. He truly hadn’t needed to go that badly when he’d first tried but the sensation was one of absolute urgency, one that had him convinced he needed to go right then, and it had gone against all of his instincts to give up without getting his relief.
Now here he was, glaring at the wall, glaring at his cock, glaring at Geralt and still completely unable to go. If he closes his eyes he can visualise it, his stream hitting the dirt, the sound of it, the relief he’d feel. Then he opens them again and there’s nothing but that urgent, immovable pressure.
Geralt had warned him that trying would only make it worse but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was about to wet himself and the urge to pull out his cock and go before he did was simply too strong to deny entirely. Nevertheless he’s been standing here for far too long and the cold morning breeze on the tip of his cock is making his desperation even harder to tolerate. For the second time that day he tucks himself away without relief.
**
Okay, Geralt really had been onto something when he’d warned him about trying to go.
Even though Jaskier knows that he physically doesn’t need to do anything to keep from wetting himself, that he literally can’t wet himself right now, the intensity of his urge has him dancing on the spot. Geralt, who’d clearly taken Jaskier’s request not to be kind to heart, makes absolutely no effort to slow his typical brisk pace to accommodate Jaskier’s awkward shuffling and the bard is left hurrying helplessly after him as he made his way to the stables. He wants to piss. He wants to beg Geralt to let him piss.
He turns his most pleading pout on the witcher, the one that’s got Geralt to attend three separate court performances he’d swore he’d never go to, and begs.
“Geralt, please let me piss, I need to go so badly. Please?”
Geralt looks up from where he’s been adjusting Roach’s girth and gives Jaskier an unimpressed once over, taking in his wide eyes, crossed legs and the tiny aborted motions his hand keeps making towards his crotch.
“Hmm. I think you can wait,” he says, flatly, before turning right back to Roach. It sends a hot shock of pure arousal through Jaskier and, from the smile Geralt can’t quite hide as he turns, it seems the witcher picked up on the smell. Jaskier reddens.
“Oh. Well, er, in that case, I’m just going to go and…” he gestures vaguely outside and Geralt scoffs.
“You can try.”
It should not be so appealing to hear him being cocky about this.
Jaskier strains to piss until he’s sweating and hopes no one but Geralt hears his shout of frustration when he finally gives up.
**
After a few hours of travelling, a brief, squirmy stop to eat and then even more travelling Jaskier’s sure he’s about to burst. He’d rushed to a tree in a desperate hurry no less than four times, sure he was about to wet himself only to find he still couldn’t even produce the slightest trickle. Each time being so close to relief is a torment that leaves him that much more desperate and, despite how overwhelmingly good it feels to be in Geralt’s power like this, it still takes all of his self-control not to give in and use the word they had agreed to.
His witcher is doing an admirable job ignoring Jaskier’s very pretty begging, even after all the sordid sexual favours Jaskier had promised him if he let him go. Distracted as he was Jaskier had still made note of the ones that made Geralt shift in his saddle, it never hurt to be prepared after all. Geralt, had, however been paying very close attention to Jaskier’s liquid intake, so worried he might be dehydrating in the warm spring sun and, really, wasn’t that just so very kind of him. Arsehole. Jaskier feels full to bursting, he would have been desperate for a stop by now even without Axii’s influence.
Jaskier had soon worked out that, if he positioned his lute case at the exact right angle, he could hold himself fairly inconspicuously but there was nothing at all he could do in the face of his body’s complete and utter biological certainty that it was going to leak. Everything in him screams that the piss is right there and about to come out and that he needs to find a place to relieve himself now if he doesn’t want to make a mess of his clothes. And so he can’t stop trying and the harder he tries the more intense his desperation grows.
He can’t keep walking. He stops and grips his crotch with both hands, crossing his legs frantically and whining. He’s so desperate, so impossibly desperate, Axii or not surely he can’t hold it another second, surely.
He’s barely aware that Geralt’s pulled Roach to a stop and dismounted until he feels the witcher’s broad hands on his. Geralt tugs his hands away from his crotch, ignoring his helpless whimper, and looks intensely at him for a few seconds. He drops Jaskier’s hands again and says, without a hint of ceremony, “You can go.”
At first it’s only a tiny trickle as Jaskier’s body readjusts to the freedom and the bard howls at the release that isn’t any relief. Geralt shushes him, almost soothingly, and holds Jaskier steady when his legs start to tremble. Jaskier loses a few more drops into his smallclothes before he frantically scrambles to get his cock out, it’s driving him absolutely mad to try and hold it in now when he’s so desperate and finally on the verge of getting his relief but he refuses to make it this far only to ruin his clothes. Geralt’s hands push his aside yet again and he whispers a quiet “no” of protest before he realises that Geralt’s helping him, pulling his cock gently out of his trousers and aiming it at the ground.
“You can go,” he growls again, right into Jaskier’s ear.
At last, Jaskier does.
It still takes a moment for his stream to build up but when it does it’s torrential and he can’t hold back a moan. He lets himself lean back into Geralt, lets the witcher support his full weight and finally gives in to the feeling of complete and utter relief. It pours out of him for what feels like hours, he’s shocked to discover just how hard he can piss, and the relief is sheer ecstasy. He feels weightless and he barely even notices when Geralt shifts them both back a little to avoid the enormous puddle forming at their feet. No wonder he’d been so fucking desperate if all of that had been locked inside his bladder.
Before he’s quite finished he’s aware of Geralt’s erection pressing into his lower back and he lets out the witcher’s name as a blissful groan just to feel it twitch against him. He can’t help a smug, satisfied smile. He knew his witcher would enjoy this.
“Fuck,” he sighs, as his stream finally slows to a stop, “oh fuck, I’d really very much like to fuck you right now, witcher, how far away is that inn?”
“Who said we’re making it to the inn?” Geralt growls, still pressing so hot and hard against him.
Jaskier whimpers.
They don’t make it to the inn.