Chapter Text
“Do you have any men?”
He hadn’t meant to ask that. Wasn’t sure where the impulse had come from. But it was there, and Miss Anna only quirked an elegant brow slightly at the request rather than gasping in genteel horror as some might. Perhaps the evening wasn’t immediately ruined, then.
“Just the one. He’s not with a client right now, but let me go check with him first.” Geralt nodded acknowledgment and she swept away down the corridor. Such a response was par for the course, for him. Not all whores would be willing to take a witcher as a client. If this man wasn’t willing, perhaps one of the girls would -
“He said he’d be happy to.” Miss Anna gave him a sly smile as he handed over the coin. “Down at the end, turn left and it’s the first door on the right.”
At the end of the corridor, he hesitated a moment. There was something on the air, a scent - something familiar, yet not quite right. It set him on edge for a moment, but he shook it off and went to the indicated door. Giving it a cursory tap in warning, he walked in -
- and froze, every muscle in his body locking tight enough that he could barely breathe, as the man turned around and the scent hit him full-force. Blue eyes sparkled with something between mischief and malice as they met his gaze.
“Hello, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. “It’s been awhile.”
It took long seconds for him to remember how to breathe, how to speak. “Jaskier,” he said. He wanted to ask what the bard was doing here, what kind of game he was playing, where he’d been for the last year, but he couldn’t seem to get his tongue around the words. It was as though Jaskier’s name was the only thing he knew how to say.
“Ah, so you do remember me, then,” Jaskier said eventually, when it became clear that Geralt wasn’t going to say anything else. There was a slight edge under the flirtatious tone, keen as any blade. Jaskier closed the distance between them, and Geralt’s hands tingled with the craving to touch him, but he only reached past to push the door shut.
It was then, as Jaskier leaned past him with scant inches separating their bodies, that Geralt finally realized what had been off about the scent. The sandalwood-and-spice of the scent oils he favored was the same. The sweetgrass and salt of his skin was the same.
But the rosin and silk of his lute was entirely missing.
He considered the implications of that as he watched Jaskier walk over to the large, silk-clad bed. There was a coquettish sway to his hips, and when he turned around and sat on the edge of the bed the navy-blue robe he wore threatened - promised - to fall open. The tease of it set Geralt’s heart pounding.
“Well?” Jaskier asked. “Going to come join me?”
Geralt took a step toward him, but then stopped. The shock was starting to wear off, and his capacity for speech was returning.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Jaskier raised an eyebrow, then rather theatrically cast his gaze around the room, looked down at himself, and looked back at Geralt. “What does it look like I’m doing, darling?”
A low growl escaped his throat. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“Then perhaps you should say what you mean.” Jaskier reclined back onto one elbow, his other hand smoothing the fabric of his robe down over his thigh.
“Why are you here? Why are you doing this?” He had to force the words out from behind gritted teeth, Jaskier’s teasing display having exactly the intended effect. He took another step forward as though Jaskier had him on a string and was reeling him in.
Jaskier simply shrugged. “We all need to eat, my dear witcher.”
“You’re avoiding the question,” Geralt snapped. “You made a perfectly good living out there -” he flung an arm out in a broad gesture intended to encompass the twenty-two years of life out on the Path, “- for decades. If you didn’t want to travel anymore, you could’ve found a position in a court somewhere, or taken that teaching position at Oxenfurt you always talked about. So what the fuck are you doing here, working in a brothel?”
“Whoring,” Jaskier corrected him mildly, but there was a hint of teeth in his smile. “You can just say it. Call it what it is.”
Another step forward. “Call it whatever you want to call it, just answer the fucking question already, Jaskier.”
The teasing light abruptly fled from those blue eyes. “Don’t use that name again. It’s Julian, now.”
That hit like a punch to the gut for reasons Geralt refused to examine. “Fine. Julian. Will you just answer the damn question?”
Jaskier - Julian - stood slowly and closed the last of the distance between them, until Geralt could feel the heat of his body through the clothes between them. “Do you know, darling, when the last time I played or sang was?”
Geralt shook his head, though he was very much afraid he did know.
A cruel smile bloomed across Jaskier’s - Julian’s face. “In Caingorn, the day before we left for the dragon hunt. I was working on a new song, do you remember? I never did finish it.”
Bowing his head, Geralt let the weight of that sink into his bones, heavier than anything he’d ever felt before. “Jaskier,” he whispered, “I’m s-”
“Don’t.” His head snapped back up to see Jaskier’s eyes blazing at him. Julian’s eyes. “I told you, it’s Julian. Don’t call me that again. And don’t you dare,” he all but hissed, “don’t you fucking dare try to apologize. I am not willing to hear those words from you. Not now, not ever.”
The shock of such an adamant proclamation set Geralt reeling back half a step. “But -”
“No.”
“Fine, then.” The ice in Julian’s voice broke through the crust of shock, and suddenly there were words, all the words Geralt could possibly need. “Fine! Call yourself whatever you want, refuse my apology if you like, that’s your choice. But we both know this isn’t you. This isn’t the life you’re meant to have; this isn’t where you belong.” Despite his best efforts, a hint of pleading underscored his next words. “If it’s money you need, I can help, or...I don’t know. I just know this isn’t right. You shouldn’t be here like this.”
“You’ve never been one for destiny,” Julian shot back. “What do you care where anyone is meant to be? Fuck meant to be, fuck belonging. This is where I am. This is where I choose to be, and what I’ve chosen to do. If you don’t like it, there’s the door. Ride out and never look back.”
Very slowly, very deliberately, he let his lips part, tongue darting out to moisten them in a sultry gesture that made a mockery of the absentminded gesture Geralt was used to seeing. “Or...I can give you what you came for. It’s up to you.”
Geralt’s breath caught sharply and he stared. Thoughts flickered through his head, rapid-fire: I shouldn’t do this; it’s a terrible idea.
Julian bit his lip.
Geralt was on him faster than thought. Yanking the silk robe open, his hands roamed over Julian’s skin, gripping his hips and dragging him closer to press their bodies together. With a growl he nipped at Julian’s neck.
Julian let out a gorgeously needy little whimper at that, but a moment later gasped out “No marks.”
Reluctantly Geralt let go, licking up the column of his throat to rumble into his ear. “Can I kiss you?”
Another wonderful sound escaped him. “Costs extra.”
“I know.”
“Then yes,” Julian breathed. He tangled his hands in Geralt’s hair, tugged him up and kissed him almost desperately.
At any other time, Geralt might have felt self-conscious about the desperate keening sound that tore itself from his throat as their mouths met. But his mind was full of the discovery that Julian’s lips are just as soft as they’d always looked, and there was no room for anything else. Besides, Julian made a matching sound a moment later, so at least he could rest assured that the sensation of fulfilling a desperate craving long-denied, wonderful and awful all at once, was mutual.
Julian’s hands slid down the sides of Geralt’s neck, over his shoulders and chest, then closed tightly around fistfuls of his shirt and he tugged sharply. “This. Off.” The hint of snarl riding the edge of his voice had no business being as appealing as it was. It called up an answering growl from Geralt anyway as he pulled back just far enough to strip off the offending garment and toss it carelessly aside.
The feeling of Julian’s mouth exploring the slant of his collarbone dragged a low groan from him. His hands tightened on Julian's hips as he moved lower, tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. "Jaskier," he sighed, letting his head tip back.
Only for the softly-exhaled word to turn into a yelp at the sudden sharpness of teeth biting down hard enough to sting. "Fuck," Geralt snapped, tensing. "What the -"
But the hard stare that met him when he looked down made him pause and think, and he realized - "Sorry," he said. "Julian. I didn't -"
Julian licked over the teeth marks, and Geralt suddenly forgot what he'd been about to say. Those soft lips moved lower as Julian sank to his knees. His hands came to the buttons of Geralt's breeches, fingertips grazing over the outline of his cock straining at the leather as he looked up coyly.
"It's all right," he murmured, nuzzling along Geralt's hip as he slowly undid the fastenings. "Just means I need to give you plenty of practice saying it." He drew Geralt's cock out, took him in hand. "Moaning it," he added with a wicked little smile. His tongue darted out to lap up the clear fluid already beading at the tip. "Screaming it," he whispered, hot breath washing over the sensitive flesh.
Geralt bit his lip on the frankly embarrassing whimper that wanted to escape. "Fuck," he managed to spit instead, hands tangling in Julian's hair as that oh-so-talented tongue swirled around the head of his cock.
"Ah-ah," Julian chided teasingly, then licked a slow stripe up the underside from base to tip as he dragged the tight leather breeches down Geralt's thighs and coaxed him to step out of them so they could be kicked aside. "My name isn't 'fuck'." Before Geralt could reply, Julian took just the head into his mouth and sucked hard.
The sound that escaped Geralt at that barely sounded human.
Julian pulled off slowly, letting go with a dramatic pop, and grinned up at him. "Say my name, Geralt," he said. "I want to hear you say it. Want you to say it when you beg me for what you want. Want you to scream it when you come."
"I don't beg," Geralt protested weakly. He wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince. Then, "Fuck, Jas - Julian!" as he opened his mouth and took half of Geralt's length all at once. He could feel Julian's low chuckle more than hear it as he drew back, teasingly slow.
"Not yet," Julian agreed, lips brushing the tip of Geralt's cock as he spoke. "But you will."
The threat - promise - of that made Geralt tremble.