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Finally, finally, after actual decades of pining and flirting and trying to bury his aching heart betwixt the sheets and thighs of strangers, Jaskier has everything he'd so desperately wanted and thought he could never have. It turns out that, somehow, the witcher had been unsure of Jaskier's interest, as unbelievable as that sounds. According to him, he knew that the bard wanted him, but thought it would just be for a night; thus, he'd much rather never know what he's missing than give Jaskier what he wants and lose him forever.
Idiot. Fool. How anyone can live as long as he has and still be so painfully stupid is beyond Jaskier. (Yes, Geralt is very intelligent; he can recite his whole Bestiary by rote, remembers all of the shortcuts and backroads that he's travelled in his time on the Path, speaks several languages, and has a remarkably refined palate for wine. However, when it comes to matters of the heart — or, really, anything even remotely interpersonal — he's as clueless as a newborn.) He claims that with Jaskier's love-them-and-leave-them habits, as he puts it, he can't be blamed for coming to the conclusion that he did. Jaskier disagrees; yes, he's had a number of trysts and affairs, but had he followed any of them for the majority of his life, writing songs about their deeds and rubbing chamomile on their lovely bottoms?
(Geralt argues that the last one, at least, he has most likely done for too many people to count. Jaskier maintains that that is a completely different thing, so shut up.)
Regardless, they are finally together, in a romantic sense. This stage of their relationship is relatively new, and they've spent most of it in the wilderness. This is their first night in a town (and, even better, an inn with a bath and a bed) since they finally came to understand the deep longing they each had for the other was fully reciprocated. That is to say, they've fooled around some, but Jaskier is a romantic, and he knows that secretly (not that it's a particularly well-hidden secret, mind), Geralt is too. Simply put, they haven't fucked yet, because their first time together should at least be indoors and relatively free of rocks and twigs.
They've been at it for the last hour at least, fucking like rabbits thanks to witcher stamina and whatever nonhuman blood runs through Jaskier’s veins (Geralt insists incubus; Jaskier insists that it doesn’t matter). Jaskier feels like he's going insane in the best possible way. Perhaps the bard will be on top next time around, or the next, but as soon as he saw Geralt’s third sword, as it were, he knew he needed it inside him immediately, if not sooner.
He had been correct. Oh, he had been so correct. Geralt’s prick is huge, but even more devastating is how well he can use it. As much as he likes to call himself ugly, this is clearly a man who knows how to fuck.
And Jaskier... well, he yells out something embarrassing, but it's hardly his fault. Geralt's massive cock isn't leaving any room in his brain for thinking, and it's pushing all of the air out of his lungs with each, steady thrust. Adding to that the almost perplexingly fatherly energy the man has sometimes, and, well... It isn't his fault, is the point. It's not Jaskier's fault when he cries, "Oh, yes, daddy!"
**
Geralt's rhythm falters.
He isn't sure if Jaskier notices; it's just a fraction of a moment, and then he's pushing in deep again, making the bard wail in pleasure if only to give himself the opportunity to think about this, if only a little. Doesn't Jaskier hate his father? Why would he call out the man's title during sex? Or... is he calling Geralt his daddy? Is Geralt a father now? Well, he supposes he is Ciri's father, in a way; she calls him that, at least, and it fills him with pride every time. Why would he ever bring Ciri up mid-coitus, though? It can't be that. Or is this just some kinky thing the bard has that Geralt had never known before? Some people, though he'll never understand it himself, are aroused by the idea of incest. Maybe it's the taboo that they find exciting. It's probably that. Is that what this is, though?
Only a few seconds have passed at most by time Geralt decides on what to do. Perhaps if he had more time to think about it, he'd have a better solution, but that's not really an option. It's not like he can just ask, either. He'd rather not completely ruin the incredible sex they're having, so he figures it's best to go along with Jaskier's weird sexual fantasy.
Geralt reaches out and, gently, tenderly, strokes Jaskier's cheek with the tips of his fingers as he murmurs, "Son..."
The moaning stops, and so does the movement of Geralt's hips, as Jaskier stares up at him incredulously. Just when Geralt is about to ask if something is wrong, the bard is pushing at his shoulders, pushing him away. He gets up and, with a bit of a limp and slick still glistening between his round, hairy cheeks, he begins to dress again. "Nope. No thank you," he says. "I'm... Gods. I'm going for a walk. Don't think we aren't going to be talking about this when I get back, witcher!"
And, just like that, he's out the door, leaving Geralt with the most confused boner of his unnaturally long life.