Work Text:
ERE THE SUN WILL RISE
By Senashenta
Jaskier thought he’d been living in the castle for three months now, but it was difficult to tell for sure because time seemed to move differently there. He had settled into his new life, taking advantage of the library The Beast—Geralt—had gifted him and even finding an old lute to work on mending in his spare time, when he wasn’t reading or exploring the castle and its’ grounds with Geralt. Even Pegasus had taken to life in the castle gardens, where he was free to roam and there always seemed to be plenty of hay and oats for him to eat, though he was still a little freaked out by Roach, the living archway that apparently used to be another horse.
It was pleasant there, and more so every day that passed. Where Geralt had started off frightening, intimidating and always angry, now he was gentle, kind, generous and even affectionate. At times he showed a dry sense of humor that made Jaskier laugh, and he cared—truly cared for the beings residing in his castle, those cursed to live their lives as silverware and candlesticks.
More and more each day, Jaskier was finding himself craving Geralt’s company, his attention, his affection—and the Gods knew he never would have imagined that when he’d first arrived there, a prisoner locked up in the tower for freeing his mother. He had only gotten out of there because Eskel and Lambert, the clock and candlestick, had taken pity on him and set him free—and Geralt had been angry that they did. Still, he was shown to a suite that was to be his own for the duration of his stay—that was, forever, of course. That had been the deal to free his mother.
At first he could think of nothing more than escaping, but soon the castle and it’s residents had taken over his fascination. Eskel and Lambert had shown him around, the teapot, Yenn, had made sure he was taken care of, and the adorable little teacup, Ciri, had entertained him with jokes and bubbles in his tea.
Still, he had run away once. After he had snuck into the forbidden wing of the castle and seen the magical rose. Geralt had caught him red-handed and flown into a rage. He had chased Jaskier out and Jaskier had run farther than just his room—he had fled the castle all together, taking Pegasus and making a break for it, only to be chased down by wolves just outside the castle’s grand estate.
Geralt had saved he and Pegasus both that day, fighting off the wolves at great cost to himself, and so Jaskier had helped him up onto Pegasus’ back and they had all returned to the castle together, where he had helped care for Geralt’s wounds, despite the great white beast’s grouching.
Since then they had become close, spending time together, eating meals together, talking and laughing together, and Jaskier’s fondness for Geralt was very quickly bleeding into love, though he had yet to admit that, even to himself.
Now, Geralt had offered to have a Ball for him, because while touring the castle they had passed by the ballroom and Jaskier had made an offhand comment that he’d never been to a Ball—so Geralt wanted to show him what one was like, wanted him to experience it for himself. He had offered, and what was Jaskier to do but smile and take him up on it?
Which left them both getting ready for this Ball they would be having, Geralt off in his rooms and Jaskier in his own suite where the wardrobe was going through clothing options for him, tossing outfits here-and-there before finally settling on a three-piece suit with a tailcoat in yellow, gold and shades of cream. Jaskier thought it was too much, but the wardrobe argued that the yellow brought out the blue of his eyes and the rosy quality of his cheeks—that he looked dashing in it. That it was perfect.
It was hard to fight with the wardrobe when it set it’s mind on something (Jaskier had learned that early on), so he just got dressed the best he could, needing only a little help with the final touches—he got that from Aiden, the feather duster helping him tie the ribbon around his neck just right and get his hair to stop sticking up on the one side.
“Will you and Lambert be at the Ball?” Jaskier asked teasingly while Aiden fussed over the buttons on his jacket.
“Pfft, no way. Lambert wouldn’t be caught dead at a Ball.” Aiden smiled up at him, his regrettably porcelain eyes shining with mirth, “besides, we’ve got jobs to do.” Patting at Jaskier’s chest lightly, he proclaimed; “you’re all ready!”
“But what if I’m not though?” He argued nervously, “what if I forget how to dance? I’ve only ever danced with Maman and my sisters, after all…”
Aiden laughed, bright and happy, and twirled in the air as if for emphasis, “something like dancing, you don’t just forget, Jaskier. And besides, if you trip up your steps, Master Geralt won’t mind, trust me.” He winked, then whisked off out the door, “you’ll do fine! Don’t be so nervous!”
And so Jaskier was left to his own devices, the wardrobe having gone back to sleep as soon as its’ job was done, to pace his room anxiously before finally taking a few deep breaths and heading out into the hall, making his way to the ballroom.
When he reached the top of the grand staircase that connected his wing of the Palace to the grand ballroom, Jaskier had to pause. He stood, one hand on the railing, to take in the sight of the place, which had been cleaned and polished and decorated until it sparkled and shone and was barely recognizable from what it had been the last time he’d set eyes on it.
And then Geralt came down the winding stairs that lead from his section of the Palace, and Jaskier could do nothing but suck in a breath and stare, blue eyes wide and a huge smile spreading across his face because Geralt was dressed in a blue suit and tailcoat (instead of his usual black) that was trimmed in gold that matched his eyes and he looked amazing. Polished and sophisticated and everything Jaskier knew he was on the inside. Beautiful.
Geralt stopped in his tracks, too, when he saw Jaskier, standing totally still except for his tail, which swished behind him restlessly. Golden eyes slid up the length of Jaskier’s body before coming to rest on his face—and then Geralt was smiling as well, shy but sincere. He continued down the steps to the ballroom and across to the center of it, pausing there, watching Jaskier and waiting.
And right, he needed to keep moving, didn’t he?
Chuckling to himself, Jaskier started down the stairs, one hand on the banister still, until he reached the ballroom floor, where he crossed to where Geralt was waiting, coming to stand in front of him, looking up at him with a smile. Geralt smiled back, and hesitantly lifted one pawlike hand to touch Jaskier’s cheek. “You look radiant.”
Jaskier closed his eyes, unconsciously leaning into the touch. “You’re one to talk. You look incredible in that suit.”
Geralt cleared his throat in almost an uncomfortable manner, “yes, well… they said it would compliment your eyes, which I suppose it does.”
At that, Jaskier blinked his eyes back open. He looked first at Geralt’s suit—blue that matched his own eyes—and then down at his own—yellow and gold that matched Geralt’s eyes—before grinning and shaking his head. “Someone was plotting.” He had his suspicions who (probably Yenn and Aiden) but didn’t bother to say.
“So it would seem,” Geralt rumbled with a sigh. He took his hand back, but only for a moment, for it wasn’t a breath later that the house instruments started to play (on their own, of course), a slow waltz that Jaskier wasn’t familiar with. Geralt took a half-step back and bowed at the waist before offering his arm with a smile.
Practically beaming, Jaskier took his arm and allowed himself to be escorted onto the dance floor, where he faced Geralt and stepped close, one hand reaching to rest on the beast’s shoulder while the other one clasped in one of Geralt’s own—and Geralt’s other hand rested heavy on his hip, grounding.
They started out slowly, small steps, both of them tentative, but slowly, as the music and time went on and they gained confidence those steps grew, becoming greater, grander, until they were sweeping around the dance floor, frivolous and free. Jaskier was almost giddy with the feeling, and finally when the music slowed he gave a happy sigh and leaned his head down against Geralt’s chest, closing his eyes once more, just enjoying the moment as they swayed in time with the tune.
The Ball was both nothing like and exactly what Jaskier had expected. Nothing like because a Ball with only two people can hardly be considered a Ball, after all, and exactly what because of the grandiose nature of the event, the hugeness of it, the scale of the room and the music and the steps they followed together.
They danced for what felt like hours, until finally Geralt, albeit reluctantly, stepped back from Jaskier and released his hold on him. “It’s getting late.”
“It is.” Jaskier agreed, and glanced down, peering up at Geralt through his eyelashes before asking, “walk me to my suite?”
Geralt swallowed slightly, but nodded nonetheless. “Of course.”
Together they climbed the staircase leading to his wing and walked the winding corridors until they reached his room. When they stopped outside his door, Jaskier hesitated slightly, then turned and reached to take hold of Geralt’s arm, tugging gently to keep him from leaving. He followed that up with a searching look—blue eyes meeting gold—and then finally, he stepped closer—and leaned up on his tip-toes to kiss Geralt.
For his part, Geralt made a startled sound in the back of his throat and tried to pull away—but Jaskier was still holding onto his arm. Still, the brunet shifted back, looking down, to offer quietly, “I’m sorry. Do you not want…?”
“Do I not… it’s been decades, of course I want.” Geralt gave a frustrated growl. He shook his head. “But you would… want me, like this?”
Jaskier squeezed his hand where it was still resting on Geralt’s arm. He lifted his eyes again, expression sure. “Yes.”
Geralt looked skeptical. He regarded Jaskier silently for a long, drawn-out moment before stepping closer again, lifting a paw to cup Jaskier’s cheek, and then leaning down to kiss him—gently, oh so gently, softly, sweetly. Like he was afraid Jaskier would break if he kissed him any harder than that. Like he was afraid of hurting him.
Jaskier could understand those fears. He had seen Geralt’s strength, his temper when he was angry. But Jaskier was no china doll, and he wasn’t afraid of Geralt, not in the least. Hadn’t been in months, not since being rescued from the wolves in the driving snow by him and spending the next two weeks nursing him back to health.
So when Geralt kissed him with such trepidation, Jaskier responded with force, tilting his head and kissing back harder, making Geralt utter a muffled surprised noise. Jaskier smiled into the kiss, pushing his tongue forward and prodding at the seam of Geralt’s lips until they parted and allowed him entrance, then easing into the beast’s mouth, coaxing gently until their tongues were sliding together, hot and languid.
Geralt’s sharp teeth grazed against Jaskier’s lip and Jaskier swallowed a moan, drawing back to catch his breath before angling in for another kiss, at the same time fumbling backward for the doorknob. Once he located it, he opened the door to his suite and began backing inside, tugging Geralt along with him.
Geralt balked at the threshold, pulling back. He licked his lips, gaze flitting around the room before landing briefly on the bed—and then quickly moving on to Jaskier. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Jaskier huffed. “I think it’s a great idea. Just, the best. Fantastic.” He tugged at Geralt’s arm again, trying to get him moving.
“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came out low and layered with concern, “I could really hurt you.”
“But you won’t.” The brunet argued, “I know you’d never hurt me. Look,” letting go of Geralt’s arm, Jaskier stepped in close and lifted both his hands up to touch the sides of Geralt’s face, gently stroking his fingers through his fur, “I’ll make you a deal. If I feel unsafe or afraid, or something doesn’t feel good at any time, I’ll say stop and we’ll stop… okay?”
There was a long silence following Jaskier’s words. He continued petting through Geralt’s fur and Geralt leaned into the touches, closing his eyes as he considered. Finally, he brought his hands up to rest against Jaskier’s hips, squeezing gently, and rumbled, “you’re sure?”
Jaskier smiled and stretched up to kiss him again. “I’m sure.”
Geralt returned the kiss, angling his head to deepen it and thank fucking God because Jaskier wanted this so badly he could taste it, and spending the night trying to convince Geralt that he wasn’t some wilting flower that would die if he was touched wrong was not what he wanted to do. It might not have been decades for him, but it had been a long time, and he was very much looking forward to being touched, thank you very much.
Now he grabbed at the front of Geralt’s tailcoat and tugged him farther into the room. The door magically closed behind him, but Jaskier didn’t question it—he had learned not to question a lot of things over the last few months. With Geralt firmly in the bedroom and the door closed in his wake, Jaskier set to getting him out of his clothes, something that Geralt seemed to find embarrassing by the little sounds he kept making as Jaskier unbuttoned his coat and pushed it down off his shoulders, leaving him to shrug out of it, then moved on to his vest.
Eventually, divested of his tailcoat and vest and with half the buttons on his shirt undone, Geralt reached to stop Jaskier’s hands and instead began working on Jaskier’s clothes, his paws surprisingly dexterous in undoing buttons and ribbons as he went. Jaskier shrugged out of his tailcoat, leaving it to fall to the floor, then helped Geralt get his vest unbuttoned—it followed the tailcoat, falling to the ground with a whump.
Geralt got surprisingly shy when it came to undoing the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt, though, and the brunet was left to do that himself, an amused smile on his face the entire time. When he slipped out of it and dropped it away, Geralt was watching him raptly, and Jaskier was sure that if he could have, he would have been blushing.
Moving closer again, Jaskier finished off the buttons on Geralt’s shirt, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders to push the offending material away. Geralt shrugged it off easily and Jaskier let his hands rub along the beast’s furred chest for a long moment, enjoying the soft feeling, carding his fingers through his fur.
“You’re not… disappointed?” Geralt rumbled after a moment.
“No,” Jaskier breathed out, shaking his head, “not at all.”
Another kiss, this one deep and heated, all tongues and teeth, and when Geralt nipped at his lower lip Jaskier couldn’t help gasping, shivering and pressing closer. Geralt’s hands dragged from his hips up his sides, then trailed back down, his claws scraping lightly along with way, and Jaskier shuddered. Geralt leaned to kiss against his shoulder with a quiet chuckle, and Jaskier pouted. “No making fun.”
“I’m not, little lark,” Geralt assured him, “it’s just that you’re adorable, that’s all.”
Adorable hadn’t quite been what he’d been going for, but he would take what he could get. And as for the pet name… lark… well, they could address that later. For now Jaskier had more pressing concerns. Like why Geralt was still wearing pants, for one. He decided to remedy that and started working on the button and zip, quickly undoing them and then pushing the pants down over Geralt’s hips. “You’ve gotta help me. Get these off.”
A low rumble echoed in Geralt’s chest, but he still stepped out of his pants, leaving them in a pool on the floor—and then he was completely bare, and Jaskier licked his lips, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Geralt’s chest and looking downward to where the red tip of the beast’s cock was poking out of its’ sheath. He reached down to run his fingers over the exposed head. It was already wet. He groaned softly, a sound that was echoed by Geralt, who was running his hands up and down Jaskier.
Bringing his hand up to his lips, Jaskier licked his fingers absently, then swallowed and asked, “I wanna…” Looking up at Geralt, he licked his lips. “Can I…?”
Geralt gave him a surprised look. He shifted from one foot to the other almost awkwardly, then simply nodded. Before Jaskier could drop down, though, Geralt lead him over to the bed and sat down on the edge, sitting with his legs spread and lots of room between them. His hands hovered awkwardly, uselessly, before settling on either side of himself, clenching in the blankets without even realizing he was doing it.
Jaskier followed along to the bed, waiting for him to get settled, and once he had, the brunet sank down onto his knees between Geralt’s legs, reaching with both hands to tease Geralt’s cock out of its’ sheath entirely, fondling and stroking until it was standing proud in front of him—huge and tapered, pinkish-red with a thickness at the base that wasn’t there with human cocks. It was gorgeous. Jaskier couldn’t wait to have it inside him. But first—
Licking his lips again, he knelt up and licked along the length of Geralt’s cock and over the head, tasting salt and bitter precum. One hand held him steady at the base, squeezing and massaging while he sucked the head into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, sighing contentedly as he slid deeper, sucking down the length of Geralt’s cock—as much as he could, at least. Geralt’s cock was too big for him to get more than about half of it into his mouth, so he made do with that and stroking off the rest with his hands, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue the entire time.
Admittedly, it had been a while since he’d last given someone a blowjob—even before ending up at the Palace, with Geralt—but he thought he was doing a pretty good job anyway, at least if you went by Geralt’s reactions. The beast was swallowing down moans and groans and growls, his hands still fisted in the blankets, though now one let go and lifted to rest against Jaskier’s head, fingers threading into brown hair, claws scraping lightly along his scalp.
Jaskier just continued what he was doing, eyes closed and sucking with single-minded purpose until a couple minutes later when Geralt began to tense up, his grip on Jaskier’s hair tightening… and then his hips jerked sharply as he came, flooding Jaskier’s mouth with salty-bitter cum, so much that he had to pull back to breathe and the last couple ribbons ended up painted across his face.
“Heh,” Once he’d swallowed and caught his breath, Jaskier sat back on his heels, wiping at his face with one hand and then licking the cum off his palm and the heel of his hand afterward. “You cum buckets. I’m gonna be so full when you’re done with me…”
For his part, Geralt was just staring at Jaskier, golden eyes wide and wondering, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. “You really do… want me. Like this.”
“I told you I did.” Jaskier leaned up again, onto his knees, and reached up to pull Geralt down for a kiss. “I wasn’t lying. Do you want me, though? The way I am?”
That made Geralt snort. “The way you are… you mean ‘perfect’? Yeah, I want perfect.”
Smile turning soft and fond, Jaskier kissed him again, then let go and stood up to strip out of his pants, kicking them and his underclothes away a moment later. When he looked back up Geralt was watching him, pupils wide and dark and his cock already hardening up again. Jaskier smiled again and made his way over to the bed, climbing onto it and crawling up to settle with his head on the pillows. Then he gestured for Geralt to join him.
There was no hesitation this time. Geralt crawled up the length of the bed to prop himself over Jaskier, laying half-overtop of him, and leaned in to kiss him, slick and hot. Jaskier returned the kiss in kind, delighted that Geralt finally appeared to be totally on board, if the way he was rocking his cock into his hip was any indication, anyway.
Leaning on one arm, Geralt trailed the other hand down to palm at Jaskier’s hard length, taking him in hand and stroking a few times just to watch the young man squirm and arch, to see him buck his hips and toss his head back. He was beautiful. So much more than Geralt deserved, but he was offering himself freely so who was Geralt to turn him down?
“Oh, hell, we need…” Jaskier was breathing heavily now, head lolling, and when he glanced toward the bedside table he was surprised to see a bottle of oil sitting there. Or, he supposed, maybe he wasn’t so surprised. Enchanted castle and everything. Either that or Aiden had snuck in and left it while they’d been busy in the ballroom. In any case, Jaskier flapped one hand toward it and swallowed hard, “the oil. Grab the oil.”
Though he listened to Jaskier and retrieved the oil, Geralt once again hesitated. He knew what it was for, of course, but… “I can’t do this for you. My claws… I’d hurt you. Badly.”
Huffing out a breath, Jaskier nodded. He hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. He took the bottle of oil from Geralt’s grasp and pushed himself to sit up. “It’s okay, I can do it. Won’t be the first time.”
Geralt shuffled out of the way and Jaskier got onto his hands and knees. Uncorking the bottle, he poured some of the sweet-smelling oil onto one hand, then handed the bottle back to Geralt, who set it back on the side table. Then Jaskier reached around behind himself with his slicked-up hand and began prepping himself; carefully and gently at first, just one finger, then two, finally three, fucking himself on them hard and as deep as that position would allow.
He was moaning into the pillow, fully aware that Geralt was watching him the entire time, and somehow that made it hot. He had finger-fucked himself before, as prep for sex and also for masturbatory purposes, but it had never been as arousing as it was now, with Geralt sitting there watching him do it. Jaskier buried his face in the pillow and moaned.
Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled his fingers free and rolled onto his back again, holding his arms out for Geralt, who was watching him raptly, pupils blown and breathing hard, cock straining in his lap. “Come here and fuck me.”
“Are you sure?” Geralt asked again, even as he crossed the distance between them, even as Jaskier parted his legs and let him slot in between them. He didn’t continue, though, waiting for a response to his question first.
Jaskier just groaned and rolled his hips against Geralt’s. “Yes, I’m sure. Now please.”
A little nod and Geralt kissed him, at the same time using one hand to guide himself, lining his cock up and pushing into Jaskier’s puckered entrance. And fuck. Yeah. Okay, he had stretched himself beforehand but Geralt was still huge. Jaskier let his head fall back, mouth open and working but no sound coming out as Geralt continued to push into him, a long, slow slide until he eventually bottomed out.
It took a minute for Jaskier to remember how to breathe again. Geralt was still, just letting him adjust.
Eventually, Jaskier shuddered a breath in, then out again, and wrapped his arms around Geralt, holding him close, fingers digging into his back. One hand was over where the wolves had attacked him—Jaskier could feel the scars through his fur. He traced them lightly, distracting himself from the initial burn and stretching of penetration, at least for a moment.
Once he was feeling more comfortable again, he tipped his head to nuzzle into Geralt’s jaw and rocked his hips lightly. “You can move.”
This time Geralt didn’t question it, he just adjusted his position, drew back slightly, and began to rock into Jaskier, gently and carefully, shallow thrusts that left Jaskier panting and, after a couple of minutes, whining for more. He grasped at Geralt’s back and lifted his legs to wrap them around the beast’s hips, rocking back into his thrusts, trying to encourage him to move faster, thrust harder. Take him.
Something he was doing seemed too catch with Geralt because he grunted a little growl and started thrusting harder, deeper, even as he was trailing kisses along Jaskier’s shoulder, up to his jaw and then his mouth—kissing him deeply, with passion and heat, leaving him whimpering against his lips while he pounded into his ass.
Jaskier had never been so full, never felt like this before, with Geralt fucking him hard now, jostling him up and down the bed, and kissing him like—like—
“Oh, fuck!” Throwing his head back, Jaskier panted for air, one hand sliding in Geralt’s fur, up his shoulder to the back of his head, threading into his hair, fisting there as Geralt nipped his way along the brunet’s collarbone, his fangs scraping lightly, making Jaskier shudder.
Then Geralt’s thrusts began to get choppy and he slid one hand between them to take hold of Jaskier’s hereto-neglected cock, the other holding tight at his hip, claws digging in slightly. Jaskier cried out when Geralt started jerking him off along with his still-forceful thrusts, panting breathlessly and gasping out moans and cries on every inward shove of Geralt’s monster cock.
He came shortly after Geralt started touching him, arching back and painting ribbons of cum all across his own abdomen and Geralt’s hand and chest. Then he fell back, panting, but with his legs still clamped around Geralt’s hips as Geralt continued to thrust into him for another minute or two before cumming himself, fucking him through it as he emptied himself inside him.
When they were both finished, Geralt collapsed on top of him and Jaskier lowered his legs down to the bed. After a minute he pushed at Geralt, though. He was heavy. Geralt nuzzled into the crook of his neck and then shifted off to the side, then wrapped one large arm around Jaskier and pulled him into his side. Jaskier went willingly, cuddling into him with a contented sigh, sticky and sweaty and leaking cum.
“You’re an incredible dancer.” Geralt rumbled after a long silence.
Jaskier chuckled. He reached up to absently trace his fingers along one of Geralt’s horns. “After everything we just did, you’re complimenting my dancing?”
“Hmm. Yes.” Geralt agreed.
“My Maman taught me to dance,” Jaskier told him, and dropped his hand back down. His eyes turned downcast and his tone went sad, “she taught me to sing, too. She taught me a lot of things. She taught us. My sisters and I.”
“You miss her.” Geralt said.
“I miss them all. But Maman most of all.” Jaskier shrugged with one shoulder, “I don’t regret taking her place, I don’t regret being here, not at all. I love it here. But I do miss her. I wish I could see her again.”
Something he said seemed to click with Geralt, because a moment later he was getting up, grabbing a sheet to wrap around his waist and ducking out of the room with a promise to be back soon. Jaskier watched him go with a blink, then just settled in to wait, the bed seeming too big without him in it.
When Geralt returned he was carrying a hand mirror. He dropped the sheet and crawled back into bed with Jaskier, then held the mirror for him to take. “It’s a magic mirror.” He explained, “it will show you anything you want to see. Just ask.”
Jaskier gave the mirror a skeptical look but asked, “I’d like to see my mother… please.”
The mirror worked, but what it showed him was horrible: the townspeople gathered together, forcing his mother into a wagon for the insane asylum while his sisters stood by, forced to watch but unable to do anything about it. Jaskier was instantly in tears, and Geralt pulled him close, wrapped him up in his arms and made little worried noises while Jaskier cried. “Maman is in trouble, she needs me, my sisters need me, they…”
Geralt grit his teeth and tightened his hold on Jaskier for a second before letting go. “Then you must go to them.”
Jaskier shook his head, confused. “But—”
“You’re free to go,” Geralt told him, his heart breaking on the words, “I release you.”