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“Keep your words on ice,” Radovid sang.
And Jaskier stared, lips parted with disbelief as Radovid played his song; the song that Radovid thought was about him; the song that was very much not about him. Well. Sorta was, sorta wasn’t. He was good at that by now. Writing songs for his prospective lovers that were really about Geralt, that he could easily spin into something that lured them in, kept them close while he needed him, so they could alleviate the pain.
“Your gaze lights the fire.”
Jaskier wore the disguise in the song, his heart was beating too loud, and the fairytales he spun and every lie he gave to his lovers couldn’t drown out the sound of his love for Geralt—
Because no one is ever enough for Jaskier, and Jaskier is never enough for the one person who he needs to be enough for.
“They say keep on playing nice but I have no desire,” the prince sang, nervously looking at the ground.
Shit. This was going to be easier than he thought it would be; Radovid couldn’t see the blatant manipulation. It almost made him feel bad.
Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump—
Radovid not only took the bait, but he loved the taste of poison so much he made it for himself. Gods. Jaskier had to be the worst person ever.
“You learned my song.” He huffed and looked to the ground, slowly approaching. Am I really doing this?
“My—my playing’s shit—”
I might be more of an arsehole if I don’t at this point. Leading him on, or something.
“—and I did have a—”
Jaskier cupped Radovid’s face in both his hands, leaning in, and when their lips touched, everything in his body quaked with deep-set unrest.
And Radovid melted into his touch. Jaskier wanted to run. To scream. To cry.
“Maybe that’s something we can work on,” he said, acting on impulse and shame alone.
Their hot breaths intertwined between their open mouths—Radovid’s shaking with arousal as he stared at his lips still, and Jaskier’s with fear, gaze locked on Radovid’s eyes.
“I can’t take you inside, I’m sorry,” he whispered. Slowly, Radovid’s gaze came up.
“Then take me here.”
Oh, great. I have to top too.
Jaskier’s lips quirked up, barely managing to hide his disgust as he huffed again, shaking his head and straining not to cry as he leaned in to kiss Radovid again. Longer, with more movement, as his hand slipped down to his chest and he pushed the prince into the wall.
The moment his back hit the structure, the kiss grew hungrier, needier, as Jaskier let his mind slip away. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t ruin this, you fucking arsehole.
“I have,” Radovid pulled away. “I have, uh—” his hands slipped down into his pockets and he pulled out a vial of oil, bringing it between them.
“My…” Jaskier laughed. “You came prepared.”
Radovid’s lips twitched in a smile. “Yeah, uh. I was hoping… seeing as we’ve been dancing around each other—”
Please shut up.
“—that maybe this could be it, and—”
Jaskier kissed him again. Hot. Insistent.
“That’s enough talking.”
“Yeah,” said Radovid, already leaning in again, and this time, he grabbed the front of Jaskier’s waistcoat as he matched his energy.
Yes, Jaskier thought as Radovid pulled him closer, his lips moving tighter, faster, breaths becoming more rapid. Yes. Good. Make me forget.
Jaskier’s hand slipped up Radovid’s neck while his other slipped down his side and hiked up one leg so he could press their crotches together. He was half pleased, and half disgusted, to feel the prince already half-hard, but the small moan he pulled was enough to feed him.
He rolled his hips, pulling a whine and a gasp from Radovid. Each sound he caught went equally to the bard’s head and cock, and he could slip into the role Radovid needed from him. It gave him power to give pleasure, and to receive it was enough to feed the fantasy.
He could drown out the whines, replacing them with familiar grunts, and thank the gods that Radovid’s hair was long and wavy, and his jaw was square, and his chin was cleft as his mouth moved down Jaskier’s neck.
He leaned his head back with a shaky hum and gripped Radovid’s hair tighter, keeping his eyes closed. It was easier to imagine a larger and warmer body pressed against his like that, hands skating down to undress him. Jaskier reluctantly moved his hands to start undressing Radovid. Get the prince out of his princely clothes.
It became more frantic like that, hands starting to move eagerly to tear off clothes, searching for bare skin. “Yes,” Jaskier whispered as Radovid sucked hard on his pulse point. “Oh gods—”
Radovid hummed, satisfied, and moved back to pull Jaskier’s shirt over his head before going back in for another kiss.
Their bare chests touched, skin already slightly sticky, and gods it was too hot for this. Jaskier slipped his hands down Radovid’s trousers eagerly, and they paused to shuffle off their boots and trousers. Finally, bottle of oil in hand, mouths still clashing, did he push the prince to recline against a pile of potato sacks.
Jaskier leaned over him, kissing down his neck and chest, taking in the way it rose and fell from under him, Radovid’s hand in his hair.
“You can pull,” Jaskier murmured against Radovid’s stomach as he sank down further, and when he licked a stripe up the prince’s cock, Radovid did. Jaskier moaned at the sting to his scalp, letting the encouragement fuel him. It was just another type of applause.
Ever agile, Jaskier uncorked the bottle and slicked his fingers while he sunk down, and when Jaskier felt Radovid was relaxed enough, he pushed in a finger, making the prince whine.
He set an even pace, taking his time taking Radovid apart with his mouth and hand. If he was going to fuck a prince, he was going to give him a show. Gradually, he sped up, moving his tongue in all sorts of ways, pushing in another finger and feeling around to familiarize himself with the new body. It was an act he could play as well as his lute, by now. He could make people sing his lyrics, or he could—
“Oh fuck!” Radovid moaned, trying to stay as quiet as he could when Jaskier found his prostate, clenching around his fingers. “Oh gods, and your tongue— you pamper me.”
Jaskier chuckled around his length, taking even more effort.
He breathed in deeply as he took Radovid down to the root; down here, he couldn’t smell the expensive perfume, and he could will himself to use that ever-vivid imagination of his to trick his nose into turning Radovid’s musk into the witcher’s.
And then he was gone.
It was Geralt’s hand in his hair, Geralt grunting and groaning above him, the weight of Geralt’s cock in his mouth.
“Jaskier...” Radovid moaned.
Geralt.
“Oh, yes— Jaskier—”
Geralt...
He lowered his other hand, wrapping it around his cock as he pictured the witcher fucking his mouth. He imagined the pleasure twisting his features, the praises, the growls—
“Close!” Radovid’s gasp and tug of his hair pulled Jaskier out of the fantasy.
The bard slowly pulled off and pulled his fingers out.
The prince had lifted himself up on one elbow, and when Jaskier pulled off he let his head fall back with a sigh, catching his breath.
“You were really in your own world there...” he muttered with a smile.
“I really like sucking cock,” Jaskier said, and it wasn’t a lie.
Radovid giggled as Jaskier crawled over him again, glancing back at him. “I can tell. You’re incredible at it.”
“Years, and years of practice, my darling,” Jaskier chuckled, holding Radovid’s jaw with both hands as he straddled his waist. Radovid held onto it.
“There’s more where that came from,” the bard said lowly, leaning down to kiss him again. Radovid’s hands skated up his back, and around his sides, pushing up his chest. Jaskier hummed, taking the kiss deeper. If he didn’t have to talk, then he wouldn’t have to acknowledge that this was real, and that once again he was forcing himself into a romance he didn’t want.
He wanted it to be the witcher whose lap he was straddling, the witcher whose hands held him, the witcher whose air he was breathing in.
Jaskier reluctantly pulled back, reaching for the oil again to slick his cock. He could feel Radovid’s hungry eyes locked on him as he stroked, hear the gulp down his dry throat. He looked back up, smirking. “Like what you see, darling?”
The prince’s lips parted and he nodded.
Jaskier stood, nodding over to one of the many in the shed. “Get that blanket and put it on the ground, yeah? I imagine those potatoes haven’t been the most comfortable.”
Radovid eagerly followed Jaskier’s instructions.
Oh lovely, I hope he doesn’t expect me to dom him one day if we keep doing this.
When they had a comfortable pile in the walkway of the shed, Jaskier lowered himself over Radovid again, spreading his legs apart. His lips parted as he gazed into the prince’s eyes, watching how they fluttered shut with the stretch of Jaskier’s dick.
“Shit,” Radovid whispered. “That’s it.”
The bard rolled his hips forward and moaned. “Oh yes—”
Radovid wrapped his legs around Jaskier’s hips and pulled him in. “I can take more.”
Jaskier smirked, sensing he might have a way out of this. “Oh, you can?”
The prince nodded.
Jaskier gripped his hips and flipped them over so that Radovid was on top. “Do you know how to ride?”
His eyes flickered with a spark of arousal. “Yes.”
“Come on then, love; show me what you’ve got.”
Radovid sat up and sank back onto Jaskier’s cock, pulling moans from them both. Radovid looked back down at the bard and chuckled, and Jaskier joined out of obligation, part of the act: a soft moment blossoming between two budding new lovers. But he could at least appreciate the man’s beauty. Maybe Jaskier could use the prince's affections to keep him safe. Maybe they’d all be more secure like this.
He ran his hands up and down Radovid’s thighs as he started to bounce up and down on his knees, thrusting his hips forward as he moved. They both moaned, the bard's hands finding their way back to his arse to hold onto to guide him along.
“That’s it, darling,” he said between his panting.
Radovid’s eyes fell shut and his head leaned back, his chest rising and falling with his gasps and whines as he sped up. “Gods—”
It was easier to get lost in the pleasure now, to keep his mind at just the right amount of in the clouds to prevent reality from crushing him.
“Oh,” Radovid moaned with just the right amount of wrecked to send chills down the bard’s spine, “Jaskier…”
“So good,” Jaskier groaned in response.
The bard closed his eyes, lifting himself higher. He imagined that the movement around his cock was the heat of Geralt’s mouth, and the weight of Radovid’s thighs were the witcher’s strong arms holding his hips down. He moaned louder at that.
“Oh shit.” He whimpered. “Oh yes.”
Amber eyes gazing up at him. Geralt’s bare and muscular tits just barely visible behind Jaskier’s thighs—and the grunts, oh, the grunts.
“G—” the syllable broke off into a shudder. Shit. “G—gods,” Jaskier corrected. “C’mere.”
He pulled Radovid down to his lips so he wouldn’t have any way to let Geralt’s name pass them. While Radovid rocked forward moans muffled in the kiss, Jaskier spread his legs further and propped them up, starting to thrust into Radovid. He didn’t particularly want to; he wanted to lay still and imagine Geralt thrusting into him, the slapping of his thighs to Jaskier’s arse, his legs swung over the witcher’s shoulders—but he wanted it to be good for Radovid. He wasn’t that much of an arsehole.
Jaskier’s hands moved through his hair, imagining white tresses replacing copper. With Radovid’s weight pressed against him, he could still imagine Geralt over him instead.
And gods—
“Oh yes,” Jaskier would cry out as his thick cock stretched him open, ramming into his prostate over, and over, and “Fuck, Geralt—” he’d whimper as the witcher bit into his neck.
“Yes, mark me—” he’d pant into his ear. “I’m yours, I love you—”
And Geralt would kiss him, like Radovid did now—needy, and insistent, and breaking off to pant into his mouth with their foreheads pressed together.
“Oh—oh—” Radovid moaned as he sped up, faster, faster. He slipped a hand between them, but Jaskier beat him to it, wrapping it around his cock and moving it quickly.
The prince dropped his head into Jaskier’s neck, moans going up in pitch— faster, higher—
“You gonna come for me?” Jaskier said between his gasps.
Radovid nodded into Jaskier’s neck. “Yes. Yes.”
“Go on, then.”
His whole body shuddered as he spilt into Jaskier’s hand and over his stomach.
“That’s it,” Jaskier groaned. “Fuck.”
Radovid slowed down and pulled off Jaskier’s dick, but still reached down to take hold of it. He moved fast, and Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, eyes squeezed shut, his back twisting.
He still was catching his breath, but was obviously determined to make him come.
“Jaskier,” the voice of his witcher whispered in his ear.
Jaskier whimpered and let out a pointed, “Fuck.”
“My good boy,” he’d say, low and rumbling. “Come for me.”
“Ah—oh gods—Ah!” the bard’s hips thrust up and his eyes shot open.
And reality was there, the prince staring down at him, stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “You’re beautiful when you come.”
Jaskier lifted a hand up and tucked some of Radovid’s hair behind his ear.
“You’re always beautiful,” he added.
Fuck, what had Jaskier done?
Radovid searched around for his clothes, and Jaskier propped up an arm behind his head, watching him in a flurry of Fuck. I’m a dick.
“That was…” he began.
Radovid returned with a handkerchief to clean the two of them off. “That was incredible.”
“Yeah,” Jaskier chuckled, watching Radovid still, before he settled back into Jaskier’s side. After a moment, he added, “I assume your brother will be expecting you at the conclave… fucking conclave.
Radovid laughed, drumming his fingers on the bard’s chest. “I wish I could bring you with. However, I think I better stay here. Philippa and Dijkstra are far more dangerous and want me with you.”
Jaskier could tell he meant it seriously, but underneath, it didn’t matter what those two wanted; Radovid wanted to be here. And fuck, Jaskier couldn’t handle that.
He took a shaky inhale, trying to sit up. “I have to watch Ciri. I should get back.”
The prince’s hand on Jaskier’s chest pushed back lightly.
“Why the hurry? The force field lasts until dawn, you said it yourself.
Jaskier looked down, half sitting, staring into Radovid’s sweet blue eyes, and he couldn’t find it in himself to leave.
He settled back down.
“Thank you,” Radovid said, shifting to kiss Jaskier’s chest.
“Yeah,” he said, absently.
They dressed again after a few minutes and settled back down together. Jaskier needed to get up, to get out. He felt he was buzzing with unrest.
Radovid eventually fell asleep and Jaskier carefully removed himself from the prince’s grasp to leave the shed.
Each step he took into the woods, away from Radovid was heavy, trudging, and gods, why won’t this lump in his throat go away—
And when he was far enough, he dropped to his knees, pictures of Geralt kissing him still floating through his mind. And his heart churned like it were a stomach, pain twisting through Jaskier’s body.
He can’t keep doing this.
He can’t fucking live like this. He has to get over him.
But it was too late to leave Geralt. The gods know how he’s tried, and it was misery without him, and it’s misery with him and it’s just misery! Every. Fucking. Step. Is misery.
Jaskier angrily scrambled out of his waistcoat, bunched it up, held it to his mouth, and screamed into it.
If he could beat the love he had for Geralt out of him, he would. It was hopeless. Twenty-four years and nothing!
Everyone lied to him.
The greatest scam in the world: Love. It’s just pain.
Endless, and unimaginable pain.