Chapter Text
There’s a familiar ding from Geralt’s pocket. He’s been in Manila now for over a week and a half, his fight comes up this weekend. It’s all been press and training. The usual circus that goes with the profession. Jaskier is In Belgium for TomorrowLand. This is how they roll. Sometimes apart but there are Skype calls and WhatsApp so the distance doesn’t feel so bad. What with the 7 hour difference... jask keeps saying he’s sending messages from the distant past to
Geralt’s exciting future. Geralt teasingly tells him to get fucked. Jaskier’s parry is “well I would by my boyfriend lives in the future right now.”
Renfri sidles up to Geralt at the sleek futuristic in-house bar of the swish as-fuck hotel the ‘School of the Wolf’ team are holed up in. “Hey Geralt... how’s tricks?” She says smoothly while gracefully pulling up onto the barstool next to him. A black velvet cube monstrosity that is definitely not comfy to sit on. Geralt grunts his welcome and raises his glass of sparkling water with lime - WISHING it was her Vodka Tonic. Fucking prep rules.
She chuckles knowing full well what Geralt is thinking. “Yeah that sucks...” she looks at his frosted tumbler with feigned sadness before taking a sip of her beverage. “How’s that songbird of yours?” Geralt scoffs at her “ “he’s good.” Is all he gives her. Geralt knows when Renfri is fishing. “ she eyes him over her drink then clears her throat. “Well have you seen his latest spread?”
Because of coarse he hasn’t, Geralt has been here under lock and key, touted about and prodded like a glorified show-pony before his big night. He KNEW jaskier had a editorial coming this week but he hasn’t had chance to see it. The woman next to him smiles ALL teeth round pretty pink lips. Then fishes through her handbag. One of those achingly hip rucksacks in faux leather and lucite. “Here.... came out on Monday. I got it at the airport.” She says rather smugly as the big glossy magazine lands on the shiny glittering bar top with a dull slap. Fuck... when did these things become literal books? Geralt muses out-loud to the brunette next to him, sipping her drink and shrugging. Renfri doesn’t read or buy these things. She did it for Geralt. He looks down at the cover. The image is truly something.
It’s LOVE magazine.
The background a stylish muted grey that blends into the palest mauve and there’s HIS Lark. front and center. The neon mauve text tagline reads Jaskier - “love has no boundaries”
The art direction is beautiful and provocative. Jaskier is wearing Gucci because of coarse he is. (Hello fashion house’s new muse) a sheer shirt with double GG black glittering pattern. The cut is more tailored then his usual flowy choice but shows of all that lithe muscle. While Geralt has all the definition and sculpted mass, Jaskier is quietly built. The trousers are thin brushed silk in muted black and he’s wearing a thin band tiny pearl choker along with the usual couple of thin chains and rings. Colour is washed from the image save for the lazy-bright blue of his eyes that stare out, as if daring the viewer to say something. Defiant and flashy is his lover. Geralt’s mouth waters a little.
“Doesn’t he look LOVELY...” comes the teasing voice of Renfri, whistling low. “Fuck off Renfri.” Geralt grinds before grabbing her drink eliciting a squeak of protest from her. He takes the weighty tome in the other hand and strides out of the bar to His hotel room. Geralt takes a large gulp of Renfri’s drink as soon as he gets in the room. Another futuristic monstrosity in neon and garish tones with brushed steel accents. He sits on the bed. Large and high thing that could happily sleep 2 with room to spare and looks down at the glossy in his hands. Now in the safety and privacy of his hotel suite Geralt lets out that shaky breath he was holding and flips through the high fashion mag. Inserts scatter to the floor, the paper is thin and tears alittle as Geralt flicks to what he wants.
Further back from the fashion center in Jaskier’s interview 6 pages of text intersected with vivid mauve sound bites - little tantalising nuggets of the interview. “I love who I want. This person happens to be of the same sex.”
“It’s not greedy to follow your heart.” “Me and Gaga are working currently on a new project. I adore her... like a sister.... one that has tattooed me!” Geralt can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. His loves that his little Lark doesn’t give a fuck. Well that isn’t accurate if some slander Geralt himself ( not that he can’t look after himself) then Jaskier can give many fucks... scathingly loud ones. Her rakes that golden gaze over the images. They are perfection. All against that faded backdrop. The ground is saturated in a slick of water that has been digitally rendered dark and brooding. In one image Jaskier is on his knees splashing up water droplets, caught lightening quick mid-scoop in a fan of water. His back arched, laughing up at the sky like a water nymph mid-frolic. He’s wearing the same articles of clothing but Jaskier’s Gucci shirt is now missing instead he’s modelling opera-length gloves in the same fabric and print. His hair, tousled and dripping and eyes closed.
Geralt feels a stirring in his loins. That fucking bastard. Surely he knew what this shoot would do to him. He secretly hopes that jaskier got to kept the gloves.
The next image is a quad of his Lark’s face. 4 images in progression. In the 1st one Jaskier’s eyes are closed, his wet hair swept to the side. 2nd one blue eyes open and he’s spotted something to the side making him laugh. 3rd - gloved hands held up either sided his head. Little devil horns that are infact gucci covered fingers, a cheeky expression on Jaskier’s face The 4th is a neutral. Jaskier’s hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly parted, there is a be-gloved hand toying with that pearl choker .... just inframe. He looks defiant and daring. Geralt loves it.
The fighter flicks over the page to see jaskier in the shirt, opera gloves and silk trousers standing front and center on that watery stage, his feet bare and sunk in blackness. Jaskier’s clothes are clinging to him leaving little to the imagination as he stretches upwards. Arms held out the an imaginary crowd. his head craned back and shouting to invisible forces. It’s powerful and strikingly beautiful. “Fuck..” Geralt mutters palming his crotch. The fighter knows he’s being obscene. Getting tuned on at the latest editorial his boyfriend has starred in. His dick getting hard at the images like some teenager at finding their dad’s porn under the parent’s bed. He should feel silly. Maybe some shame at the whole situation.
But he doesn’t. Instead Geralt flicks over to the next page. Jaskier chin tilted up, one hand caressing the column of his own throat... fingers over this pearls. His other hand beckoning the viewer.... like a voyeur ... over to him. There’s a cheekiness in his eyes a playfulness to the camera. Geralt rubs the flat of his palm over the hardening bulge in his trousers before his brain somewhere in the back... dark and creeping says. ‘Do it.... he’s yours.’ So fuck it all Geralt undoes his fly, shucks off his Levi’s and strokes over his thick cock still incased in white CK briefs there’s a damp spot already. He flicks a thumb over it, the action bring his cock to full hardness and peeking out through the waistband of his briefs. Time to get more comfy.
Off go the briefs unceremoniously kicked to the floor, Followed by his dress shirt. Geralt grabs Renfri’s Vodka Tonic and drains it, slapping the tumbler down on the bedside table and settles himself against the headboard amongst the stupid scatter cushions and pillows of the too large bed. The Magazine rests against one thigh, leg crooked up to rest the spine of the glorified coffee table book against. Geralt rubs a hand down one hard lightly furred pec down to where he wants it most. His cock. Big and curving up to his belly button. It twitches as he teases himself. Skimming fingers over the underside to pull foreskin from his leaking cockhead. Fingertips to the slit, slicking precome down of hot hard flesh. Exactly how Jaskier likes to touch him at first before he begins to stroke firmly. He flicks the page
“Oh fuck.” He mutters. Jaskier on his knees, hands on his hips looking quite pleased with himself staring off to the right. He’s taken one long silky glove off and is holding it taut between spread knees. Geralt strokes firmly now up His entire length, twisting at the tip and smearing moisture down the shaft to slick his way. Closing his eyes Geralt imagines his Nymph kneeling before him. Wet and wanting bright eyes full of wicked mischief. Imagines it’s not Geralt large firm hand of his cock but a pair of musicians hands, long instrument calloused fingers rubbing heated intimate skin. How Jaskier would bite his lip before leaning down for a taste. Geralt opens his eyes. The last image nearly undoes him.
It’s definitely arty. A side-on look of Jaskier’s face looking to the camera half hidden by the dark murky water. He’s smouldering for the audience. Blue eyes lined faint trace of kohl, lavender shimmer on his cheekbones. Feminine touches but still undeniably masculine from the small amount of day old stubble and the peaking of body hair that comes up to his collar bones. It’s a beautiful image.
There’s a ding. From somewhere near the floor that pulls Geralt out of his reverie. Growling and releasing his cock. Geralt wipes his hand if the comforter of the bed and scoops around on the floor lazily. His cock throbbing with need doesn’t make it easy. The fashion magazine slips off its balanced spot on his leg as the fighter leans over the bed and roots around. Normally he might ignore his mobile in a jerking off session but Geralt IS waiting for a call from Vesemir ( more info for him to absorb concerning his opponents fight style/tells... that sort of thing.) Geralt curses and swears eventually yanking his mobile out of his jeans pocket, taking a few calming breaths having been so close to the edge earlier. Focus. Although the name flashing up on screen makes the the idea of calming down and focusing up fly right out the window. Jaskier (2 messages). The Nymph’s ears must be burning or he has a sixth sense or something. Geralt opens the WhatsApp. There is an image time stamp is from 20 or so minutes ago with a note that reads. I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet Witcher... but I’ve been very busy. They made me a special
Present. Although I think it’s more for you, then it is me ;P
Geralt Clicks on the jpg to upload and his breath is taken out of his lungs by what he sees.
Jaskier on their bed in their Sonoma cabin. The white sheets are rucksed up and he’s all dry. (So this is some time after the LOVE magazine shoot.) he’s kneeling side on from the cameraphone, the edges of the lower half of the screen are soft white and pillowy, not in focus (he’s propped it up on their bedding.) there’s candles in the background and the faintest amount of warm natural light painting the backdrop of their little haven in dusky tones. Jaskier is wearing the gauzy black shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. The Opera gloves add a whole new dimension of sexy. One hand sliding down a bare thigh, the other caressing the thickly haired skin of his chest, jaskier is looking over his shoulder directly at the camera. All heat and need. There’s a peak of pearls on his neck. It’s then that Geralt notices the panties. Oh how could he not..
It’s made from the same gauzy sheer material with the same iconic logos all over as the rest of his outfit. A bikini cut but created with the man in mind. Jaskier’s balls cradled high, his dick flush and deep pink straining against the expensive fabric up into the crease where thigh meets hip. Gods! Geralt has never been this hard in his life.
Geralt yes a shaken breath in an exhales. His dick leaking and begging to be touched. So Geralt does lazy long strokes to help calm him back down. The image that jaskier has sent still fresh in his mind. The fighter notices the second file. It’s a sound file. clicks on it and unmutes the phone bringing it to his ear expecting a naughty message from his far away lover. This is not what he gets.
A hitching breath, panting and heavy breathing along with a slapping o slick skin. That bastard has recorded himself touching himself and sent it to Geralt. And fuck Geralt is now stroking himself along with the recording. Matching the pace. His minds eye filling the gaps for him. Jaskier in the middle of their bed with those naughty panties round his ankles, tugging on that long dick of his
“Geralt... uhhHuh.... surprise...” he chuckles - the other sounds slow then build back up - “gods I miss you.”
“I miss you too Jask.” Geralt replies to the recording
“Oh...I was going to wait uhh *pant* wait for when you come home but Ffuck... I was at the shoot and we talked about you, our life, other stuff and I’m wearing this outfit. Ohh *pant* on my knees. I knew you’d love it. These gloves. Fuuuuck Geralt I wish you were here. You’d love these panties made just for me. Oh *pant* please say you’ll give me a REAL pearl necklace. Godsss I miss you so much.
Jaskier is breathing so hard the litany of sweet filth tumbling out of his Larks mouth has Geralt hot right there with him. Tugging and stroking furiously on his big thick cock.
The heavy breathing speeds up. As does Geralt’s hand. He wants to finish with his Lark. In his minds eye he’s there with Jaskier in their bed. Lying next to him as his naughty musician strokes them both wearing he’s nearly acquired finery. Geralt would reach a hand into that sheer open shirt, tweak a hard nipple. Maybe jaskier would let him taste as he strokes him. The older man’s thoughts broken as the recorded voice continues to talk and tease. *pant* “pleasepleaseplease... OHhhhh say you are touching yourself...?” *pant “I hope you are my Love. Please touch yourself for me. Come for me..” *pant* “come with me.... I’m so hard. Thinking of you.” *pant* “I’m close.... Geralt.”
“Yes Baby....” Geralt grinds out. Speeding up his strokes. Heat coiling low in his belly. He’s so close himself. On a knife-edge of ecstasy not just down to touch but spurned on by the one who holds his heart currently 7 hours in the past. Suddenly in his ear “yes... yes... Geralt!!” A sharp exhale that ends in a long guttural moan. Music to the fighters ears. It tips Geralt over the edge. Spilling in long thick hot arcs over his hand and abdomen.
“Oooooh ......” he hears Jaskier purr in his ear and a throaty laugh. “I’ve made a mess babe, I wish you could see. I know you’d help clear me up.” That bastard... still toying with Geralt knowing that yes... on occasion he HAS licked him clean. He’d do it again if asked. Jaskier has too. The mental image renews the blush on Geralt’s cheeks and up his neck. His hand slowly stroking his over-sensitive cock til it’s too much and Geralt wipes his hand on the comforter, his release starting to dry on his skin. Still
He doesn’t move. Just listens to his Lark’s voice. “I hope you enjoy this .... little gift. I’ll save the outfit for when you come back home. Think of it as a champions reward. I know you’ll win. I’ll go into town to the sports bar. Mmmmm you know the one. Meet up with Priscilla and we’ll cheer you on. I’m going to go now. I love you.” Jaskier sighs deeply and the recording finishes.
Geralt blinks and exhales deeply. Scrubbing his face over his hand the fighter rises grimacing at the cum on his belly -already starting to flake on his body hair. He sighs up to the twinkling ceiling lights grabs the glass from the nightstand and pops a booze soaked icecube into his mouth crunching between his molars at breaths hard through his nose. Vesemir will be pissed that 2 of his pre-fight rules have been flouted. 1. No alcohol 2. No sex.
Well does what Geralt just did count as that? Ah fuck it.... Geralt can’t think of it now. He’s got a few days to recoup before his fight. He’ll thank Renfri at the breakfast buffet in the morning.
Geralt puts the phone and fashion tome on his bed side table and goes to shower. He does not feel guilty. Not in the fucking least.
After the shower Geralt towels off and slips into bed. Propping up the pillows the way he likes. Damn hotel bed is too damn soft. Like sleeping on a marshmallow. Normally Geralt would pull on his sleep pants but the aircon isn’t as cool as he’d like and the remote to work it is too fucking confusing. So Geralt sleeps in the ‘raw’ while here in Manila. Turning off the light, he shifts onto his side. The city skyline illuminates the bedroom in tiny firework specks of neon. Like those nature shows that ciri and jaskier love to watch where David Attenborough narrates the twinkling alien-like creatures that live deep in the ocean. The last thing Geralt sees before sleep takes him is that LOVE magazine cover and Jaskier frozen in time staring out at him.
“Night ...Lark.”