Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

Let go

The bard had nothing to say, his face was heating up and the tingling feeling of embarrassment was climbing up his spine. And yet, the arrogant look on Geralt's face made Jaskier want to punch him. The Witcher stepped closer, close enough that his hot breath stirred Jaskier's neck and made him shudder.
"You like it up the ass, do you Bard?" He asked, his voice unusually quiet, but still deep and gravelly as it rumbled out of him. Jaskier glared him down, not even bothering to button himself up again."
"As a matter of fact Witcher, I do. You should try it, it might help you to dislodge that stick you've got up there!" Jaskier snapped, trying to square up to his giant friend.
Geralt, to Jaskier's utter shock, burst into a laugh, deep and truly merry, and surprised too, as if he couldn't believe he was laughing. The Witcher's grip found Jaskier, huge hands splayed across his hips, tugging him sharply toward him until their bodies were pressed tightly together, Jaskier's half-hard dick pressed into Geralt's thigh.
"Wha-"
Geralt's mouth went down hot and heavy on Jaskier's and the Bard tipped his head up to catch the lips of his friend. It was exactly how he had imagined, hard and lustful and-
If Jaskier was honest, it was not what he had been expecting the Witcher to taste like; his lips were sweet – like some kind of dessert he must have eaten when he was out – and his skin smelled heavy with spices and soap lingering from his bath. The strength with which he lifted the Bard onto a table and and tore his shirt open however, was definitely not surprising. 
"What are you- mhh- doing?" Jaskier rasped out as Geralt's mouth left his and travelled down his neck. He was terrified to touch his friend, not that he hadn't always wanted to, but this could ruin everything, not to mention he was sure Geralt would smack him away.
"What does it look like, Bard?" His voice rumbled out of him like thunder and Jaskier was sure that the second his will broke. Fuck it, he thought. Pushing through his fear, Jaskier wound his fingers through the white strands of Geralt's hair, and leant up to kiss him again. The Witcher didn't resist.
Somewhere between hard, desperate kisses, Geralt's hand hand left Jaskier's neck and traversed his lightly toned chest, dropping low enough to finish undoing the buttons of his breeches. If Jaskier was going to stop this, it had to be now, before it was too-
"Ahh!" He sucked in a deep breath as Geralt's hand wound around his cock and began to pump. "Fuck." He mumbled, tugging on the hair in his fingers. He was too distracted to notice the flare in Geralt's eyes and the way he grinned savagely. He doubled his effort and Jaskier threw his head back in a moan which was cut off abruptly as Geralt's hand slapped over his mouth, muffling him. Jaskier would deny it in the morning, but the feeling of being controlled had only made him harder. 
"Now is not the time for singing, Bard" He said, and somehow his voice had dropped even lower. Jaskier bit down on his fingers and the surprise - rather than the pain, which Geralt was fully accustomed to - made him pull his hand back. "You-"
Jaskier cut him off, throwing himself over Geralt so that they tumbled to the floor, still locked in each other's arms, lips feverishly finding one another. Geralt had to remind himself that despite how he seemed, Jaskier wasn't delicate, and he obviously wasn't meek. Just as he thought it, he felt the hands clawing open his shirt, trousers, skin; nails raked over flesh and it turned him on. They were both naked in seconds, cocks rubbing together in their tumbling, writhing mess of limbs. Jaskier had managed to come out on top somehow, and was now straddling Geralt's hips, staring down in some sort of awe at the Witcher's impressive endowment. 
"Fuck, Jaskier. Get on with it." Geralt snapped, but Jaskier had learned the ins and outs of his anger, annoyance, even boredom; this tone was something new. It was arousal. The fact that Jaskier could make the Witcher feel something other than irritation or exasperation was so shocking it made him stop for a second. But then those golden eyes were on him, glaring as if challenging him to wait any longer, and he was forced into action. 
There was no graceful way to do it, not with Geralt, Jaskier knew that. A spit drenched hand was the best he could do, and he had to hold back a cry when the Witcher's cock finally broke past the rim of his ass and seemed to fill him so much he might break open. But pain and pleasure came together with Geralt; there would be no separation, they would come together, without one there was no other.