Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

Stop Thinking

Geralt was far from caring, but he saw Jaskier's discomfort and at least provided him with a distraction; taking the Bards hands in his, he placed them on his own chest, letting Jaskier grip tighten until his fingers dug painfully into his pecs. The witchers hands then rubbed down Jaskier's sides, as reassuringly as he could muster. The bard's head was down, breathing erratic, but he held himself upright and shuddered under Geralt's touch; his hand had moved back to his cock and he teased a quiet moan from Jaskier's mouth.
They didn't need words, whatever was being said was done with touches and kisses and moans. Geralt's head finally fell back against the floor when Jaskier had adjusted and turned his hips experimentally, biting back against the sting of pain. When he saw the sharp intake of breath from the Witcher, he was encouraged, and pushed against the pain, rotating his hips again. He realised his eyes were burning with tears, but fuck them, he was strong, and he had what he'd wanted for weeks. Sure, it wasn't perfect, it was violent and painful, but there was also passion and a growing pleasure as he finally sank all the way down onto Geralt's pelvis and felt the brush of his cock against that bundle of nerves that brought a sweat to his brow.
Geralt silently asked the question; Are you ready? But Jaskier was not going to be treated like a china doll, he was a man! He raked nails down the Witcher's chest, leaving raw red lines behind, he'd marked his territory. He was surprised and very much pleased by the sound his friend made, somewhere between a gasp and groan.
As if in revenge, Geralt rolled them over, slamming the Bard to the floor and looming over him, hair falling like a curtain around them, eyes fiery in arousal and something feral. Fuck! Jaskier thought. And he was right to be afraid. Anyone else would be.
"You're infuriating, Bard." He said, dropping his lips to my ear so that the words reverberated through Jaskier, and then his bit down on the tender skin on his neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to force a cry out of Jaskier. Sex with Geralt was like a battle, and Jaskier intended to win.
"And you're a stubborn arsehole." He said, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders of his friend and dug the nails in hard. "But here we are."
They tumbled violently across the floor, each battling to come out on top, and though Jaskier fought commendably, the Witcher won, pinning the Bard to the hard wood.
"Put your legs around me." He demanded. Jaskier looked confused, or hesitant at least, but hooked his ankles behind Geralt's back despite this. With seemingly little effort, the Witcher raised them both to the ground and took them the few feet that remained between them and the bed. They went down like felled trees, but Geralt held himself up on his elbows so as not to crush the Bard.
"Fuck me already, white wolf." He said, putting as much force as he could muster into the words. The Witcher looked taken aback, but he smirked and buried himself deep in the bard, revelling in the heat and tightness, and most of all the sight of Jaskier, speechless for once, eyes rolling back in his head and mouth pursed into a silent scream.
Jaskier was lost the moment it started, the thrusting so hard he had cling to Geralt just to stop himself shooting off the fucking bed. The pain was back again, but it was hard to focus on that when the pleasure was so overwhelming. He left deep scratches everywhere his hands went, but it only encouraged Geralt, made him groan deep in his throat like some feral animal. Neither of them paid heed to the fact that the noise they made could be heard even in the pub downstairs, they were both wrapped up in their bedroom warfare. Geralt, for all his stamina and strength, was loosing rhythm, Jaskier knew he was close to cumming but also knew it was his opportunity; he threw the Witcher over, crawling back on top of him and holding him down by the shoulders, where his grip was tight enough to leave red marks. Geralt didn't resist him this time, just closed his eyes and bit down on his lip, his breathing harsh and occasionally interrupted by an indistinguishable grumble of words. It was an amazing sight to see a Witcher so vulnerable and weak under his movements. The bard rode Geralt until the very last, feeling the hot spurts of his seed filling him and even then he rode out his own orgasm, listening to Geralt's breathing and watching his features twist with pleasure.
He collapsed onto the bed beside Geralt and tried desperately to calm his erratic heartrate. "Fuck." He gasped out. Geralt turned a curious gaze on the bard and smiled smugly. Jaskier desperately wanted to ask for an explanation, but he felt the Witcher would only become defensive and closed, so instead he said only; "Is it always like that?"
"What do you mean?" Geralt grumbled, though it was tired and pleased, not annoyed.
"So... animal." Jaskier chuckled.
"No then." He left it there, but Jaskier read between the lines. I had been new to him too, different and exciting. Even the bard, who had his fair share of men - and women- had felt something entirely new and thrilling.

A washcloth or two later and Jaskier hesitantly perched himself on the edge of the bed, ass screaming and head filling with millions of questions and fears. He wasn't even sure Geralt would want him to stay in his bed; he had presumed it was a spur of the moment desire that had driven him and now that he was more sane he would want Jaskier far away. But no.
"Lay the fuck down Jaskier. Stop thinking."