Geralt of Rivia leaned against the tavern table, his white hair catching the firelight like frost on steel. Decades of monster hunts had etched lines around his yellow eyes, and the scars across his chest told of wars older than most kingdoms. Jaskier sat opposite, lute balanced on one knee, his fingers still young but his eyes holding the weight of years spent trailing after the witcher through blood and coin. The bard strummed a soft chord, voice low as he recounted the latest contract gone sideways. "You charged that fiend without a second thought, Geralt. I watched from the ridge, heart in my throat, while you bled into the mud. One day that stubborn streak will catch you."
Geralt grunted, the sound low and familiar, his hand wrapping around a tankard that looked small against his callused palm. "It paid. You ate. We both slept under a roof instead of rain." The years between them stretched like the road they traveled, Geralt's silence carrying the weight of centuries while Jaskier's words filled every quiet space. They had known each other through dragon hunts and royal courts, through betrayals and rescues that bound them tighter than any contract. Tension simmered beneath the surface, an old pull neither named aloud until the winter winds drove them north.
The road to Kaer Morhen had been long, snow drifting across mountain passes that Geralt knew by heart from his training days as a young witcher. Jaskier complained at every step yet never turned back, his songs turning wistful when the keep's towers loomed ahead. Inside the ancient stone walls, the air smelled of old fires and herbs. Geralt led the way to the baths below, fed by hot springs that steamed the air thick enough to hide secrets. "Water's hot," he said, voice echoing. "Washes off the road."
Jaskier followed close, humming a tune that turned husky when the heat hit their faces. Geralt stripped first, muscles shifting under pale skin marked by time and silver. Scars from a hundred battles crossed his broad back, reminders of an age when he had been forged in the Trial of the Grasses. Jaskier followed, fingers lingering on his own chest where a thin line from a bandit blade marked his first real brush with death years ago. The water lapped at their thighs, hot and mineral-rich, sending ripples across the surface as they sank deeper.
Control started with Geralt. He caught Jaskier's wrist, pulling him close against the slick tiles. "Quiet for once." His grip was iron, the same hand that wielded a sword through centuries. Jaskier laughed, breath hot on Geralt's neck, but yielded, letting the witcher press him to the edge. Water sloshed as Geralt's mouth traced the bard's collarbone, teeth grazing skin that had never known a blade's bite yet carried its own marks from restless nights. Jaskier's pulse raced under Geralt's tongue, the taste of salt and travel mixing with the spring's minerals. Geralt's free hand slid lower, gripping Jaskier's hip with deliberate pressure, thumbs digging in to hold him still while lips mapped every inch of exposed throat.
Jaskier arched, hands sliding up Geralt's back, fingers digging into old scars. The power flipped when Jaskier twisted, using the slickness to spin them. Now the bard's mouth claimed the witcher's, tongue demanding entry while one hand wrapped around Geralt's length, stroking with the rhythm of a performed ballad. "You've bossed me across continents," Jaskier murmured, voice rough against Geralt's ear. "Tonight I call the notes." His fingers tightened just enough to draw a low sound from the witcher, water churning around their legs as Jaskier pressed forward, nipping at Geralt's jaw. The age between them showed in Geralt's patience, the slow burn of a man who had outlived empires, versus Jaskier's eager fire that refused to wait.
Geralt's eyes narrowed, but he allowed it, hips bucking into the touch. Jaskier sank to his knees in the shallow water, mouth replacing his hand with wet heat that made Geralt's head tip back against the stone. The bard's tongue worked in slow circles, hands gripping Geralt's thighs as steam rose around them. Then the flip came again. Geralt seized Jaskier's hips, lifting him so legs wrapped around the witcher's waist. He thrust once, slow and claiming, filling the bard with deliberate force that drew a gasp. Steam rose around them, hiding the flush on Jaskier's cheeks as he clutched Geralt's shoulders, nails biting into muscle.
They moved like that, water rippling with each shift. Jaskier clawed at Geralt's shoulders when the pace quickened, whispering encouragement between moans. "Harder, witcher. Show me what those centuries taught you." Geralt answered with deeper strokes, one hand braced on the wall while the other held Jaskier steady. Yet the bard pushed back, twisting until roles reversed once more. Jaskier rode with a performer's grace, rolling his hips in time to an internal melody, drawing curses from Geralt's usually silent lips. "Sing for me now," Jaskier taunted, voice breaking on a thrust. The game stretched, each giving ground only to snatch it back, sweat mixing with bathwater. Geralt's age lent endurance; Jaskier's youth lent wild rhythm. Moans echoed off stone walls as fingers explored, teeth nipped, and bodies slammed together.
Release built slowly. Geralt's hand worked Jaskier between them while buried deep, the dual sensation making the bard curse in three languages. Jaskier bit Geralt's ear, whispering filthy encouragement that cracked the witcher's stoic mask. "Feel that? All mine until you take it back." They peaked together, Geralt first with a guttural sound, then Jaskier spilling over both their stomachs, the aftershocks rolling through locked limbs. The water cooled around them as they stayed joined, breathing heavy.
They stayed joined in the cooling water, Geralt's forehead against Jaskier's. The bard's fingers traced a fresh bruise on the witcher's hip, a silent claim. "Round two at dawn," Jaskier said, voice hoarse but eyes bright with the promise of more nights where control would keep turning. Geralt's answer was a quiet huff, almost a smile, his arms tightening for a moment longer before the sound interrupted.
But as the door to the baths creaked open from above, footsteps echoed down the stairs.