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Reuniting is only made sweeter by their time apart, or so the poets of old are trying to tell him. Jaskier couldn't give a shit about that, because they are wrong. If he could spend every day, every minute, with Geralt wrapped around him, he would.
As soon as signs of spring showed themselves, Jaskier headed out to the path, keen to meet his witcher once again. Finding each again is like relief, like being fulfilled, like being fucked within an inch of his life over and over in a shitty straw bed because they can't afford anything better.
Their first night together again, after being so long apart, and Jaskier is relishing in the feel of Geralt's sweaty chest against his back, in the smell of sex and blankets tangling with their legs as they shift to get closer, and closer still.
Geralt loves him, consumes him, breathes him in every time they reunite, and Jaskier can't help but wish they never had to part.
His cheeks are still slick with lube and spend when they fall asleep in each other's arms, with Geralt at his back. He is exhausted, but in the way you are when you are finally allowed a real rest.
In the small hours, Jaskier wakes up to lips kissing his neck, to a hand gently caressing his stomach, stopping just over his dick, barely brushing it with a fingertip, before retreating again.
He sighs contentedly and arches his back in a stretch, and then he has to smile.
"You really did miss me, didn't you?" he murmurs, voice gravely from sleep and ... other activities .
Geralt's erection is rubbing against his bum, trapped between their bodies as Jaskier pushes down against it.
"I really did," Geralt confirms, his hand sinking lower and hitching Jaskier's thigh back over his own, spreading his legs.
His hole is sore, but Jaskier is still eager, can't ever get enough of the sensation of being filled.
Tilting his head, Jasker reaches up and angles Geralt down to meet him in a gentle kiss. Sour with sleep but nonetheless perfect, Jaskier hums in satisfaction.
Geralt is still holding his thigh, fingers spread wide as he holds him in place.
His hips are slowly working, the tip of cock tracing wet streaks against his inner thigh.
Jaskier shifts and arches more, wanting Geralt closer, closer still.
"Not too much?" Geralt asks against the corner of his mouth, the arm that Jaskier used as a pillow now cradling his chest, holding him tight.
"I can never get enough of you." Jaskier whispers, his eyes still half closed, too comfortable to really get worked up.
The moments between night and day, with lazy kisses and half aware grinding, just like this, those are some of the best ones.
Geralt's hips twitch up, and with some shuffling, his cock is finally pressing snuggly between his cheeks, hot and slick and firm.
"I want you," the witcher whispers into his skin, a long finger tracing along Jaskier's collarbone and neck.
"I'm yours," Jaskier whispers back, fingers curling in the nape of Geralt's neck. His hole is still loose, still slick from when Geralt fucked into him only hours before.
The position doesn't allow for much, but Geralt's cock drags against his swollen rim as their hips work, and they both groan at the sensation.
Now somewhat in position, Jaskier presses down, enjoying the blunt pressure as Geralt is slowly breaching him. When the head is in, he stops, wanting his witcher to push inside and claim him. Geralt's hand moves from his thigh to his hip. He could just hold him in place as he sheeths himself fully.
But he doesn't.
Jaskier isn't hard yet, but his cock is stirring with interest, now that they are connected. He clenches experimentally, and Geralt groans, holding perfectly still despite the teasing.
"Jask," he groans, dragging his lips along the side of Jaskier's neck.
For a long moment, the only movements are their hands, caressing, touching, feeling each other.
With callused fingers along his inner thigh, Jaskier has finally filled out fully. He leans back against Geralt's chest, spreading his legs just a little more.
Chest hair sticks to his back, leg hair scrapes against the back of his thighs as their bodies plaster together.
"Take me, Geralt. Fill me up with only you."
A shudder goes through the witcher, and the grip on his hip tightens.
Slowly, Geralt pushes the rest of the way inside. The drag against his rim is delicious, even as it stings when it stretches around the increasing girth.
When Geralt bottoms out, both arms come around Jaskier's chest to hold him close. Jaskier holds them right back, and they breathe together as they adjust.
It feels like an eternity before Geralt moves, circling his hips. Jaskier gasps, throwing his head back and pushing down against Geralt.
The pace the witcher then sets is slow, grinding deep, hips rolling to reach that spot inside that makes Jaskier see stars.
Geralt holds onto him as his movements get choppier, his pleasure creeping up on him.
"I’m not gonna last," Geralt groans against his neck, and Jaskier smiles.
"Come in me. I know you are not done yet."
The witcher shudders, his hips picking up speed as he buries his head in Jaskier's shoulder.
They are panting now, Geralt's breath harsh and hot, his chest heaving against Jaskier's back.
It feels so fucking good, to be wanted like this. Having already come twice tonight, Jaskier's own orgasm will take some work. But he knows Geralt, knows he comes fast, hard, over and over again. He feels the spurts of Geralt's spend inside, feels the spasms of his cock as he reaches his completion.
Geralt is not a silent lover. Something that he learned early, and something that he can't get enough of.
"Fuck, Jask, fuck, I-" Geralt moans, his cock twitching again when Jaskier press down against him.
"More," Jaskier whispers, knowing his greed will be well received.
And it is.
Geralt moans again, leaning back further so that he is holding most of Jaskier's weight, and pushes Jaskier down into his thrusts, holding him fast. It knocks the air out of him, little moans being punched right out of his lungs as Geralt fucks into him.
Now that the initial hunger is filled, one of Geralt’s arms slides down around his lower abdomen as Jaskier arches his back even more, to get that perfect angle.
"So full of me, taking me so well," Geralt murmurs into his skin, into his ear. It sends goosebumps down his arms, his nipples pebble, his toes curl, when Geralt talks to him like this.
"So eager for me to pump you full of my seed, to make you smell just like me, marking you as mine."
The impact of his thrusts rocks Jaskier's body up, but Geralt is holding him tight. It's so fucking perfect, Jaskier can only hold on for dear life, his insides clenching to keep Geralt as deep as he can.
The witcher keeps whispering filth into his ear, and when Jaskier loses control of his voice, broken moans leaking out of him, Geralt reaches down, down, down.
His hand is hot, if a little dry, around Jaskier's prick. He does nothing but hold him, fingers wrapped around him with barely no pressure. It's maddening.
"More, Geralt, fuck darling, more-" Jaskier begs, clawing at the arm around him, and Geralt grunts in reply, angling his hips to drive in deeper, but keeping the pace.
When Geralt comes for the second time, spurting inside with long stripes, Jaskier is so close he could cry.
"No, no no no, please more, Geralt, I need-"
Geralt is panting harshly, but his hips are still grinding, even as he is finally softening.
"I got you," he promises, and finally, finally starts stroking Jaskier's aching cock.
The witcher circles his hips, panting heavily even as he licks and nips against Jaskier's shoulder, working Jaskier over.
When Jaskier tips over the edge, he grips Geralt's hand on his chest, pushing himself down, his vision turning white with pleasure. He can feel his own come against his lower abdomen, what slipped between the witcher's fingers.
For a long moment, Jaskier can't move, can't speak, can barely breathe. His rim is throbbing, his insides clenched tight, probably uncomfortably so, but Geralt does nothing to pull out.
When he finally can feel his toes again, when he can see the lumpy, abandoned pillows and bed sheets, he sighs deeply, contently.
"I think we need the towel again," Geralt whispers, hand now unmoving, but still holding his spent prick.
"Don't you dare let me go," Jaskier threatens, even as he knows the truth of it.
As soon as Geralt pulls out, spend will be leaking out of him, and if they want to sleep in this bed the rest of the night, they better get that towel to catch it.
With a grunt, Jaskier leans forward, laying on his stomach and tilting his hips up best he can. The sound of their bodies parting is wet, filthy, and almost enough to make him ready for another round. Almost.
His body is weak, but his heart is willing, at least.
The night air is cool against his sweaty skin without Geralt there, but it is still welcome.
With a kiss to Jaskier's shoulder blade, Geralt gets up and fetches some towels.
It is going to be a few days until Jaskier can walk like normal again, all the while with a witcher preening next to him, knowing it was his work.
It is silly, and possessive, and the poets of old know nothing of what life is like spent at his witcher's side.
Parting is inevitable, sometimes, and Jaskier will raise hell to make sure it is as rare as possible, despite their reuniting being the sweetest.
Settling together again in bed, the morning birds start to sing outside their window. Sated, loved, and completely exhausted, Jaskier falls asleep in his witcher's arms.