Patreon Compilation – Fic#122 – Geralt/Jaskier – rimming; first time rimming – Silver Tongued (Patreon)

Geralt/Jaskier – Jaskier has talked Geralt into letting him rim him after finding out that somehow the Witcher has done every conceivable - and inconceivable - thing other than getting his little hole tongued properly.

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There is something surprisingly… lovely about seeing Geralt on his back and holding his own knees to his chest. He is as quiet as he always is, but the usually mulish slant to his brow has become a lot… softer than Jaskier is used to.

“You’re not nervous, are you? It’s quite alright! I’m a master at this. An expert, even – well…” he interrupts himself, eyes having lowered to Geralt’s treasure to stare at the hairy crack of his ass. The fur there has grown up over his taint and is liberally covering his balls as well. Here, the wolf truly earns his name; it looks like a soft fleece, thick enough to make Jaskier want to scratch it. “Well, I am not usually dealing with something quite this furry, but - nonono! Leave them up! I was just joking, just joking, you know.”

He has lunged forward, hands pressing against Geralt’s shins to press them back up toward his shoulders. The wolf’s expression has gone dark and thundery, causing sweat to prickle along the dip of Jaskier’s spine.

“I was just joking,” he says again with emphasize, nervously patting Geralt’s knees. “You know I was. ‘Twas bad timing, I admit. Sorry. Uh… Should I just- should I just get to work?”

Geralt has narrowed his eyes at him. The corners of his mouth are twisted down in a severe frown, which is… nothing new, to be quite honest. It’s a bit comforting, even. Seeing Geralt anything but moody and broody and scowling has had him pretty much out of his depths…

“I am not nervous,” Geralt grunts suddenly.

Jaskier, having already forgotten most of the stuff he prattles about the moment it leaves his mouth, just blinks at him.

“Pardon… what?”

But Geralt does not elaborate. He just scowls fiercely at him until Jaskier decides that it would probably in the interest of all parties involved to just… get on with things. “Right… right… okay,” he mutters as he starts to settle down.

Geralt is not quite hard yet, his cock lying chubby and fat on his scrunched up belly. It’s… quite cute looking, if Jaskier is honest, though he would never say so out loud. He does plenty enjoy having his head on his shoulders, thankyouverymuch.

He’s never seen Geralt in such a… vulnerable position. Naked and rolled up, offering himself to Jaskier like a delicious little morsel, despite his obvious uneasiness about the whole thing. He may pretend all he likes, but Jaskier can see he is nervous. The golden eyes keep flinching away from him, fingertips digging deep into his own legs as he holds them up against his chest.

Jaskier decides to use his mouth before it runs away with him once more. He settles down on his belly and gently spreads Geralt’s cheeks apart. Up above he can hear a stuttering inhale of breath. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Geralt never had gotten his ass licked by someone. But… that could not be true, could it? A man as old as the Witcher must have had plenty opportunities for all kinds of debauchery.

Jaskier gently parts the whitefur to show off the clench of Geralt’s hole. It’s a cute little slit, pink and vulnerable looking. Jaskier can’t help but push his face right against his crack, gently nosing in the fur covering his taint. Really… this just has to be a Witcher trait. He smells so good down here… warm and earthy.

Jaskier tells him as much when he pulls away again, feeling drunk with the intimacy of it all.

Geralt does not answer, so he peers up at him, over the chubby drape of his cock over his scrunched up belly and into his face. The Witcher has turned his head away. His eyes look glassy, and there is an… is that a flush on his cheeks?

“Just… get on with it,” Geralt growls. His rough voice cracks. Goodness… he really is a bundle of nerves – and all of that just from the anticipation of getting his cute little slit licked with a nice wet tongue?

Jaskier grins. He lowers his head again and finally gives him a little taste of it, fluttering the tip of his tongue against Geralt’s secret little hole. God, the skin is so silky against his tongue… so impossibly vulnerable…

Geralt’s body jumps when he feels the touch. There is even a high-pitched little grunt he makes…

Jaskier peers up at him incredulously, trying to see him past the heavy swell of his fat breeder balls... but Geralt has turned his head away as much as possible, trying to hide himself as Jaskier keeps gently rubbing the tip of his tongue against the pink slit of his asshole.

Cute…

Jaskier places his hands on the backs of Geralt’s thighs and uses his thumbs to keep him nice and open while he stuffs his face into the furry crack and gets to work. He can’t see a lot when he is in deep like this, but he can plenty hear the sounds the Witcher tries to muffle against his bicep.

The muscle against his tongue is twitching wildly; clenching down and relaxing again in quick succession, seemingly completely without input of its master.

Geralt is usually such a controlled man… the fact that a bit of tongue against his nether regions would break him down like this is at once hilarious and sweet. Maybe he really hasn’t had the pleasure of just lying back and letting someone make a feast of that gorgeous little hole he has.

The word virgin somehow moves through his mind… but that truly is outrageous, so he tries to turn his mind to something else. He thinks if he started to giggle now, Geralt would smash his head between those strong thighs of his like a ripe melon.

Interesting in theory… but not what Jaskier is after right now.

He pretends to not take a notice of anything that is going on, keeping his eyes closed and nose buried in the fragrant fur of the Witcher while his tongue becomes bolder by the second.

Soon enough he is lapping against Geralt’s hole like a dog: broad drags of the flat of his tongue against the twitching muscle.

Geralt makes a sound like a puppy; high pitched and whiny. One of his legs kicks out from his own grip and instead curls over Jaskier’s back, pinning him in place.

He almost wants to pull back and ask if he is still alright, but… well. Well, Geralt’s tune is changing right now.

While he has now a hand free to press against his mouth to try and muffle himself, the sounds he makes are chest deep and needy now. They hit Jaskier… unexpectedly hard, having his belly twist in on itself as he tries once again to peer up into the Witcher’s face. It has his tongue slow down, though… and Geralt will have none of that.

His hand flies down, gripping on to Jaskier’s hair painfully hard to mash his face against his ass, suffocating him in the rim and copious amounts of fur.

Oh wow… he really did change his tune pretty quickly. Jaskier flails for a second, still held down by the mean hand and heavy leg, then just… gets with the program and opens his mouth wide again, lapping especially wet against the twitching slit.

That earns him a low groan and Geralt’s hand marginally easing its brutal grip on his hair. Jaskier’s skull is aching… but he would be lying if he said that didn’t get him even hotter for the whole thing.

By now Geralt is wet and relaxed enough for him to try his hardest in pushing his tongue into him. He can hear Geralt’s breath hitch when he feels the wriggling tongue pressing and prodding, his thighs shaking as he obviously fights the natural response of quickly closing them up again.

Eventually, Jaskier does pull back. His whole face feels wet. He probably looks pretty messy as he stares up Geralt’s body with pupils blown wide, out of breath from relentlessly tongue fucking him.

“Get on all fours,” he rasps, wiping his sweaty hands against the inn’s musty bedding. “I can get deeper.”

He doesn’t have to push and pull on him; he doesn’t even have to try and talk him into it the way he had earlier, begging for a good hour before Geralt had finally budged and allowed him to try this whole thing.

Geralt is almost clumsy as he twists himself around and gets up on his knees, ass thrust into the air, tight and delicious looking. He wants it now… nothing of the previous shyness in sight. It’s sad, really – Jaskier quite enjoyed this unexpected side of him.

Instead, Geralt even reaches behind himself, spreading his ass wide for Jaskier’s gaze. He doesn’t need to order him to continue… Jaskier is on him in a flash, noisily continuing his worship of the Witcher’s ass.

As he listens to Geralt groaning into the pillow, he thinks that getting a taste of that cute little hole won’t be such a fight anymore in the future...