Work Text:
"Jaskier?"
His eyes snapped up to the man standing in the open archway that led to the back of the spa. Geralt. Jaskier knew his name already and could have surely picked him out of a lineup due to his bright white hair and his astonishing physique.
"Yes, I'm here!" he choked out.
Geralt introduced himself and glanced around the waiting room but everyone else was clustered apart from Jaskier— he was unmistakably unaccompanied. "You came alone?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
Jaskier nodded and swallowed thickly. "My friends— the couple I'm— they're traveling. For work," he stammered, hoping he came across as nervous rather than deceitful.
"Hm." Geralt turned and started walking down the hall. Jaskier hurried to follow, admiring the line of his shoulders under a tight black shirt and the way Geralt’s ass stretched his jeans.
"Is that alright? They don't need to be here, do they?" he asked belatedly.
"Only need you," Geralt said.
Warmth pooled in Jaskier’s belly at the words and the deep, rumbling voice that said them. He wiped sweaty palms on his kilt, cursing the way slick welled up between his legs. His mind worked a little slower than usual when he was this deep in his heat and his body was far more reactive.
Geralt led Jaskier to a door painted with a stylized, suggestive calla lily, then pushed it open so Jaskier could enter. The room was larger than any massage studio or exam room Jaskier had been in before, and it contained two large pieces of furniture that dominated the central space. The exam table was no different than what could be found in any doctor’s office, but the other table—the breeding bench, Jaskier’s mind supplied helpfully—stopped him in his tracks.
It was a large padded half-cylinder rather than flat and the bolster was about as long as Jaskier’s torso. On either side there were built-in ledges for arms and legs to rest, and there was a circular headrest like on a massage bed.
“Don’t be intimidated,” Geralt said, breath stirring the hair on the nape of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier turned and found himself nearly nose-to-nose with Geralt, who was still holding the door open. “I’ve been told it’s quite comfortable.”
Jaskier made a strangled sound of assent and walked toward it, hand outstretched to touch the dark gray fabric that protected the padding.
Geralt made a corrective noise and Jaskier whipped around, clasping his hands behind his back guiltily. “Physical exam first. You aren’t my client yet.”
Jaskier’s face flushed and he couldn’t bear to meet Geralt’s gaze. His eyes skimmed over the two guest chairs—presumably for the omega’s partner or a hopeful couple—and the various posters on the walls, landing finally on an anatomical model which showed the side view of an omega’s pelvis with a disembodied alpha cock inside, knot locking them together. Jaskier’s mouth fell open at the visual.
“Disrobe and we can get started,” Geralt said, closing the door.
“Ah…” The room lacked gowns or a screen to change behind.
“It’s only us”—Geralt gestured at the empty chairs—“And I’m going to see it all anyway.”
“Oh, but the website said to wear a skirt?” Jaskier’s voice was higher than usual, tight with excitement.
“Skirts are for breeding appointments,” Geralt explained. “This is an inspection.” Jaskier immediately dumped his bag on the floor and began to strip, heartbeat throbbing in his cock to the tempo of breeding-breeding-breeding. Geralt continued, “I’ll check you over top to tail, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I have your STI screening results already, so if I don’t find anything that excludes you from treatment, we can move on right away.” He squinted at the haphazard mess of Jaskier’s belongings strewn over and around the chair. “That’s a tripping hazard.”
“Well, pardon me,” Jaskier spat acerbically. He huffed and briskly folded his clothes into a pile, even going so far as to crouch down and jam his socks into his shoes before tucking them under the chair. He refused to acknowledge the prickling sensation of Geralt’s eyes on his bare back.
“Much better,” Geralt said when Jaskier was finished. There was a flicker of movement at the corner of his mouth, gone before Jaskier could decide if it was a smile.
“Now what?”
Geralt wordlessly patted the thin paper that covered the exam table and Jaskier boosted himself up to sit on the edge. Geralt scanned Jaskier’s skin all over before bidding Jaskier open his mouth and extend his tongue so Geralt could peer inside with a small flashlight.
“I’m going to touch you now,” Geralt said. “I need to palpate your glands.”
“That might be the most unappealing statement in the history of the universe,” Jaskier said. He tipped his chin up to give Geralt better access to his neck.
Geralt hummed skeptically and flicked his gaze to Jaskier’s lap, where his cock was hard between his legs and the paper was darkened from Jaskier’s slick. He pressed warm hands over Jaskier’s scent glands and walked his fingertips all the way up to the line of his jaw. Jaskier shivered with anticipation, more wetness escaping from his slit.
“Everything’s normal so far,” Geralt said quietly. “No rashes, no sores, and your glands feel fine.” Jaskier sighed with relief. Professional studs occupied a gray area between medical treatment and sex work, which meant that unlike the doctors Jaskier’s parents had dragged him to, Geralt couldn’t order any tests that might reveal Jaskier’s infertility; he had to base his assessment on Alpha instincts.
“That’s good,” Jaskier said breathlessly. He was creeping closer to the fulfillment of his deepest, darkest fantasy, and it made him lightheaded.
“Lie back,” Geralt instructed. He washed his hands, hooked a wheeled stool with his ankle to drag over, then he sat between Jaskier’s knees and drew stirrups out from the edge of the table.
Jaskier craned his neck to see where to place his feet and got distracted by the top of Geralt’s head bowed so close to Jaskier’s groin. His mind flashed to Geralt’s bio on the breeding spa’s website—Hair: white since childhood (non-heritable)—and Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself. He was desperate to get bred… really, truly bred by an Alpha instead of roleplaying with a beta, and to get that, Jaskier had to make sure Geralt was willing to service him.
“Here,” Geralt said, guiding Jaskier’s heels into place. “Now slide down toward me.”
Jaskier shuffled down the table a little, hating the way the paper cover crinkled and bunched underneath him.
“Bit more,” Geralt said.
Jaskier shifted closer, worried he was going too far.
Geralt sighed with exasperation, then grabbed Jaskier’s thighs and dragged him to the edge of the table. Jaskier yelped in surprise. He drew breath for a blistering rebuke but the words died in his throat as Geralt shifted his hands to the inside of Jaskier’s thighs and gently pressed them apart.
“Stay.” His hands were warm where they touched Jaskier’s skin. “Almost done. One last place to check.” He rested two bare fingers on Jaskier’s entrance.
Jaskier gulped and threw an arm over his face. He was so horny it hurt, and he could feel slick oozing out of him, a cool trail running down his ass to puddle on the table. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Go ahead.”
Without preamble, Geralt slid those fingers into Jaskier, all the way to the base. Jaskier arched off the table, a sob tearing free from his chest.
“Steady,” Geralt said, flattening his other hand on Jaskier’s belly.
“Gods, how do you stand it?” Jaskier asked, digging fingernails into his palms so he wouldn’t roll his hips into the thick pressure of Geralt’s fingers. “I’m making a fool of myself. I’m so sorry.” He could feel himself blushing and that made the embarrassment even worse.
“It’s my job,” Geralt said. After a pause to twist his fingers deeper into Jaskier, Geralt added, “It’s easier since you came here alone. Emotions run high when people watch a breeding; jealousy or anger or lust.” Geralt shook his head. “I prefer to focus on the work, rather than managing an audience.”
An audience, Jaskier mouthed soundlessly.
“Have you ever been knotted before?” Geralt asked while he squeezed Jaskier’s innards between the fingers inside him and the hand on his belly.
“No, I—” Jaskier swallowed thickly before saying, “Only betas.” Alphas were even rarer than omegas and they weren’t hanging around in bars or on hookup apps; most of them made good money as studs since their seed was so potent.
“How much do you know about it?”
Jaskier licked his lips. “I understand the basics, but give me the whole lecture… in case I forgot something important.” He couldn’t resist the opportunity to hear Geralt narrate all the sordid details.
“It’s big,” Geralt said. “Probably bigger than anything you’ve taken before.” He huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh when Jaskier clenched around him. “Or not.”
“How big?” Jaskier whispered.
Geralt lifted his hand off Jaskier’s stomach and made a fist. “Don’t worry,” he said, mistaking Jaskier’s whine for fear and dropping his hand out of sight. “I’ll work you up to it, and your body will do the rest.” There was a flash of discomfort—Geralt slipping in another finger—and then a sweet, tender throb deep inside. Jaskier peeked down and saw both Geralt’s forearms angled outward, the backs of his hands together as he spread his fingers apart and stretched Jaskier. He added another finger and plied Jaskier open with widening circles.
Jaskier’s head dropped back to the exam table with a thud.
“It’ll feel like a beta cock, at first,” Geralt explained, holding his fingers tightly together. “Once the knot starts to swell”—Geralt pulsed his fingers against Jaskier’s inner walls in every direction—“you need to relax and let it in, even if it feels like too much.” He kept his fingers deep and curved them even wider, until Jaskier couldn’t help but keen at the burning stretch. “My goal is to get the knot in as quickly and painlessly as I can. Once it’s in, it’s not coming out until the breeding’s over.”
Jaskier’s eyes fell once more on the anatomical model and he imagined Geralt locked inside him like that. The possibility was so close, so real, he could almost feel it. “Is it— am I—?” he gasped, squirming on the table. If Geralt told him he wasn’t fit to breed after all, Jaskier was certain it would be the death of him. He lifted his head so he could silently beg Geralt to put him out of his misery.
Geralt’s lips parted and he drew in a long breath as he slipped free from Jaskier’s body. He raised one hand to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his eye but stopped himself just in time: his fingers glistened with Jaskier’s slick. Geralt nodded once, then stood to wipe his hands.
“You’ll breed me?” Jaskier asked urgently. “I can have your knot?”
Geralt shot a sharp glance at him, but said nothing. He went over to the other table and started adjusting it, glancing occasionally at Jaskier’s proportions. Once finished, he said, “Get dressed.”
“Dressed…?”
“You can handle a knot, which means this is now a breeding appointment,” Geralt slowly explained, as if doubting Jaskier’s intelligence outside of heat even more than during it.
“Ohh,” Jaskier said, comprehension finally dawning: he had passed the test. “Thank you!” Jaskier shouted and threw his arms around Geralt for a quick hug that was entirely one-sided, then dove for his clothes. The cognitive dissonance of putting clothes on added a surreal note to an already extraordinary day, but Jaskier’s body still thrummed with excitement. His prick brushed erratically against the fabric of his skirt, making him gasp. He rushed to Geralt’s side and looked expectantly at the breeding table.
“Go on.”
Jaskier rested his shaking hands on the large central bolster for a moment, and then climbed on. The shape seemed off and he worried he had gotten on it facing the wrong way. He tried to brace himself up with his hands on the padded ledges but Geralt tapped the inside of his elbow, encouraging his arm to bend. Jaskier dropped down to his forearms. While standing, he hadn’t realized the slight angle of the bench would tilt his ass up in the air, spine slanting down toward the floor.
Geralt walked around him, gently correcting Jaskier’s posture until he was arranged to Geralt’s preference. Jaskier shook like a leaf, holding himself up off the bolster stiffly, ruining Geralt’s work whenever he turned away.
“Lean into it,” Geralt said, a hand weighing heavy on Jaskier’s lower back.
He moaned and humped the bench helplessly, too far into his heat to ignore friction on his aching cock. “It’s… it’s not—” he cut himself off with a sharp whine. He could grind against pillows by himself; Jaskier wanted to be bred and it was within his grasp, if only he could quit chasing cheap pleasures long enough to get it. “I don’t want to,” he said desperately.
“Hm.” Geralt stepped back and Jaskier whimpered fretfully. His peak was rushing toward him, unstoppable and unwanted. Just before the point of no return, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the hips and pulled him away from the bolster. Jaskier cried out and rocked his hips fruitlessly, skin cold where his slick had smeared inside his skirt and across his pelvis.
“Soon?” Jaskier asked.
“Soon,” Geralt agreed. He wrapped a thick arm around Jaskier’s middle, keeping him propped up while he repositioned the leg rests. “There.”
Geralt stood, leaving Jaskier to test the new arrangement. His prick no longer touched the table, and his cheek rested at the top of the barrel instead of in the head rest, which meant he could see Geralt out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier hummed happily, pleasure simmering in his bones despite the lack of contact.
The lights dimmed and cloth rustled outside Jaskier’s view. Geralt quietly released a breath before flipping Jaskier’s skirt up in the back. Though the room was warm, Jaskier broke out in goosebumps. A firm, blunt pressure nudged Jaskier’s entrance, and every part of Jaskier’s body felt like it had been straining toward this moment his entire life.
“Please.”
Geralt obeyed, breaching Jaskier slowly. His cock was a hot iron bar piercing right through Jaskier’s cunt, and it kept going long after Jaskier thought he had surely taken all of it. When Geralt finally bottomed out, denim brushing the backs of Jaskier’s thighs, Jaskier was panting. He had never been so full in his life, and Geralt would only get bigger the longer they went on.
Jaskier felt bereft when Geralt pulled out, but the firm thrust into his sweet spot cured all ills. Geralt worked him over, steady as a metronome, and Jaskier melted into the stretch, almost convinced he had died and gone to heaven. “Not like a beta cock,” he mumbled, clenching tight around the fat length inside him.
Geralt’s rhythm faltered but he quickly recovered. “Do you feel it?” he asked, movements less deep, but rougher. He pressed close, the bulge at the base of his cock spreading Jaskier even wider.
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
Jaskier shoved backward, suddenly frantic to have it inside him. “Give it to me. I’m ready, you said— you said I can have it!” The warmth in the pit of his belly grew to an inferno.
“You can, just—” Geralt grunted, the first time he had reacted so openly. Jaskier’s heart crowed with pride, and he redoubled his efforts to squeeze Geralt’s shaft inside his cunt. “Either come now, or save it,” Geralt said, voice strained. “I’m gonna—” His fingers spasmed on Jaskier’s hips as he took a slow, steadying breath. “Too late; it’s time. Relax. Let it in.”
“Do it!” Jaskier whined petulantly, fighting Geralt’s hold.
Geralt growled and pinned Jaskier between his weight and the breeding table, shifting his grip to the edge of the frame. He rocked his hips forward and did not retreat, forcing his swiftly-swelling knot against Jaskier’s entrance until it finally slammed home all at once.
Jaskier squeaked, air forced out of him by the intense fullness. He rode the razor thin edge between pleasure and pain, and with every heartbeat Geralt grew inside him. The knot rolled over Jaskier’s sweet spot, so big he couldn’t escape the intense sensation, no matter how he moved.
“Fuck, it’s too much, it’s too much,” he said, drowning in pleasure. He kept thinking he must surely reach his peak, but there was no end in sight.
“It’s not,” Geralt rumbled. “Trust me, you can do this. The first time is the hardest.”
“Hardest,” Jaskier snorted. “Hurry up and breed me, you— ah!” Geralt bucked his hips a few times, leaving Jaskier speechless. Jaskier fumbled to get a hand on his prick but the heavy kilt was piled underneath him. “These damn clothes,” Jaskier lamented.
“Needy,” Geralt said, but he still took pity on Jaskier and slipped his fingers around Jaskier’s cock.
“Oh, gods, yes,” Jaskier moaned. Nothing in Jaskier’s life had prepared him for how it would feel to be cored open on a knot. He hadn’t realized how empty he was until he was finally full. Every stroke of Geralt’s fingers reverberated through Jaskier’s core like harp strings skillfully plucked. “I’m— Can I? Is it alright?” he pleaded.
“More likely to catch if you do,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.
Jaskier’s body didn’t work that way and it never would, but the idea touched spark to tinder, and Jaskier howled through his release, bracing his arms straight so he could feel the solid expanse of Geralt’s torso against his back. Geralt groaned, knot bulging in one last sharp increment to lock them together before his cock kicked fitfully inside Jaskier, finally beginning to spill. They both were absolutely rigid, the only movement between them Geralt’s prick flexing as it pumped load after load. Jaskier couldn’t sense the molten gush of it, so feverish was he in the throes of his heat, but the consistent nudge against his sweet spot combined with Geralt’s fingers resting on his cock was enough to bring him back up to the precipice.
“I can feel it. Your—the—” he moaned, beyond caring if Geralt judged him for his pleasure.
“Yeah,” Geralt said roughly. “Milk it. Get all you can.”
“Fuck-fuck-fuck!” Jaskier shouted, twitching his hips to test their tie, wringing Geralt’s knot, climaxing again. He begged for more until his voice was hoarse, and Geralt gave him all he could bear. Each time Jaskier peaked, it drew out the breeding longer, keeping Geralt hard inside him.
Eventually their bodies reached their limit. Jaskier had slumped down to rest on the bench at some point, though the particular details were lost in a rosy haze of vibrant pleasure. Geralt stood behind him still, ever the consummate professional. Jaskier chuckled at the double meaning, shaking his head at Geralt’s questioning noise.
Geralt didn’t prod. He tugged a small towel off a convenient shelf and shifted his hips gently. “Knot’s gone down,” he said, hissing when Jaskier’s muscles fluttered weakly around him. He wedged the towel between Jaskier’s legs, fussing with it until he was satisfied. “Hold this,” he ordered.
“Nuh-uh.” Jaskier preferred Geralt’s big hand cupping his tingling cock through the towel.
“That’s not an option.”
Jaskier grunted in disagreement.
Sighing with exasperation, Geralt bullied Jaskier forward to awkwardly rest his pelvis on the bolster then drew out his softening prick, catching the mess adeptly with a second towel before tucking himself away. Jaskier couldn’t turn his head quick enough to steal a glimpse and had to settle for watching Geralt button both sides of the fall-front jeans. Come started to overflow Jaskier’s channel without Geralt’s knot in the way and it bubbled out to soak the towel, smelling so strongly of Alpha that Jaskier felt arousal ripple down his spine. He sat up, straddling the bench, and scooped the mess into the towel, folding it as if discretion was worth a damn in a breeding spa.
He dismounted awkwardly, pushing himself backward and feeling blindly for the floor with his foot. His knees wobbled and he clung to the breeding table until the world steadied around him. Jaskier was utterly wrecked: kilt twisted, shirt rucked up and sweat-damp, seed dripping down his thighs.
Geralt returned to Jaskier’s side, fully composed other than a few wisps of hair curling around his face. “Normally I’d leave you to it, but… hm.” He flicked his gaze to the empty guest chairs.
“Oh,” Jaskier said, sluggish and warm like he’d eaten a heavy meal. “I’m alright.” Somehow, miraculously, he felt no pain at all— only bone-deep weariness. He stared very hard at his shoes, hoping they’d teleport closer to him.
There was a sudden swoop in Jaskier’s gut as he was lifted and deposited on the exam table. Geralt flicked the tail of Jaskier’s skirt out from under his rump, and Jaskier felt the plushness of a towel beneath him rather than paper. Before Jaskier could say anything, Geralt fetched his shoes and set them in Jaskier’s lap, socks still tucked safely inside.
Geralt abruptly left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Jaskier blinked at the closed door for a moment, then scrambled into action when his heat-fogged mind cleared. He cursed, stuffing his socks into his pocket and putting his shoes on barefooted. He nearly forgot his bag and swore again when he had to turn back for it, still trying to throw the strap over his shoulder as he burst out of the room.
He collided with Geralt, who stood in the middle of the hall.
“There you are!” Jaskier said, sagging with relief.
“Yes.” He steaded Jaskier and then, unfortunately, let him go.
“You um…” Jaskier hadn’t thought any farther than his instinct to not let Geralt out of his sight for too long. “I don’t know what to do now.”
“Go home. Put your feet up. Wear a plug if you’ve got one,” Geralt advised. He tilted his head and led Jaskier down the hall, away from the waiting room.
“That’s all?” he asked, walking through the door Geralt held open, stepping into the sunny parking lot behind the breeding spa.
Geralt let the door swing shut between them, pausing only for one last instruction.
“Make an appointment for next month.”