Chapter Text
“Why are you here?” Geralt’s voice is unbelievably deep, a growl that resonates differently in person than it does through Jaskier’s tinny laptop speakers.
Jaskier clears his throat and says, “I need your help.”
Geralt doesn’t move. He waits. Jaskier’s eyes flick to the camera, precisely positioned to only show Jaskier from the jaw down. He looks back at the man in front of him. “I come too quickly,” he says, pressing his lips together to hold back any explanations or excuses.
“How quick?”
“Depends on the partner,” Jaskier says, scratching the back of his neck. He’s already naked, and he’s extremely glad he doesn’t have any tattoos or identifying marks. In exchange for his services, Geralt—DrComeUndone, edging savant, dom, and semi-pro Twitter pornographer—is recording their session to post online.
He raises a steely-gray brow and gestures down at his own body. He’s the same height as Jaskier but built like a bull: broad shoulders, barrel chest, hint of a waist, thick thighs. He wears a t-shirt and dark jeans. Jaskier wishes he was exaggerating when he admits, “You might not need to touch me.”
Geralt’s head tilts slightly to the side, and his white hair ripples over his shoulder. Jaskier wants to bury his face in it and hump his leg like an unruly animal. Jaskier’s cock twitches; he abstained for two full days before his appointment, as required, and now he’s dealing with the inevitable consequences.
“You may say Sir, close, please, or stop. Understood?” he says, eyes on Jaskier’s. Jaskier has never seen his eyes before, or even his face. Geralt always stays conspicuously off-camera, usually only revealing his muscled forearm or covered knees. Seeing more of him—his chiseled features, cupid's-bow lips, and slightly crooked nose—is a heady thrill. Arousal twists in Jaskier’s gut, deep down in the space between his balls and his dick. A bead of precome wells up from his slit.
Jaskier can only nod in response. He didn’t expect a silver fox when he signed up for this. He expected one of the usual suspects from older man-younger man porn: balding, suburban, wearing New Balance sneakers, and well past their prime, but with so much experience it more than makes up for it. However Geralt’s in better shape than Jaskier has ever been and the excellent fit of his shirt makes Jaskier want to bury his face between those tits and never come back out. Jaskier’s dick twitches again.
Geralt sits on a wheeled stool and pumps lube into his hand. The bottle rests on a mug warmer, and the slick sounds as he rubs his hands together are so lewd that Jaskier has to clench his fists to keep from bucking into the air. His cock juts out between them already, and he’d rather not embarrass himself further.
“Deep breath,” Geralt says, meeting Jaskier’s eyes once more. They inhale together, and exhale. The stream of air cools Jaskier’s wet cockhead and his balls clench tight.
“Sir,” Jaskier says urgently, “close.” His cheeks burn with humiliation. He’s already on the edge, without any contact at all.
The other man’s lips twitch, but not like he’s sneering; his upper lip doesn’t curl in disdain, instead the corner of his mouth tucks like he’s trying to hide a smile. He seems to be a man who loves his job. Jaskier’s fists unclench. He’s safe here.
Shortly thereafter, Jaskier comes with the pad of one finger circling his frenulum, and Geralt invites him back for another session.