Work Header

someone to watch over me

Chapter Text


It isn’t the kind of work Geralt likes. He prefers, when he can, to leave his sidearm at home. He’s hyperaware of it in his shoulder holster. He also prefers the cases that require a little more thought than action, even if he excels at the latter. These people are clearly expecting action. Geralt smirks at the double entendre. As if on cue, a slap and a lusty moan can be heard from the next room.

In response, Geralt straightens his jacket and rolls his shoulders to loosen them. He takes another lap around the warehouse.

It’s late, and the place is poorly lit. If it weren’t for their excessive caution, bordering on paranoia, he would think the bad lighting or the neighborhood (by the docks, a bit run down) were the only reasons they hired the firm for security.


Vesemir had called Geralt into his office that morning. A woman sat across from him. She was striking, clearly wealthy, and it turned out, prickly as fuck. “Geralt, you have a job for tonight.”


“Guard duty.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest, but Vesemir silenced him with a raised hand. The woman inspected him. “You’ll do fine,” she said. Then she very clearly, pointedly looked at his dick. “And if it matches the rest of you,” she narrowed her eyes, seemed to find satisfaction, and nodded, “you can see about a little extra work, too, later.”

Geralt stood, silently, and watched her go. “Investigation?” he asked Vesemir.

“No. Just the guard work. They’re filming a porno in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Apparently, a rival studio has made some threats. They just want a lead guard to manage it, but it’s for the next two weeks.”

“Two weeks for a porn?”

“I don’t think that’s a relevant question.”

“Fine. Tell me about the threats.”


Made some threats, Geralt thinks. Sure. The pornographers already have their own security, who the woman, Yennefer, asked him to coordinate. He inspected the location thoroughly and stationed them around the perimeter to spot any entrances or exits. At first, he thought the warehouse must have a hidden studio space—something set up for filming, to look like a swanky house interior or a hotel room.

He was wrong. He needs to make another sweep, and it takes him back through the main warehouse.

Lights are rigged up, and there are multiple cameras, and all of it is fixed on a tableau Geralt will never be able to forget: a man, mid-twenties, brown hair, is bent over a crate, legs spread, getting absolutely wrecked. The other man in inconsequential; he’s wearing a mask like a balaclava, but is otherwise bland enough to ignore, despite being the one with his large (Geralt will admit) cock pounding the man at breakneck pace.

No, it’s the one being fucked who’s interesting. He’s taking it like he loves it, making little moans of pleasure, arching his back to meet the thrusts and offer more access. His performing name, Geralt learned earlier, is Jaskier. The other man has his hands gripped behind his back in an aggressive grip, and his other hand pushes down on Jaskier’s neck, surely almost choking him, holding him in place like an obedient toy.

Geralt ignores the twitch in his jeans. That isn’t what he’s here for. He does a visual check of all doorways.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” the man rasps. Jaskier moans in response. “That’s right you little slut, you take it.” He slaps him on the ass, and Jaskier’s moan is louder. Geralt can’t help but look back at the scene.

He finds himself looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. They sparkle in the spotlight, and Geralt is frozen. One of Jaskier’s eyelids flutters, a subtle wink, and he groans, curving his back like he’s presenting to the guy. “Fuck,” the man groans, hips stuttering.

“Cut!” Yennefer calls. “What the fuck was that?”

“He clenched and it was… it was so tight…”

Another woman jogs to them with water, and Geralt forces himself to look away.

“Whatever, we need another angle anyway. Let’s ease up. Jaskier, are you up for deep-throating him now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Geralt hears the eagerness in his voice as he walks away.


He stays away for most of the night and lurks in the shadows when he needs to do more checks. He sees the scenario they’ve set up for the film. Jaskier is lost, and he stumbles into this abandoned warehouse. A man is there, inexplicably wearing a mask (Geralt chooses to ignore the logical gaps). When he asks for directions or a ride, the man tells Jaskier he can have them if he sucks him off.

Jaskier, it seems, is happy to comply.  The next time Geralt walks through, he sees the compliance in action. The man grips his hair, pulling on it, fucking his face as Jaskier chokes and slurps.

Geralt stands in a dark corner and stares. He feels himself grow harder as the man pulls back, and Jaskier surges after him like he’s desperate for cock. He sucks on his balls, then takes him back into his mouth, swallowing down on it until his nose is pressed against the man’s stomach.

His own cock, Geralt sees, is rock hard and flushed. It bounces with his movements, but he doesn’t touch himself. He keeps his hands obediently tucked behind his back. Geralt bites down on his lip so he won’t groan. It's going to bruise. He tells himself to not get distracted. He makes his round like a checklist and gets out of there.


There’s more fucking. The next time Geralt passes through, the masked man is seated on a crate, and Jaskier has mounted him. He bounces on his cock, body writhing. He goes hard and fast for a minute, and then slows. His body moves like nothing Geralt has ever seen, and his face is rapturous. He can’t get enough of it.

Geralt can see the other man’s chest heave as he tries to hold himself together while Jaskier rides him. Jaskier’s mouth curves up into a little smirk, and he rolls his hips. The man taps on the crate a few times, and Yennefer stops the scene.

“Okay,” she says, “this time you’re going to hold him down. Jaskier, we’re going to do some close-up shots. I want you to looked scared.”

Geralt walks back out.


He’s completing another sweep of the parking lot when he spots movement on a nearby roof. He has his nearest man investigate, and he goes to the main entrance. “Possible movement,” he says into their earpieces. “All doors secure?”

They affirm, and he waits for word on the roof. It doesn’t arrive.

Ten minutes later, he queries the guy. “Rooftop status?”

There’s no response.

“Possible situation, we’re locking down.” He gestures for another guard to take the main door, and he goes to tell the film crew.

They’re filming the cumshot. Jaskier is on his knees again, thoroughly fucked out, as the man shoots thick white cream onto his face with a groan.

Geralt knows he needs to stop them and secure the area, but he can’t help but stare. Jaskier pants, and the cum drips from his upper lip. He laps at it with a pink tongue, and the camera closes in. Geralt watches him, transfixed, as he takes a finger, slides it through the cum, and licks it clean.

When Geralt tears his eyes away, he finds Yennefer watching him. “Yes?” she asks.

“Um. Uh, there’s a, uh, a possible situation. We need to secure the site immediately so it can be investigated.”

“Well, I can’t fault your timing. Let’s wrap, everyone. Do we have enough of the facial?”

The camerawoman nods. “Yes, perfect.”

“Excellent. You have five minutes to clear out. We’ll be back tomorrow.”


Geralt finds the guard half-choking on a ball gag with his hands bound by a spreader bar. “Did you get eyes on them?”

“He was masked and gloved. Male, medium height.”

“Fuck. Which direction?”

The guard points away from the warehouse.

Geralt nods. “Let’s get back.”


He has everyone escorted to vehicles by individual guards, and he watches the scene closely. “What about you?” a voice asks from behind him.


It’s Jaskier. His escort is waiting, irritation clear on his face. “Aren’t you going home? Or are you going to stand in the shadows and brood all night?”

Geralt’s lips part, but he can’t think what to say.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier says. He steps close. “I like being watched, you know, that’s why I do this.”

“You liked… all that?”

“I liked being watched. By you.”

Geralt feels his stomach knot.

Jaskier smiles. “I'll see you again tomorrow.”


Geralt waits until everyone is clear, and does a final check, pistol in hand. The guy is nowhere to be seen. Still, Geralt decides, something is going on. He calls Vesemir. “I’m going to need a team tomorrow. At least Eskel.”



“I’ll let him know.”


Geralt’s apartment is shitty and cramped, but it meets his needs. Tonight, that need is wi-fi. He puts on headphones. He types “Jaskier” into the search bar, and sees the list of results.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispers. He doesn’t want to click. It doesn’t seem right. Instead, he clicks on the production company and pulls up some of their other videos.

An hour later, he’s paid for access, and he has a beer in one hand and his cock in the other. He tries to focus on the blonde in the video, but instead, all he sees are Jaskier’s eyes staring into his. Instead of her cries, he hears Jaskier saying, “I liked being watched.” He imagines him whispering it in his ear. “By you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Geralt grunts. He comes harder than he has in months. He comes harder than the last time he actually fucked someone.

It’s going to be a long two weeks.

Chapter Text


“This is where he was,” Geralt says. “We found our guy over there.”

Eskel nods. “In fetish gear?”

Geralt shrugs. “Clearly, they’re specifically targeting the production.”

“You think it’s the rival studio?”

“Could be a lot of things.”

“That many people want to hurt porn stars?”

“Religious fanatics, rivals, stalkers… There are a few possibilities. And any enemy of the LGBT community. You know how many more nuts are around these days. Hate crime numbers of all sorts are up.” Geralt scans the rooftop, but doesn’t see anything that may have been left by the guy. There are no footprints, no cigarette butts, not even a matchbook (not that finding people is that easy anymore).

“So, we’re basically just fish in a barrel down there, while they have all these rooftops?” Eskel asks.

“That would be less than ideal. I want you to have a better vantage. We’ll have our own communication line on one headset, the guards’ channel on the other. The studio's guys are professionals—that’s why it worries me they got the drop on him. You got your eyes?”

Eskel unzips a duffel bag. It’s stuffed with binoculars, goggles, and other equipment. “More than that.”

Geralt nods. “Knew I could count on you.”

“But, Geralt…”


“You know we’re gonna need more intel on this. We can protect them a lot better if we know for sure it’s the other studio. Do some recon, find out what they got.”

“Mm. I’ll ask around. If it is them, we can send someone to check out their operation.”

“Sounds like a good job for Lambert.”

Geralt snorts. “Yeah, he’d like that.”

“Alright, well I’ll get eyes on this.” Eskel is already scanning the nearby roofs, looking for the best vantage point. “Don’t work too hard down there, buddy.”


Yennefer and Triss arrive first, in a sleek, black SUV with dark-tinted windows. “You’re already here?” Triss asks.

“We need to make sure we have the upper hand this time,” Geralt explains. “I have back-up with me, on top of your team.”

Yennefer looks him over. “I do like a man who plans ahead.” Triss smiles, as if they’re sharing a joke at his expense.

“I’m going to need to ask a few more questions, though. The information you gave before wasn’t enough. We need to know more about who these people are.”

“It’s only a theory,” Yennefer says. “Empire is our most prominent competition in the adult film industry, especially in fetish and hardcore videos. We have seven channels on our site, they have six. We work with about twenty primary talents, five or so being our marquee performers—they have fifteen. Are you familiar with our videos, Geralt?” She accentuates the t.

“Uh…” Geralt clears his throat. “I don’t have a lot of time for—”

“Good. I won’t be so rude as to ask which of our channels you prefer.” Yennefer’s face is perfectly placid. “Personally, I am a fan of orgies. The larger the better. Something about all that unleashed chaos.” Triss slips her hand around her waist and squeezes. “Anyway, you’d find that on our major fetish channel, Order. Orgies, BDSM, latex. A variety.”

“Why isn’t it called Chaos?” Geralt asks. He refuses to reveal he knows this from last night’s… research.

“Chaos is a different channel. More videos designed to look amateur. Rough, hardcore videos. Fucking in public. Things get… messy.”

“Isn’t porn always messy?”

“No. We have Destiny, which is all very artistic and polished. Rather vanilla for my taste, lots of soft lighting. Eternal Fire is also more cinematic. We do some softcore.”

“And the other three?”

“White Frost is our gay channel, for the most part, and Lady of the Lake is our lesbian channel. And then there’s Melitele.”


“That’s anything left over.”

“Probably quite a bit, then.”

“Oh, so you do admit you know something about the business.”

“I know that if someone has thought of it, it’s probably been done. That’s one of the rules of the internet. The videos you’re making here—which channel will they be?”

“A variety. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a pass for all of them.”

“That’s… that’s not…”

“Don’t hurt yourself, big guy. It’s no problem. Anyway, Empire have copied us for years. We, however, have better talent. Like Jaskier.”

“Is he… famous… or something?”

Yennefer smiles, sniffing out a little laugh. “Yeah. You might say that. You didn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“He’s impossible to resist. It’s because he likes it, you know. Being fucked.” She bites her lip.

“Is that what it is?” Geralt deadpans.

Triss hums. “I think he just likes being watched.” She lifts an eyebrow at him, smirks, and leads Yennefer away to get to work.

“I’m going to need to ask more questions,” Geralt calls after them.

Yennefer just waves her fingers at him and walks into the warehouse.

“Was that the porn star?” Eskel asks in his ear.

“No. She owns the company, and her partner is some sort of assistant or producer.”

“Damn. If the boss looks like that, what does the actor look like?”


“Actor, actress, doesn’t have to fit a binary, dumbass.”

“Ease up. I just meant it isn’t really acting. They’re just fucking.”

“For that long? In front of a camera? I’d call it acting. I’ve seen some things, man, there was no way they were comfortable, and they always look like they like it a lot. Besides, not that you need to know, but women don’t actually like to have their clits slapped like they do in some of those videos. They’re sensitive.”

“Jesus, fuck, Eskel. Why would anyone slap someone’s clit? Did you do that? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Eskel makes a point of laughing with the mic on, so his baritone rings in Geralt’s ear.


He assigns the guards positions as they arrive, and the crew sets up in the warehouse as he coordinates. The “actors” arrive last. First, a middle-aged man arrives in a nice suit. He’s a different actor than the day before. He has grey hair and a close-trimmed beard. He’s wearing a pinky ring, and Geralt isn’t sure why he notices or why it annoys him so much, but it does.

Then Jaskier arrives. What did she call him? A marquee performer. He steps out of his car and his eyes fix on Geralt. He’s carrying a backpack, and he’s dressed in plain clothes. Geralt finds his breath speeding. He wonders what type of video they’re shooting tonight.

“That’s the star?” Eskel asks.


“I see.”

“You don’t see shit.”

“If you say so, brother.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck him.” Eskel just has to get the last word. It’s infuriating.

But it may be good to talk to him, Geralt’s mind interjects. He may be more forthcoming about Empire. He doesn’t look away as Jaskier nears. “Here to keep us all safe again?” he asks. He licks his lips and Geralt can’t help but remember the sight of them stretched around the guy’s cock, dripping spit and swollen red. He wonders how debauched he’ll look in an hour or two.

Geralt shifts his weight from leg to leg, trying to focus and not get an erection just talking to the guy. Fuck. “It would be easier if I could get some answers from all of you about these threats. Empire?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “It’s all just bluster,” he says. “They have this guy. He and I… don’t get along.”

“What guy?”

“Valdo Marx.” It’s like he spits the name.

“I need to write this down. He’s the one making the threats?”

“Look, I don’t have time for this—I need to go work. How about later, I answer your questions.”

“Later we may be evacuating again.”

“Two days in a row? What are the chances.”

“Higher, now that you said that.”

“You believe in jinxes? That’s so poetic… Geralt.”

“Not jinxes, just that if shit can go wrong, it will.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” He reaches out and pats Geralt on the chest.

Geralt feels like he’s been branded there, on his left pectoral. He has to step behind a banister to adjust himself.

“I saw that,” Eskel says.

“Why did I give you a microphone?”

His ears ring again with Eskel’s laugh.


When Geralt makes his first perimeter check, he finds they’ve built a set in the warehouse. It’s a red chamber, with soft lights, and the suited, older man is sitting in a slick leather chair that looks like it cost a fortune. He’s holding the end of a leash, and at the other end is Jaskier. He’s stripped naked except for the collar, and he’s kneeling on the floor at the man’s feet.

“Have you been a good boy today?” the man asks.

“I…” Jaskier blushes, and tries to turn away. The man yanks on the leash, bringing Jaskier’s focus back to him. “I tried, Master.”

“I didn’t ask if you tried. I asked if you were a good boy.”

“I… I’m sorry, Master.”

“What did you do, Pet?”

“I…” Jaskier blushes again. The flush travels from his face, down his chest. Geralt can’t help but watch his still-flaccid cock start to swell.

“Answer me.” The man pulls the leash tighter, and Jaskier’s cock swells more. He looks down, demurely. He bites on his lip, and then looks back up

“My hole, Master, was so greedy.” His eyes are wide, and his face is so innocent—the contrast is startling. Geralt tries to stop watching, to check the doorways instead.

“Was it?”

“And I… I wanted you, Master, to fill me up.”

“But I was at work. So what did you do?”

“I… I touched myself, Master.” He looks ready to break into tears. “I’m so sorry, Master.”

"How many fingers?"

"Three, Master."

“Did my pet cum without me?”

Jaskier nods, face miserable.

“Does my pet want to apologize?”

He nods again.

The man stands. He walks away from the chair, tugging the leash. Jaskier crawls after him on his hands and knees. “Up,” he orders. Jaskier climbs onto a platform. The man pulls tight on the leash, pulling Jaskier’s head back so his neck is curved. “What have I told you about greedy pets who touch themselves?”

“That they’re dirty sluts who deserve to be punished.” The man yanks tighter. “Master!”

“That’s right.” He runs his hand down Jaskier’s flank, and then rubs a circle on his ass before spanking it, hard, on each cheek. Geralt forces himself to not gasp. He stands, hypnotized, as the man pulls shackles up from the sides of the platform and attaches them to Jaskier’s wrists and ankles. Geralt can see Jaskier’s dick is so hard, it’s dripping precum.

He wonders what it tastes like.

The man pulls opens a drawer and pulls out a thick plug with a fluffy tail and a bottle of oil. “You have a greedy little hole, and it needs to be filled, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Master. Please, Master.”

“Silence. One answer is sufficient.” A camera closes in, and he dribbles oil onto the plug, and then onto Jaskier’s pert little ass.

Geralt breathes through his mouth so his heaving won’t be audible.

The man shoves Jaskier’s thighs apart, so he’s better exposed. He runs a finger down the cleft, and when he teases Jaskier’s hole, he moans. And then in one, fluid motion, the man plunges the plug into Jaskier’s ass. “You’re going to count,” the man says.

Jaskier groans at the intrusion, loud and throaty. Without pause, the man starts spanking him again, going back and forth from cheek to cheek. Jaskier counts out loud, voice nearly breaking. The tail bounces back and forth from the blows, almost like it's wagging.

Jaskier gets to forty before it sounds like he’s in tears. His ass cheeks are fiery red. “Whose hole is this?”

“Yours, Master.”

“What belongs in it?”

“Your cock, Master.”

“What do you want in it?”

“Your cock, please, Master.”

“You were bad, Pet. You’re going to have to earn it.” He walks slowly around to Jaskier’s front and unzips his trousers. He pulls out a long, stiff cock. “Suck it,” he commands.

Jaskier looks glorious when he sucks cock, Geralt decides. Geralt has a view from his four ‘o’clock, and he can see the tail from the plug stuck deep in his ass, stretching him, the curve of his hard cock hanging below his body, and the line of his throat, wrapped in the collar. He takes it so deep, Geralt thinks he’d be able to see the guy's bulge in his throat if the lighting was brighter. He feels like he’s about to shoot in his pants. He turns fast and walks out.


“Status check,” he prompts. The guards have seen nothing and heard nothing. “Eskel?”

“All quiet up here. It’s getting late, too. I wonder if they’re going to lay low, try to get us off the scent.”

“I don’t know, but we need to look into this Valdo Marx guy, and the owners.”

“Already sent word to Lambert.”


He tries to stay out of the warehouse, again. If nothing else, because Eskel will give him shit about it. They’re like brothers, and there’s little he doesn’t know: Jaskier is just his type, and he likes to watch. His erection feels raw from rubbing the denim of his jeans. He should’ve worn a looser pair, but these were clean. Liar, he thinks. You wanted him to notice.

When he takes another lap, the door squeaks as he enters. Fortunately, they’re changing angles and taking a drink. His entrance, however, isn’t unnoticed. Jaskier’s eyes dart to him immediately. He’s rubbing some sort of lotion onto his reddened skin, and Geralt’s hands tingle. He wants to do it for him. He wonders if Jaskier can tell by his face. Jaskier’s lips are swollen plump again, and bright pink. His hair is a mess. The tail swings, brushing against Jaskier's skin. It's so absolutely fucked up that Geralt feels electrified.

“Alright, now for the edging,” Yennefer says. “Triss, darling, can you hand him that cock ring?”

 “Of course.”

“You okay with this, Jaskier?”

“More than.” He gives Geralt that little wink again, and then they strap him into some sort of harness-rack-thing. Geralt has no idea what it is, and he files it away as something to research later.

Jaskier’s arms and legs are spread, and the man starts by putting the cock ring on him, and then removing the tail. He replaces it with two fingers. “You’re still so tight, Pet. Did your tail not stretch you enough?”

Jaskier moans and arches back against his hand. He looks back over his shoulder, and his eyes find Geralt. “I want it so bad, Master. I want your cock. I need it,” he whines. Geralt’s pulse feels like he’s running sprints. “Please, Master.”

“I like it when you beg, Pet.”

Jaskier doesn’t look away from Geralt as the man lines himself up and thrusts into his ass.

Geralt watches his eyes nearly close. They seem to unfocus for a moment, and his mouth drops open as he lets out a keening sound. The man starts to pump into him, and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but take it. He can’t touch himself, he can’t lower his arms, and he can neither spread nor close his legs. He struggles against the bindings, and the man holds him by his collar and his hip. He yanks the leash back and Jaskier’s eyes are pulled away.

“Alright, alright,” Yennefer interrupts. “You’re supposed to be edging him, not fucking his brains out. Let’s get some rimming shots.”

Geralt gets back out before the man’s tongue meets Jaskier’s ass. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

Chapter Text


“Still nothing,” says Eskel. “I say we run offense tomorrow, do some snooping before the filming gets going.”

“You’ve already talked to Lambert?”

“He’s outside this Marx guy’s apartment right now.”


“No activity, but the light’s on. Probably watching television.”

“See if he can get a closer look. What about their producer?”

“This guy Radovid. I sent an inquiry to Coën, and he’s looking into him. Looks like he’s pretty well-known, and not for anything good.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s notorious for mistreating the actors.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. Then he thinks back to the scene he just witnessed and how different it was than what he saw last night. Maybe it is more acting than he originally thought. But Yennefer said Jaskier liked it… Maybe it isn’t entirely acting. Geralt chews on his lip, thinking. Does he like it? he wonders. He shifts his weight back and forth on his legs. For some reason, he really, really wants to know if Jaskier likes it.

“Geralt, you copy? You got real quiet, buddy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Thinking about this Radovid character. Depending on what Coën finds, we may want to get someone else involved—if he really is mistreating his workers. Someone like Sigi or Regis.”

“You want him taken down?”

“If he’s that big of an asshole…”

“When did you start caring so much about sex workers?”

“Just ‘cause they do porn doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be safe. They probably need more protection.”

“I know Geralt. You just usually pretend you don’t care for awhile before you start saving people. No pretense required today, huh? I knew you liked him.”

“What?” Fuck. Walked right into that trap.

“Just remember, Geralt, that it’s his job to make you think he likes you. No porn star is gonna be shacking up with ugly sons of bitches like us. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. I’m making another round.”

“You do that.”


Jaskier’s face is red and streaked with tears. “Please, Master,” he whispers. He whimpers. His body twitches and shakes.

“Come,” the man commands.

Jaskier releases. He comes with a shout, and the man strokes him through it as spurt after spurt of thick, white shoots out of him. He groans, and the man keeps stroking. He has a massive dildo in his ass, which he continues to thrust, even after Jaskier is finished. He makes a sound like a sob, but the man doesn’t relent.

Geralt watches him stroke him until Jaskier is hard again, tears streaming down his face. He turns away. It brings back that arousal, but less intense than before. If they ended it with the command to orgasm, he’d be sold. The overstimulation just looks painful.

Still, his dick throbs in his jeans. He shakes his head at himself.

He steps out of the warehouse and uses the guard earpiece channel. “Wrapping up in the next hour. Status check.”


They’re tearing down the red set when Geralt walks back through. “No interruptions today, I see,” Yennefer says.

“I still need information about Marx and Radovid. You said they’re a rival studio. Aren’t there several? What is it they have against you?”

She smirks. “You’ll have to ask Jaskier about that.”

“Ask me about what?”

Geralt turns. Jaskier stands behind him, still flushed and slightly sweaty. His eyes are a silvery blue, and his lips are still pink and plump from sucking cock. Geralt gulps. He suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

“He wants to know about Valdo Marx,” Yennefer says. “And Radovid.” She makes a sour face.

Jaskier’s jaw clenches. Then his expression clears. He smiles. “Well you did say you had some questions. I haven’t forgotten.”

Geralt nods. “Hm.” He looks around. “There really isn’t a good place to discuss this.”

“You don’t want to sit on the throne?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to the leather chair the other man sat on.

“Where would you sit?” Geralt evens his breathing. He forces himself to focus on the questions he needs answered, and not the prospect of sitting there, Jaskier kneeling at his feet, looking up at him with those swollen lips. Or worse, sitting there with Jaskier in his lap, ass rubbing on his erection, grinding against it through their clothes.

Or even worse, the thought of sitting there, cock out, with Jaskier sitting on it, riding him like he did the masked man last night. Breathing is a struggle. In and out, Geralt thinks, in and out.

Jaskier looks him up and down, and his sky-colored eyes seem to catch on every part of him: shoulders, hair, jaw, chest, groin, and even his boots. “I know a place we can go, not far away. A diner.”

Geralt opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it. “Mm.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “I think we’re done here, then. See you tomorrow.”


“Are you really trying to fuck a porn star?” Eskel asks, handing him his earpiece.

Geralt looks over to where Jaskier is getting into his car. “No,” he says. “I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

“I’m going to remember you said that.”

“You do that. See you later.”

Eskel nods, slaps him on the back, and climbs onto his motorcycle. “I’ll let you know what Lambert finds out.”

Geralt watches him drive off, zips his leather jacket, fastens his saddlebags, and starts his own bike.


The diner is less than a mile away. It’s an old-fashioned joint with a long bar on the inside and booths along the windows. It smells like beef patties, fry grease, and maple syrup. Geralt feels his stomach rumble. Jaskier sits in the corner booth, watching him. The waitress filling his coffee wears a blue dress and a white apron, and Geralt wonders if he’s stumbled into Twin Peaks or the 1950s. He slides in across from Jaskier and turns over his coffee cup. The waitress fills it. “Cream?”


She slaps a menu in front of him and leaves them be.

“You’re going to wish you got cream,” Jaskier says, stirring his cup. “It’s bitter this time of night.”

Geralt shrugs and takes a sip. It isn’t bad. He likes his coffee a little burnt sometimes.

Jaskier watches him. Geralt pulls his hands back and places them in his lap. Jaskier quirks an eyebrow. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

Geralt shrugs.

“The patty melt is good.” He leans forward. “If you like meat, that is.”


“You aren’t a man of many words, are you? They do breakfast all day, too. It’s nice if you’re a late sleeper. Sometimes I have trouble being arsed to get out of bed before noon. In that case, I’d recommend a short stack. They’ll cook your bacon to order, so if you like it crunchy or a little chewy,” he makes a face, “they’ll take care of you.”

Geralt just lifts an eyebrow.

“The hash is a little bland, if that’s more your thing, but the eggs are always perfect.”


The waitress comes back. “What’ll it be?”

“The usual,” Jaskier says, winking at her.

She gives him a little smile, almost begrudgingly, and then turns to glare at Geralt. “Patty melt and fries.” He stares at Jaskier as he hands her the menu and she walks away. “I like meat.”

Jaskier licks his lips. “I thought you might.”

Geralt takes another sip. “Valdo Marx,” he says. Jaskier winces. “What’s the deal?”

Jaskier dumps sugar into his mug. He shrugs. “He’s in the business. We used to work together.”

Geralt frowns.

“Yes, like that. He’s a dom. Possessive.” He swallows, and Geralt watches his throat contract. “And he didn’t like it when I left.”

“You left Empire?”

“I left him.”


“Yeah. I have a personal life, too.”

“I didn’t expect you to not.”

Jaskier nods. “He and Radovid approached me awhile back. They want me to come work for Empire.” He shrugs. “I refused. I like Yen and Triss. They’re bossy as hell, but they make sure I’m comfortable.” He rolls his shoulders. “It makes my job a lot easier.”


Jaskier leans forward. “Oh Geralt,” he purrs, “you already know it’s a lot more than that, don’t you dear?”

Jaskier’s voice goes straight to his dick. Geralt is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Anyone can fuck. I can make you forget anyone else exists. I can make you feel like you’re the only man in the world—the only man I’ll ever see, ever think about, ever desire.” He places his hands flat on the table. “I can make you forget your own name.”

Geralt forces himself to sit still. His cock is painfully hard.

“You know. I’ve seen you watching me.”

“You think this Marx guy would want to hurt you, since you won’t work with him anymore?”

“I think Valdo Marx would want to hurt me whether I was working with him or not.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen.”

Jaskier’s mouth opens, and his brows knit together. His confusion is interrupted by two patty melts and two overloaded baskets of fries.

“Has he approached you again?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier squeezes ketchup onto his fries. “Well…” He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, taps a few times, and hands it to Geralt. It’s a message thread, one-sided, and it’s full of pictures.

They’re pictures of Jaskier, and Geralt swallows hard. He scrolls through. There are pictures from last night’s filming, as well as other scenes: Jaskier in a suit getting his cock sucked, Jaskier skimming a pool in tiny shorts, Jaskier being fucked while sucking another guy, with another ejaculating on his back.

If it wasn’t for the context, it would be incredibly hot. Instead, Geralt feels an electric sort of rage run through him. “So it was him, last night. He got that shot.”

“It's pretty good, isn't it?” Jaskier muses. He sets it face up on the table and zooms in. He grins. “You were so shocked.”

“I wasn’t shocked.”

Jaskier hums in approval.

“This looks like pretty clear evidence of stalking. You need a restraining order.”

“I have one.”

“Then why hasn’t it been—”

“Geralt.” Jaskier eats a fry. “To them, I’m just a whore. We just need to get through the next couple of weeks. We’ll do most of our filming for the year. Ten days—nights—of filming, sometimes two videos in one day. We release new content every two to three weeks.”

“You make enough money on that?”

“I’ll do cam shows for subscribers, attend a few events.” He shrugs. “It’s enough to get by. And if it isn’t, we’ll do some filming out of the city. It’s just harder to coordinate that, with health checks and everything. We test a lot.”

Geralt nods. He eats his patty melt. It’s good.

“What about you?” Jaskier asks between bites.

Geralt frowns. “Um. I was tested after my last relationship. It’s… been awhile…”

Jaskier laughs. “No, no I meant you, like, you. You’re a security guard?”

Geralt’s face burns. “I’m more of an investigator.”

“Like a cop.”

“No.” Geralt shakes his head. “Like I help people.”

“Is that a statement about the police?”

Geralt narrows his eyes.

“So, you’re like a private investigator. How’d you get into that?”

“I was a soldier.”

“With that hair?”

“I said was.”

“And here I couldn’t imagine you taking orders from anyone. I guess even the toughest and strongest like to be bossed around from time to time.” He pouts, and Geralt wonders if his erection is ever going to go back down.

“You might call it a special arrangement.”

“Like a spy?”

“Not exactly. Anyway, it’s over. My team, we’re all civilians now. Independent contractors.”

“That’s good. Independence is good. Not a part of the military-industrial complex. Just the prison-industrial complex, I suppose.” He makes a face.

“No. That isn’t it at all. Why are you asking me all these questions? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

Jaskier eats another fry. His burger is long gone, Geralt realizes. He shrugs. “Maybe I find you interesting. Big, sexy bad boy like you, with your leather jacket and your motorcycle, out there ‘protecting’ us adult film workers from our angry exes and would-be stalkers.”

Geralt ignores his throbbing cock. He said I’m sexy. Calm down, Geralt. He knows he’s leaking precum. He’s glad his jeans are dark. “He isn’t a would-be stalker. He’s sending you naked pictures of yourself.”

“Everyone has naked pictures of me.”

“Not everyone,” Geralt argues. “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Jaskier sips his coffee. “Why not?”

Geralt narrows his eyes. It’s another trap, he can feel it.

Jaskier looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Do you want some?”


Jaskier laughs, throaty and low. “All you have to do is search, dear.” He pushes his leg against Geralt’s under the table. “I wouldn’t mind.” His smile seems to promise something to Geralt. “I like the way you watch me, you know.”


“What are you going to do after this?” He pushes his hair back from his face. “Do you have someone at home you’re going back to? A wife and two kids?”


“No to which question?”


“A husband and two kids somewhere?”


“Interesting.” Jaskier pulls his leg away and scarfs down the rest of his fries.


A text arrives an hour after Geralt gets home. He’s lying in bed with his laptop open to an empty search page. Got your number from Yen, the message reads.

Who is this?


Geralt doesn’t reply. A few minutes later a follow-up arrives. Fine. Since I know you’ll be too stubborn to find one yourself… A picture follows. It’s Jaskier, and his hair is wet like he’s just out of the shower. He’s looking up at the camera, and the shot captures his head, chest hair, and a nipple, but little else.

He types, I thought everyone had naked pictures, and then immediately deletes it.

Jaskier sends, Where’s mine?

I don’t do that.

Shame. I’ve seen it through your jeans, you know. Your cock.

Geralt has to grip himself through his boxers. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Thanks for buying me dinner, Geralt. I owe you.

You don’t owe me anything.

Regardless, here’s more info on Valdo. He sends a link. Instead of clicking it, Geralt types the URL into his laptop.

He groans. Jaskier.

It isn’t my real name, you know. None of us use our real names. Enjoy it, Geralt. Really.

The video is set in a hotel room. Jaskier, younger, sits on the bed. “This is J,” a voice says. “Say hi, J.”

“Hi,” Jaskier says. His voice is devastatingly innocent, and his smile is carefree and gorgeous. His hair is a little shorter.

“So, J, tell us a little about yourself.”

“Uhh… Well, I’m nineteen…” Geralt groans, shaking his head. He curses. “I’m a student.”

“What are you studying?”

“Music.” Jaskier grins. “And acting.”

“You want to be an actor?”

Jaskier shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe.” He wiggles a little like he’s nervous.

“You like being on camera?”

Jaskier blushes at the question. “I don’t really know.”

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

Jaskier nods.

“Do you like sex, J?”

He bites his lip, smiling and blushing harder. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Jaskier giggles.


“No,” he giggles more.

“Tell me about your first time.”

“My first time ever?”

“Yeah, tell me about your first time ever.”

“Um, it was my senior prom. It was with this girl I was friends with.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was okay. Didn’t last very long.”

“Mmm hmm. Why don’t you take your shirt off for me, J? Get a little more comfortable.” Jaskier’s face reddens even more. He pulls off his t-shirt, and he’s thinner underneath. He only has a tiny little suggestion of chest hair.

Geralt feels his cock respond and he curses himself. “He’s a fucking kid,” he grumbles at himself. “Turn it off. Turn it off,” he tells himself again.

“You’re so handsome,” the man holding the camera says, and Jaskier preens. “Why don’t you tell me about your first time with a boy.”

Jaskier licks his lips. The camera slowly zooms in. It lingers on his lips and then moves down his body before going back to the original shot. “I… I haven’t…”

“You haven’t been with a boy before?”

“Just,” Jaskier looks away. His face is scarlet. “Just oral.”

“Did you give or did you receive?”


“Good, that’s good, J. You’re doing a great job, you know that?”

Jaskier beams. “Okay.”

“So, tell us why you’re here today.”

Geralt scrubs his face with his hands and groans again. “You’re going to hell, mate. You’re really going to hell.” It’s legal, a voice in his mind says. It sounds disturbingly like Lambert. He wanted you to watch it—that’s why he sent it. He told you to enjoy it.

Jaskier rocks from side to side a little. “You’re… you’re going to fuck me,” he says.

“Look in the camera and tell me you want me to fuck you.”

The camera zooms again, and Jaskier’s big blue eyes stare into it. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers.


“I want you to fuck me.” Geralt groans again.

“Good boy. Take your pants off.”

Jaskier is already hard. He’s eager, even if he looks a bit scared. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Is this okay, Val?” he asks.

Val. Valdo Marx. “Shit,” Geralt says. “Fucking hell.”

“That’s perfect baby. Here, let me give you something to suck on. Would you like that?” Jaskier nods. The camera angle changes to a POV, and Valdo steps closer to Jaskier. “You can get it out for me, right?”

Jaskier nods. He reaches up and undoes Valdo’s pants, and then pulls him out. It’s still flaccid, and Jaskier frowns. “Uh…”

“Put it in your mouth, J. Get me hard.”


He does. The Jaskier in the video is clearly less experienced. He’s sloppy, and he can’t take very much. When Valdo chokes him, he coughs and tries to pull back, but Valdo won’t let him. He shoves into his mouth. The more Jaskier struggles, the quicker Valdo’s breath goes. “That’s right, J. You’re going to take it. I’m going to train you, aren’t I? You’re going to be a perfect little cum slut when I’m done with you.”

Geralt clicks ahead.

“Are you ready?” Valdo asks.

Jaskier nods. He’s breathless. “I think so.”

“That’s right. Okay, hands and knees. Lean on the cushions.”

The camera transitions to a split-screen. On one side is the POV, which focuses in on the tight little bud of Jaskier’s asshole. The other side is his face. He looks excited and scared. Valdo caresses his ass with his free hand. “Look at you, all ready for me like that. That’s good.” He dribbles lube right onto Jaskier’s ass and starts to massage around his hole. “Now we’re gonna work you up a little bit, so you can take my cock. You want my cock, right?”

Jaskier nods.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, I want your cock.”

“Good.” He pushes in the tip of his finger.

Jaskier’s mouth opens. His eyebrows lift, just a bit, and his eyelids lower. He sucks in a breath. “Oh,” he says.

“That’s it, just relax. Here, spread yourself for me.” The fingertip is pulled out, and Jaskier reaches back and pulls on each globe of his ass. The camera goes in and out of focus as more lube is dribbled onto his hole, and Jaskier sucks in a breath and smiles a little. “Is that cold?”

Jaskier nods. He leans forward on a stack of pillows and holds himself open.

Without a word, Valdo pushes his finger back in. Jaskier sucks in a breath. His eyes go wide this time. “Mmm,” Valdo hums, “you’re so tight. You’re gonna have to relax if you’re going to take my cock, J. Okay?”


“Good.” Jaskier smiles again with the praise, and pushes his ass out a little more. Valdo pushes his finger in more and starts rocking it in and out. He dribbles on more lube and quickly adds another finger. Jaskier’s breath is already a stream of quick gasps. “How does that feel?”

“It’s,” Jaskier gasps, “it’s good.”

“Good. Let’s see if you’re ready.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No, he isn’t ready.” He leans forward. “Shit.”

The flushed-violet tip of Valdo’s cock lines up with Jaskier’s barely-stretched ass. He dribbles more lube on, and he pushes in the head.

“Ah, ah,” Jaskier moans. His eyes lose focus and his jaw drops open.

“Relax,” Valdo says, rubbing on his lower back. “And spread your cheeks more—that’s it, like that. Look at you. Look how tight you are, fuck.”


Valdo starts to rock forward. Jaskier gasps with each stroke. “You’re so tight, it’s like you don’t want to let me in.” He pushes forward further and further. “Are you gonna let me in, J?”

“Yes, I can—I want it—I can take it.” His mouth hangs open. And then he looks at the camera, and Geralt can see that he does want it.

Geralt curses again and pushes down his boxers. “Fuck this is so wrong,” he whispers. He watches Jaskier’s face as he takes more and more cock in his ass. He spits in his hand and starts to stroke himself at the same pace.

Jaskier lets out little moans, almost like whimpers, with every new stroke. When Valdo gets in all the way, he stops and focuses the camera close on where he’s buried in Jaskier. “Now,” he says, “look in the camera and tell everybody what’s happening.”

Jaskier looks in the camera. He blushes again. “I’m—you’re fucking me in the ass.”

“Oh yeah? How does it feel?”

“It’s…” Geralt can see Jaskier squirm a little. “It’s so big, it kind of hurts.”

“It hurts?”

“Yeah, but it’s good, too.”

“Well that’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier grins. He starts to giggle, and Valdo pulls back and thrusts in again, so he whimpers. “Ah!”

“What does that feel like?”

“It’s like,” he squirms again. “Oh, god,” he gasps, “it’s like chills up my back, oh fuck, it’s—it’s good.”

“That’s right. And tell me, J, how many cocks have been in your ass?”

“Just—just one.”

“This is your first time getting fucked.”

“This is my first time getting fucked.”

“And do you like it?”

“Yeah, I like it.” He’s starting to rock himself back and forth on Valdo’s cock, chewing on his lip. “I, I like it.”

“Show me how much you like it.”

Jaskier lets out a low moan and starts to rock harder. He starts slow and shallow, and then builds in pace, taking it harder. He starts to bounce against Valdo. “Fuuuuck,” he groans. “Oh fuck, oh god, mmm.”

“Fuck, J, you do like it. Look at you working my cock like a good little slut.”

Geralt’s chest heaves. Jaskier lets out more groans, and then Valdo grips his hip and starts pounding into him. Jaskier’s eyes seem to roll back as he arches his back and meets every thrust.

Geralt loses it after that. He spurts all over his stomach and chest, as Jaskier gets drilled. He’s absolutely wrecked. In the end, Valdo shoots on his face, into his open mouth. It splashes onto his cheeks and on his tongue. “Swallow it,” Valdo tells him, and Jaskier closes his mouth and does. “Open up, let me see.” He opens and waggles his tongue. “Fucking perfect,” Valdo says. The video goes black.



Why would you send me that?

You wouldn’t watch one if I didn’t tell you to.

How do you know that?

I can tell.

Jaskier, why that one? You could’ve said he was your first. I didn’t have to see.

It’s my favorite video. Is that fucked up or what? It’s hot as hell. I wanted you to see. I wanted you to watch me. I like to be watched.

What’s your real name?


Don’t send me any more videos unless you want me to know your name.

Did you like it, though?

Geralt sits for a moment. Yes.

“Fuck.” Geralt buries his face in his pillow and tries to go to sleep.



Chapter Text


“This guy is one sick motherfucker, okay?”

Geralt looks across the table at Lambert. He blinks.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just… You think someone else is a sick motherfucker?”

“Oh fuck you, Geralt.”

Eskel chuckles, then says, “Both of you shut up. What did you find?”

“First of all, he lives in this apartment out of fucking American Psycho, okay? It’s all super sterile, like he’s ready to bleach some blood up at any moment. Real freaky shit. He’s got that dead-eye look like Patrick Bateman, too, or one of the Trump kids in that weird ass picture, remember?” He shudders.

Coën snickers. “Oh yeah, I remember that.”

Eskel glares at them, and Lambert clears his throat. “So, he sat there watching Nicolas Cage movies for six hours straight.”

“I’m gonna regret this,” Geralt says, “but which ones?”

That’s the weird thing. It was like, the Nic Cage movies no one sees. Not the good ones like Con Air—”

Con Air?” Geralt interrupts. “You go to name a good Nicolas Cage movie and the best you can come up with is Con fucking Air?

“Well what would you say, asshole?”

“Not fucking Con Air. Raising Arizona, maybe? Adaptation?”

“He was in the Spider-Verse movie,” Coën adds.

Wild at Heart,” says Eskel.

Everyone stares at him.

“What? I like David Lynch.”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Well he wasn’t watching any of those,” Lambert says.

“That doesn’t sound creepy, it just sounds fucking sad,” Geralt points out.

“Yeah, but at the same time, there was a fucking gang-bang happening in the next room.”

“Huh?” Geralt asks, eloquently.

“A gang-bang. Swear to god, full-on, one woman, taking it from like, ten dudes. All that bukkake shit.”

“What’s bukkake?” Coën asks.

“You don’t wanna know, kid,” Eskel answers.

“He works in porn,” Geralt says, “I don’t think a gang-bang is all that unusual for them.”

“Just, like, on a Tuesday?”

“Were they filming it?”

“Well, I didn’t see any cameras at all. They were just, like, snorting coke and fucking this woman, and then everyone left, and then he went back there.”

Geralt frowns. “To clean?”

“I don’t think so, man. Looked like he would’ve had a maid service or something. It was a nice place, even if it was weird.”

“Okay, so he hosts drug-fueled orgies and doesn’t attend them himself. It’s eccentric, but still not creepy.”

“Nah, but look at this.” Lambert puts his phone on the table and taps the screen. A video starts playing. “You know what this looks like?”

“A coke-fueled gang bang?” Coën asks.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Okay, but really,” Geralt argues, “they probably have tons of these. It’s a genre.”

“With these exact people?”

Geralt looks at him. Lambert’s face turns serious. He presses his lips together in a tight line, and Geralt nods. “I see.”

Coën shakes his head. “I don’t. What’s the matter?”

“These are the people who were at the gang-bang, and the video is—”

“Posted late last night.”

“Hey, you got a membership?”

“Shut up Coën.”

“Can I get your log-in?”

“No, dumbass. These people didn’t know they were being recorded. You can’t watch porn when the people in it don’t consent. It’s fucking wrong man.”

Oh shit. Oh. Okay, yeah, I get it.”

“That’s not actually porn,” Eskel says. “That’s just a recorded sex act. And it’s a criminal offense. Problem solved, we can hand this one over the police. Or the FBI.”

“This is… big,” Geralt says. “Bigger than one video. If he’s been doing this…”

Eskel nods. “They’ll have to track down the people in the videos to see if it was consensual.”

“Hard to get people to admit it’s them if there’s a risk of a drug charge.”

“If he got video of the fucking, you know he has video of the coke,” Lambert adds.

Geralt nods. Eskel looks them. “We have to tell Vesemir. Coën, what did you find out about the boss?”

“Radovid? He’s one of the richest people in the city. Started the company when he was in college making these crappy videos where girls flash the camera at parties. They’re really weird.”

Geralt and Eskel share a look. “They were really popular in the early 2000s,” Geralt explains.

“Why?” Coën looks truly confused.

“It was a different time, kid,” Eskel says. “Keep going.”

“So, uh, he’s got some interesting friends.” He pulls up a few pictures on his phone and they scroll through.

“Mob ties. That’s Cyprian Wiley’s place,” Geralt says.

Coën nods, “And here he is with about a dozen elected officials, here he is at a tech conference with a bunch of CEOs…”

“Fuck,” Geralt says.

“He had this Marx guy as one of his star performers,” Coën explains. “Though it looks like now he mostly manages from afar, while Marx does the actual, uh, work.”

Lambert nods. “Lots of those casting videos, where he pretends to be an agent and gets people to fuck him.”

“You know that’s staged, right?” Eskel says. “It’s roleplay.”

“Usually. Given the orgy… Who knows?” Geralt clenches his fist. And they wanted Jaskier to come work for them. “So do we know what they have against Yennefer and them? Other than wanting Jaskier to be in their videos.”

“That could be enough,” Lambert says. “They have a few old videos with him, and they are, by far, the most popular across all their sites.”



The warehouse is set up with a large bed and a fainting couch. There are thick rugs on the floor, and white drapes around the set windows, which seems to billow. It reminds Geralt of that scene in The Great Gatsby when Nick sees Daisy and Jordan for the first time, with the billowing curtains. It’s so drastically different than the two previous days, he stands there, confused, and stares at it. Jaskier stands to the side, and an assistant is styling his hair so that it’s a little tousled. He’s wearing a well-fitted suit.

Geralt tries to not stare at him. He’s seen him get fucked in person, but somehow the video he shared is more intimate. He shared it himself. He wanted Geralt to watch it.

Geralt isn’t sure what that means. Is he just messing with me for fun? He scans the warehouse doors, checks the faces to make sure they’re all familiar. Does this just get him off? Geralt also knows that all of this is, in fact, a performance. He’s fucking on camera. But involving Geralt in it—is that performative? He doesn’t know. Who’s the audience? Him? But if the audience is him, doesn’t that make it not performative, but participatory and active and… Geralt shakes the thoughts from his head.

“Here she is,” Yennefer says. “Okay people, let’s get started.”

Geralt turns, still confused, and watches a woman walk onto the set. She has beautiful, big eyes and long blonde hair. She’s thin, and dressed in a long, silk robe. When did she even get here? “Eskel?” he says in a quiet voice.

“Yeah, she was late. All clear.”



Jaskier kisses along the woman’s jawline. His hands look larger against her frame, and he smooths down the side of her robe before pulling lightly at the tie and letting it fall away. It slips to the floor with a flutter, and he lifts her and gently places her on the fainting couch. He lazily caresses her skin, and she writhes under his attention.

It looks like they have all the time in the world for this. It looks like there’s no place Jaskier would rather be, no one he would rather be with, and nothing he would rather be doing. He mouths along her neck and collar bones, and his hand drifts to her breast. His mouth follows.

The woman clings to him. It takes her longer to get him out of his clothes.

When Jaskier’s face moves along her inner thigh, Geralt leaves.

“Get a good look?” Eskel asks. “That took you long enough.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just ask him out, if you got it that bad.”

“It’s been three days. I don’t got anything bad.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He can’t stop thinking about the look on Jaskier’s face, though. “I don’t… I don’t want him to… I think everyone just wants to fuck him.”

“Yeah, so do you, genius.”

“But not… I don’t know.” Geralt shakes his head.

“Well, have this crisis some other time.” Eskel speaks over the guards’ headset. “Status check?”

It’s clear.


Geralt isn’t certain if the scene tonight is easier to watch or far more difficult than the others. The woman clutches Jaskier’s skin, raking her fingernails along his shoulder blades—not hard enough to scratch, but enough to leave faint, red lines. He rolls his hips, and they aren’t fucking, really, though Geralt doesn’t know what to call it. If he saw it without the set, it would be lovemaking, but it can’t be, not really. Jaskier thrusts into her, and she makes soft little noises of pleasure. He rolls them over, and holds her by the hips. She rides him in smooth, steady movements, and Geralt feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t, like he should look away. Jaskier lies back on the bed and tilts his head back, exposing the column of his neck, and she reaches out and slides her hand from his jaw, along his throat, to his chest. She rakes her fingers through his chest hair and lets out a rapturous sound.

Geralt wonders what it feels like. Is his chest hair wiry and rough, or is it soft? If he rubbed his face against it, would it redden his cheek? Would it tickle? Is Jaskier sensitive there? He can’t see his face from where he’s standing, and he wonders how it feels, for him. Does he prefer this to being fucked raw, like he has been the past nights? Or is it the other way around? Geralt likes it both ways, though he’s never had someone hold him down like Jaskier has. Usually, his partners seem to want him to play the brute.

Does Jaskier like that better than this? Does he like it rough, or is this better for him? Would he rather be laid out on a bed like this, kissed until he’s senseless, lips puffy from Geralt’s lips instead of being ruthlessly fucked? Would he like it if Geralt licked along that column of his throat, pressing gently against him, giving and giving, rather than taking?

The woman leans back and places her hands on Jaskier’s legs. She quickens her pace, and it must stimulate some spot in her that works. Her moans grow louder, and she reaches down to stimulate her clit as she rides him.

She works him, and Jaskier strokes along her thighs, encouraging her with soft words. “That’s right, let me see you come, baby. That’s it, yes…” She tenses and clenches, calling out, shaking.

She rides him through her orgasm, as he talks to her in a low voice. “That’s it baby, just like that.” When she’s finished, she rolls off of him, and he lifts one of her legs over his shoulder. He strokes her with his hand, and she lets out another low groan before he pushes back in.

Mmm,” Jaskier whispers, “you’re so wet.” He kisses her inner thigh. “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” she whispers back, gripping the duvet. “Mmmm,” she groans, “it’s so good, so good—you feel so good.” He adjusts her legs and thrusts faster. “It’s so deep, hhnnnnn. Oh my god it’s so—”

Geralt makes himself leave again.


“You okay?” Eskel asks. “Looking a bit sweaty.”

“I’m fine.”

“How many times has he made her cum?”

You said it’s acting, so probably none.” But if that was acting, she should get an Oscar, he thinks.

“Maybe you should find a date for Saturday. It might make next week a little easier. This is only night three, man.”

Geralt just grunts in response. Maybe I should, the thinks. Otherwise, you know you’re just going to sit at home and try to not re-watch that video, or any of his other videos. He wonders if Jaskier is going to text him again. He wonders what he does on the weekends. He asked you if you had somebody and you didn’t ask him back, chicken shit. He shakes his head at himself. He tries to focus on the job.


When he goes back in, the woman is dressed in plain clothes. Geralt looks at Yennefer, but she doesn’t seem to be finishing anything up. “What’s going on?” he asks her.

“We’re done with the first part for tonight. Now we’re going to take a short break so Jaskier can recover before part two.”


“Yeah, he isn’t a machine—or a teenager.”

He already came once, and he’s going to recover so he can go again. “Right…” He looks at the woman, who seems ready to leave. “Is she…”

“She’s finished.”

“Is someone else arriving? We need to know who—”

“No, no one else.”

Geralt looks around the warehouse space. Jaskier is cleaning off with wipes. Triss is standing near him with a set of military fatigues. Geralt looks away. “Hm.”

Yennefer looks him up and down. “You know, if you’re interested, I could give you some work next week. We’d need to do some tests first, of course—”

“No thanks.” He escorts the actress to her Uber instead.


It’s a dark night. They’re working late, and clouds cover the moon. This part of town isn’t lit with many streetlights or open businesses, and Geralt squints at the rooftops. He doesn’t see any movement. He checks with the team. Again, there’s nothing to report. He goes back in to see if they have an estimate for when they’ll wrap up.

The set has been converted to the inside of a tent. It looks like something out of MASH, with cots and packs strewn about. Jaskier stands by one of the cots and slowly unbuttons the jacket. Geralt is near enough to see that his lips are parted, and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip before biting it. He shrugs it off, and Geralt can see his chest rising up and down with his breath, as if he’s already working himself up. He runs a hand across his chest, where he has dog tags, and it drifts lower. He grips himself through the fabric of his pants, and Geralt can see the bulge of his already-stiff cock.

Jaskier’s breath is loud. He tucks the tags under the neck of his t-shirt, and then peels it off, over his head.

Geralt lets out a breath.

No, he thinks, this is the hardest thing to watch. Because Jaskier doesn’t have anybody with him, now, he just looks like he’s desperate as hell for it, and just begging someone to come along and help him out.

As if he hears the breath, Jaskier’s eyes flit over to him. His eyebrow lifts so subtly, Geralt may imagine it. He steps back before anyone else notices him. Leave now, he tells himself, before you make a fool of yourself. He ducks into the shadow of a piece of scaffolding.

The dog tags click together as they shift against Jaskier’s chest. He strokes along his sides and rakes his fingers across his nipple. He rubs at his neck and rolls his head back. He licks his lips again and reaches back down to his cock. His eyes search the shadows, and Geralt takes another step back.

When Jaskier undoes his pants, Geralt has to squeeze himself to keep his body in check. Jaskier pulls his cock out, and it’s thick and hard. He holds it in his hand and plays with it a bit before he gets started. Geralt wonders what it feels like, what the weight of it is, how it would look in his hand, instead. And then Jaskier’s eyes find him. Geralt freezes, as if Jaskier’s gaze pins him down. He sees Jaskier’s lips curve up a bit as his eyes dip down to where he has a grip on himself.

Geralt releases himself, and it almost looks like Jaskier’s bottom lip comes out a bit, suggesting a pout. Then he strokes himself, letting out a husky moan.

He slides the pants down, and sits on the cot to kick them off over his boots. Geralt can’t decide if that’s ridiculous or sexy as hell, and the sentiment must show on his face because Jaskier smirks. He tucks himself back into his tight black briefs, and he turns around so that he’s kneeling on the cot. He looks back over his shoulder at the camera, and then back to Geralt. He leans forward so he’s on his hands and knees with his ass up. He reaches back and grips one cheek, and Geralt’s fingers tingle. He tries to even his breathing. Jaskier kneads his flesh. He strokes a finger down the middle, as if he’s pushing against his hole through the cloth, and then he tugs at one side, as if he’d be showing himself, showing where Geralt wants to see, but it’s covered.

Then he smiles again, promising all sorts of things, and tucks his thumb into the waistband.

Geralt holds his breath.

The elastic stretches, and the fabric comes down, inch by inch, revealing that gorgeous, luscious ass. Geralt can’t help it; his hand goes back to his cock. He holds himself tight and tells himself not to rub. “Mmm, yeah,” Jaskier whispers, like he’s encouraging him to play. He strips the briefs the rest of the way off, and spreads his legs.

Geralt can see the backside of his sack, but his cock is hidden from this angle. He wonders if it’s leaking precum yet, if he’s really that turned on.

It’s harder, Geralt thinks, because it’s more real. Jaskier may get fucked a lot of ways, but touching himself—it could really be like this… Jaskier’s mouth opens again, and he pulls on his ass, presenting himself. He runs a hand along himself, letting a finger linger on his hole, teasing, before retreating. He grips his cock. He flips himself over so that he’s sitting on the edge of the cot. Geralt squeezes himself harder. His dick throbs, and he knows, again, that he’s absolutely wrecking his own boxer briefs. Jaskier’s cock is beautifully hard, flushed a dark pink, and wet at the end where precum dribbles. He runs his eyes back down to where Geralt has a hold on himself, and he does that thing with his tongue again, letting it slowly trace along his bottom lip, like he wants it. He looks like he’s almost begging for it, in his mouth, or his ass, or anywhere really.

You need to go, Geralt thinks, to do a perimeter sweep. Instead, he lets his palm rub against his cock and bites back a groan.

As if he’s rewarding him, Jaskier leans back a bit on the cot, maneuvering himself against an oversized pack as a cushion. He lifts his booted feet up onto the edge of the cot so that they bracket him, and Geralt gets it—the boots and the dog tags are the only things he’s wearing, and they go so perfectly with that thatch of chest hair. Jaskier keeps his eyes on him. He stares at him and strokes himself. He does a few quick pumps, and then slows it down before speeding up again. He plays with himself. He reaches up with his free hand and toys with the dog tags, and then he pinches his nipple, letting out a small little growl. He reaches over and a bottle of lube seems to have just appeared from nowhere, and he squeezes it into his hand and strokes over himself again, lifting himself up off the cot to afford a better view.

He stays there for awhile, pleasuring himself with abandon. He makes noise, though they aren’t words as much as sounds, throaty and loud.

And then, again from nowhere, he pulls out a plug.

It’s slender and black, and Geralt has to bite down on his knuckle as Jaskier slathers it in lube. He gets onto his knees, sideways, so that Geralt (and the camera) see him from the side. He clutches his cock with one hand, lazily stroking, and lifts one leg. He tilts his ass toward the front, slightly, and Geralt can see his other hand steadily rock the plug into his hole, bit by bit. When the ridge passes his rim, he lets out a low, desperate groan. He starts to stroke himself harder, and he closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back.

The spotlight cascades over him like some sort of Baroque painting. He is the most perfect thing Geralt has ever seen. Geralt sees his thighs flex as he clenches around the plug, and that’s all he can take; he grips himself again, but it doesn’t stop him—he rubs his palm across his cock twice and he’s cumming. He knows it’s obvious on his face. His jaw drops as pleasure washes through him, and Jaskier looks back, recognizes it, and flips back onto his back, legs spread, and follows him over the edge.

Geralt grips the scaffolding as his breath returns, and a camera closes in on Jaskier, blocking his view. There’s a bathroom in the back, and he rushes to it. As he closes the door behind him, he hears Yennefer, angry, hiss, “What the actual fuck, Jaskier?”

He leans against the door, then wets a paper towel and ducks into a filthy stall to clean himself off.


The set cleanup goes fast. It’s late, and everyone is on edge. Yennefer is pissed as Geralt escorts her and Triss to their car.

“Anticlimactic again,” he mutters to Eskel.

“Was it?” Eskel huffs out a gravelly laugh. “Whatever you say.”

Geralt just glares at him. He can’t know, he thinks, he’s just trying to get me to reveal something. He collects the guards’ earpieces. “Yeah, well, hopefully it holds,” Geralt says.

“Right. And we’ll just leave the last one for you.”

“Last one?”

“Escort him to his car, dumbass.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Geralt.” Eskel fires up his bike, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier lingering by the warehouse door. “Oh,” Eskel adds, “next time, maybe don’t disappear for a half hour.”

Geralt blinks. He nods, knowing there isn’t anything he can say to explain his absence. He watches Eskel drive off. “You need to clear out of here,” Geralt tells Jaskier. He walks over to make sure everything is locked tight.

“I am,” Jaskier says. “I…” He purses his lips. Then he gives a wry smile. “I just wanted you to walk me to my car. Security, you know.”

“Yeah.” Geralt walks with him, quiet, and Jaskier opens his car door and climbs in. They stare at each other.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. His eyes dip down to Geralt’s mouth, and then back to his eyes. He looks a little tired in the darkened lot.

“For what?”

“Protecting me.” His face is shadowed, but Geralt thinks it may be flushed.

Geralt nods, brief and tight. He watches him start the car, and he watches him drive away.


I got this picture, Jaskier texts an hour later. The image is of Geralt, standing by Jaskier at his car door. Jaskier sent a screenshot. It’s from Marx, and he sent a word with it: “cozy.”

Geralt is enraged, and then he realizes the angle means Marx must have been close—in a neighboring building on the ground floor or just across the parking lot. “Fuck,” he curses. He should’ve seen him. There’s no way he should have missed that.

I’m sorry, Geralt texts back. I should have spotted him. It won’t happen again.

Were you distracted?

Geralt stares at the question. He sighs, shaking his head at himself. I’m sorry, he sends again.

Don’t be.

Geralt reads the message and sets the phone aside while he strips out of his clothes. He puts on clean boxers. When he picks the phone back up, Jaskier has sent him another URL.

I’m not watching that, Geralt sends.

Not ready for more yet?

I told you.

You watched me tonight, though. You liked it. I saw. Do you know what you looked like?

I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.

You were so tense and tight, but your eyes gave you away. And your mouth. Looked like you would beg me for it, if you were able.

Geralt doesn’t reply.

Jaskier continues anyway, Do you know how hot you are? Fuck, Geralt, when you came like that.. Some things you can’t unsee. I was supposed to wait, you know. It was supposed to be longer, but I couldn't help it. I wonder what you would do to me if we were in a scene together.

Geralt scrubs a hand over his face. Why are you doing this?


Texting me like this.

Maybe I find you interesting.

I don’t like to be played with.

Maybe I’m not playing.

Then what would you call it?


That wasn’t talking. Last night wasn’t talking.

A few minutes pass before Jaskier responds. I should’ve waited for you to ask for pics, right

Geralt reads the message several times before responding. What?

Before sending anything. Usually everyone asks up-front. And I know you wanted them.


You don’t want them?

That’s not what I mean. I mean that isn’t talking. Talking is telling me your name. Telling me what you do the other 50 weeks of the year. Telling me what you do for fun.

After a few minutes, Geralt assumes Jaskier is finished talking. “Or he fell asleep” he tells himself.

The text arrives later. I play the guitar.

It isn’t much, but Geralt’s chest tightens. Are you any good?

Yes, actually.

Geralt smiles. He feels soft and relaxed. He doesn’t know how to respond, but it doesn’t make him feel tense.

Maybe someday I’ll send you a video of that.

I’d like that.

Goodnight, Geralt.



Chapter Text


“Someone is trying to break into my apartment.”

Geralt is out of bed and fully awake in a moment. “What? Where are you?” He pulls on jeans with his phone on his shoulder.

“45th and Oak.” Jaskier’s voice is remarkably calm over the phone.

“Do you have something to defend yourself? Can you hide?”

“If I had something, I wouldn’t be calling. I can shut myself in the closet.”

“Okay, keep the call going, and I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hears rustling and a click, and he grabs a shirt and a gun and tears out of his apartment. He takes off in his truck. The streets are empty, and he pushes the pedal to the floor.

He can hear Jaskier breathing on the other end. “They’re inside,” he whispers.

“What’s your apartment number?” Geralt turns onto Oak Street and mashes the gas.

“Two B.”

“I’m almost there.”



He hears the thwack of a punch landing as he runs into Jaskier’s apartment. The door has been pried open, and the frame is splintered. Geralt draws his pistol and pauses in the hall. “Ah!” a man grunts. “Get back here you little—” Jaskier comes bolting out of a bedroom, racing toward Geralt. Two men rush after him—one has a busted nose.

Geralt points the gun. “Freeze, motherfuckers.” Then he hears Jaskier grunt, and he turns to the sound.

Another man has followed him in and is trying to grab Jaskier, and Geralt curses himself for not paying attention. Jaskier is scrappy, though; he jabs him with his elbow and manages to get free. One of the others grabs Geralt from behind while he’s distracted. He pulls him over his shoulder and throws him on the ground. The other man kicks him, and Geralt uses the momentum to crash into the third. He rebounds with his gun and pulls Jaskier behind him—and the men run for the door.

He starts to give chase, but decides against it. He follows them to the front of the building and watches them pile into a waiting car and speed off. It’s an old Audi with no plates, and Geralt curses.

“Well,” Jaskier says beside him, “That was unexpected.”

“Are you okay?”

Jaskier seems to take stock of himself. He breathes. “I am.”

“Do you want to call the police?”

“I’d rather not. It’ll just make my life more difficult.”

Geralt nods. “Your door is busted.”

“I noticed that, yes.”

“It’s going to need fixed.”

“That is usually required when something breaks, yes.”

Geralt stares at him.

“If you’re wondering if I can fix it, the answer is no. I will have to call someone. It is, however, still the middle of the night, and I will therefore have to wait until morning.”

“Do you… have someplace you can go?”

Jaskier frowns. “No. I don’t.”

“You don’t have a… a significant other… to stay with?”

“I do not have a boyfriend, Geralt, if that’s what you’re asking.”


“I will have to find a hotel.”

“You, uh, you could stay at my place. Until it gets fixed.”

“And then we can do it all over again tomorrow night.”

“You can… stay at mine… until we figure this all out.”

Jaskier looks at him and smiles, and Geralt has to look away.


“I’ll take the couch.”

“There’s no need,” Jaskier argues.

“I’m not making you sleep on my couch.”

“There’s still no need.” He grins.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, Geralt. Don’t worry—I’m not afraid for my virtue or anything.”

“That isn’t—”

“And I promise not to take advantage of you.” Jaskier peers into Geralt’s bedroom. “It looks like there’s plenty of room.”


They wear sweats. Geralt waits until he hears a soft snore, and then he slips out of the bed and sleeps on the couch.

He wakes to the smell of bacon and coffee, and the soft sound of Jaskier singing under his breath. He shuffles into the kitchen and sees Jaskier making breakfast, and the sight makes something in his stomach tighten. He is sleep-softened and scruffy, with stubble and messy hair. Geralt thinks, I was wrong last night. He’s far more attractive without the spotlight. He ignores the thought and goes to pour coffee. He realizes what he really wants to do is wrap his arms around Jaskier from behind and watch over his shoulder while he finishes breakfast.

Instead, he drinks coffee and mutters, “Good morning,” before making his way to the shower.

When he’s finished, he finds breakfast on the table, and Jaskier waiting. “You could’ve waited for the shower,” he complains. “This was almost ready.”

“Knew it wouldn’t take long.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Well, eat up anyway.”

Geralt sits. “Uh… Thank you,” he says.

Jaskier grins. “Most important meal of the day.”


He recaps the night’s events to Vesemir over the phone. “I just don’t know what they want to accomplish,” he says. “It looked like an attempted kidnapping.”

“But they just left without fighting you, despite outnumbering you.”

“They didn’t even try to shoot me.”

“No firearms, possible attempted abduction—they’re trying to keep it quiet. Maybe they really are just trying to intimidate. Rough him up a little.”

“But they also want him to come back to work for them.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Vesemir says. “Maybe they figure if he won’t join them, they’d rather he be out of the business. Or this Marx guy thinks he can scare him into returning.”

Geralt considers that. “If Marx still has that… connection… he could just be a basic, run-of-the-mill stalker.”

“But with money and resources.”

“Mm.” It twists something in Geralt’s gut.

“If he can’t have him, no one else can either. But then why the abduction attempt?”

“I don’t know yet, and I hope we don’t find out.”


Geralt parks the truck at the warehouse, and Jaskier unbuckles his seatbelt beside him. “Thanks for driving me to work.” His grin is saucy and suggestive.

Geralt just grunts in response.

“I guess you’re off to keep us safe now, huh?”

Geralt just looks at him.

“Your soap smells good.”


“Sometimes when things get a little… intense, I fixate on things like that.” He leans toward Geralt.

“What are you—”

“I’m just seeing if…” He keeps leaning, half-climbing over across the console, and Geralt finds himself frozen, hand on the ignition. Jaskier tilts his face into Geralt’s neck. His breath is hot on Geralt’s skin, and he feels Jaskier’s nose brush against him. “Mmm,” Jaskier hums, “that is what it is.” His voice is low, and he stays there for a long moment, breathing him in. Geralt tightens his grip on his keychain.

“What do you mean, intense?”

Jaskier shrugs. He sits back. “I can smell it on my skin, too.” He opens the truck door. “That’ll be useful.”

“Why? What do you mean? Intense in a bad way?”

“No, not at all. It’ll be good—very good. Just intense. If it was bad, we wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Doing what?”

Jaskier smiles. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, Geralt. That’s half of the experience.”

Geralt pulls the key out, gets out, and slams the door a bit harder than necessary.


“You’re gonna stay focused, right?” Eskel asks, placing an earpiece in each ear.

Geralt nods.

Eskel slaps him on the shoulder. “Besides, he’s staying at your place now. You’ll have plenty of time for all that other stuff later.”

“It’s not like that.”

Eskel gives him a look. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”


Geralt shakes his head. “We don’t have time for this conversation. It looks like the picture was taken from over there.”

Eskel shrugs. “See ya later then.” He heads in the direction they think Marx was hiding.


Geralt doesn’t make his way into the warehouse until the workers have all arrived. When he does, he finds there’s no set—they’ve simply reorganized the industrial space. Some scaffolding and crates are artfully positioned, and they’ve covered the floor in some sort of black plastic. He sees Jaskier to the side of the set, talking with a few other men. There are three others this week, and Geralt wonders if it’s a group scene or if they’re filming two again. He goes to ask Yennefer, and as he does, he hears Jaskier’s laugh echo in the cavernous room.

It irritates the hell out of him, for some reason. He frowns. It can’t be jealousy. He’s definitely going to see Jaskier fucking someone else, and the thought already has him half hard. He shakes his head at himself. “Nothing about this whole week makes sense,” he grumbles under his breath. Yennefer sees him and lifts an eyebrow. “Are you planning one scene today or two?”

“Just the one,” she says.

Group scene, he thinks. He nods. He wonders what the scenario is.

He really wonders what the scenario is. He looks back at Jaskier, and he’s talking very intently. One of the other men asks a question, and he answers. Intense, he thinks. What does that mean?


Jaskier is dressed for a date, and one of the other men is, too. He’s older than Jaskier, who looks fresh-faced and innocent with his hair boyishly tousled. His frame is smaller, and that adds to the illusion. “Where are we going?” Jaskier asks.

“Just come on. You’ll see.” The man pulls him by his hand. Jaskier trails after him, softly laughing, and the man stops them in the middle of the set and turns to him. For a moment, Geralt thinks they’re about to kiss, and his gut turns over again.

“What?” Jaskier asks.

“You said you were okay with us getting a little more… adventurous,” the guy says. He has brown hair and a short-trimmed beard.

Jaskier looks bashful. “Right,” he says, tentatively. “So…”

“Hey, you trust me, right?”

Jaskier lets out that soft, little laugh again. “Yeah, I trust you.”

“Well…” The man pulls a black scarf out of his pocket. “Just, let me try something.”

“I don’t know about this.”

“I promise I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

Jaskier bites his lip. “I guess…”

The man uses the scarf as a blindfold. He ties it tight, and then stands behind Jaskier. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, and Geralt can see Jaskier’s tongue flit out between his parted lips. “Get on your knees for me,” the man says.

Jaskier pauses, as if he’s hesitant.

“On your knees, come on,” the man encourages, pushing on his shoulder. Jaskier goes. “Okay, I’ll be right back, just, stay right there.”

“Okay…” Jaskier stays on his knees. He looks tiny and delicate in the oversized space, even with that gorgeous chest hair visible between the unbuttoned halves of his shirt.

Geralt leans forward, waiting to see what will happen.

The man returns, leading the two others. They’re dressed in plain clothes, inconspicuous, and carrying rope. The man theatrically shushes them, and urges them forward, toward Jaskier.

They stand and assess him, and then share a look.

“Babe?” Jaskier says, voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What are you doing?”

The boyfriend character presses the rope guys toward him. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

One of the guys pulls Jaskier’s shirt back. The other reaches for his fly. “Wha—what’s going on?” Jaskier sputters, gasping. They stroke along his chest to sooth him.

“It’s fine, baby, it’s gonna be real good.”

“I don’t know about this.” They strip him of his pants, so that he’s kneeling in a pair of briefs.

“I thought you trusted me.”

“I do, but…” One caresses his stomach, and reaches down to his hip. Geralt sees him rock forward a bit in response.

The boyfriend looks pleased. “Just relax,” he says. He nods, and one of the guys starts to tie a rope around Jaskier’s wrist.

The rope is black and it shines in the light. It contrasts with Jaskier’s skin. Geralt can see his chest move with his breaths, which speed. The boyfriend sits on a crate and watches, stroking himself through his pants. The man who isn’t tying Jaskier runs his hand back down his chest and lets his fingers trail across Jaskier’s cock. It’s clearly starting to show interest, and Jaskier’s breath hitches as he pulls the briefs off, slides them past his knees, and drops them to the side. His hands don’t stop—he seems to be touching Jaskier everywhere, and his cock hardens with the attention.

Geralt takes in the scene: three fully dressed men, two with ropes, stand over a gorgeous, aroused Jaskier. He’s already flushed and shaking. Then the man who isn’t tying unzips his fly.

“Does that feel good?” the boyfriend asks.

“Yes,” Jaskier whispers.

“Do you like it?”


“Do you want to suck my friend’s cock?”

Jaskier’s cock twitches at the question. So does Geralt’s. “Yes.” The man pulls his erection out from his fly. He rubs it on Jaskier’s cheek, and he opens his mouth in response.

“That’s it,” the boyfriend says in a low voice. “Put it in your mouth.”

Jaskier obeys. The man rubs it around his lips first, and Jaskier chases it with his tongue, and then he gets his mouth around it and starts to suck. He moans at the taste.

The man with the rope continues to tie knots.

Geralt heads outside.


It’s a cool night, but the sky is clear. “Hanging in there?” asks Eskel.

“Mm,” Geralt grunts. He scans the parking lot. “Any movement?”

“Not from my view.”

Geralt frowns. “Something seems off.”

“Could it be related to you having a thing for the guy back in there?”

“No, it has to do with the number of cars.”

“There are four actors today.”

“One came with me, two in Ubers, and the other drove himself,” Geralt says.

“The security team has eight guys tonight.” Eskel hums. “You’re right. Too many cars.”

Geralt preps access to his sidearm and starts a perimeter check, while Eskel has the guards give status reports.

“Still nothing out of order from up here. No movement in or on nearby buildings. Nothing in the parking lot.”

Geralt walks the lot. He has a handful of men scattered about. They’re dressed in plain black uniforms. He has two men by the door. “No one has come in or out?” he asks.

“No one.”

“Alright.” He goes back in.

There’s a guard a few yards in from the door. The man nods at him.

Geralt nods back and passes him. There’s a man in the rear left and another in the rear right, securing each door. Geralt makes a visual connection to both, and nothing appears amiss. He lets his eyes move back to the scene.

Jaskier is now suspended from the scaffolding. His body is bound by ropes, artfully knotted to press into his flesh and hold him in place.

One of the men is in front of him, and Jaskier has his cock swallowed to the hilt. The other is behind him, rimming him. Geralt has to take a step back. He’s heard about stuff like this, but never seen it. The black ropes crisscross Jaskier. His arms are knotted together behind his back, and Geralt wonders how it feels, to be so completely bound. His torso is tied into a type of harness, so his weight is distributed as he hangs there, and his legs are spread and bent. He can’t bring them together, just like he can’t reach out and touch. He can only take what they give him.

The man removes his mouth from Jaskier’s ass and presses his cock against it, teasing. He rubs it up and down the cleft. Jaskier moans around the cock in his mouth. The boyfriend character steps around them, as if he’s inspecting their work. “What do you want, hmm?”

Jaskier pulls his head back and sucks in a harsh breath. “Cock,” he moans.

Geralt wonders how long they’ve been rimming him. It doesn’t seem like he was outside long, but he did walk the full perimeter. Regardless, Jaskier sounds desperate, like he’s been on the edge for hours.

“You want a cock in your little asshole?”

“Yes,” Jaskier groans, straining to get the other cock back in his mouth. In response, the man rubs his cock on Jaskier’s face again before pushing it back in. When Jaskier seems to swallow down on it, the man sucks in a harsh breath and has to grab ahold of the scaffolding. He cradles Jaskier’s head in response.

The other man lines himself up and starts to press in. Jaskier is vocal. He can’t move to show his approval or what he wants, so he hums and groans and eagerly slurps.

They fuck him in earnest. Jaskier takes it, until his moans grow more urgent. “Come for me,” the boyfriend characters says, and Jaskier shoots onto the floor. His body writhes against the robes, straining against them and shaking.

And then the men change places. “Aaahhh,” Jaskier groans, as the other man now starts to lap at his asshole and stroke along his cock. Geralt wonders how many they’re going to wring out of him. He wonders if Jaskier can see anything past the blindfold. He wonders if the bindings hurt, or if the knots against his pressure points just make him feel more pleasure.

He tears his eyes away as Jaskier opens his mouth for the other man.


“I don’t see anyone,” Geralt tells Eskel. His shoulders feel tight. His cock feels like it’ll never rest again. Every time he blinks, he sees Jaskier’s lips.

“Me neither, and I’m using the goggles up here.”

“There’s no way they got in the warehouse.”

“I know. It’s like a ghost.”



The scene continues for a long time. Geralt catches two more orgasms. Jaskier is in tears by the second. He begs to be untied, pleads that it’s too much, but he keeps sucking their cocks and groaning as they thrust into him.

Intense, Geralt thinks. He wonders if Jaskier can smell his soap, or if he’s sweated through it by now. How does that help him? Does it arouse him? He forces himself to not watch too close.


Geralt misses the final cumshot, but he does see them untying Jaskier. He goes to the side and wipes himself down, and then rubs a lotion into his skin.

“Nothing exciting?” Yennefer asks.

“There may be an extra car in the parking lot.”

She looks skeptical. “Well, I guess that’s better than them abducting one of the guards or something.”


He and Eskel oversee the wrap-up. The guards drop off their headsets, the Ubers arrive and leave, and Yennefer and Triss head out.

Geralt scratches his head. “Where’s the guy who was right inside?”

Eskel turns and looks around. “Who?”

“He was a few yards in. Wearing a hat. I didn’t see him leave.”

“I saw all eight of them leave.”

Geralt frowns. “I think… hmm.” He looks at Eskel. “We need to check the guards again.”

“Got it. You good for tonight?”

Geralt looks over. Jaskier is waiting for him outside the warehouse door, as if he knows he’ll go double check the lock. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Eskel pats his back. “Just… take care, buddy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jaskier watches him approach. “I couldn’t see if you caught any of that.”

“I saw it.”

“All of it?”

“Not all of it. I’m working, too, you know.”

Jaskier just smiles at him.

“Let’s go home,” Geralt says. He seizes up when he realizes what he said, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to think anything of it. He heads to the truck without a comment.

Geralt starts it, and Jaskier leans back against the seat. He looks completely exhausted.

“I see what you mean, now. Intense.”

Jaskier nods. “Good though, right?”

“Was it? You tell me.”

“What?” Jaskier looks confused. “You didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked if it felt good.”

“Oh. Yeah, it did.” He stares at Geralt as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I’d say it was good.”

“But did it look good to you?”


Jaskier relaxes again. “’Kay. Good.”

“Mm. You know, what you feel is more important than whether it looks good.”

“Part of why it feels good is that I know you think it looks good.”


“And I could smell you on me. Especially when I sweat.” Jaskier leans his head against the headrest and closes his eyes. “Was thinking about how hard you’d be, watching. Was thinking you’d be sweating, too, smelling like me.”


“Thank you for bringing me home, Geralt. With you.”

He did notice. “Mm.”

“You’re very attractive, but you’re also very kind.”

Geralt tries to keep his eyes on the road.

“And you haven’t tried to fuck me yet.” He wets his lips. “Don’t you want to?”

“Yes,” Geralt admits.


Geralt sighs. “Yes.”

“I thought so.” He smiles, and then peeks over at Geralt. Geralt looks back at the road. He feels like he’s been caught staring, and it makes his pulse jump. “Is it one of the scenes in particular you think about?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says.

“Really? Something else? What are you into?”

“I already told you.”

“My real name?”

“It’s more than that.”

“You don’t have to know anything about me to fuck me, though.” Jaskier seems genuinely perplexed.

“You know how many naked people I’ve seen this week?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier thinks. “Six?”

“Probably. Do you know how many of them I’ve wanted to fuck?”



“Oh.” Jaskier grins. “Well, I am pretty—”


Jaskier goes quiet. He opens his mouth a few times and closes it.

“Can I ask you something? Not your name. I’m not asking that again.”

Jaskier nods.

“When was the last time you were with somebody and it wasn’t for a video?”

Jaskier swallows so hard, Geralt hears his throat. He shrugs it off. “I don’t see why that—”

“Was Valdo Marx your first boyfriend?”

Jaskier chews on his lip. “Yeah.”

“I’m not going to ask you about it until you’re ready to share it. But I do want to know: do you do this job because of him?”

“No,” Jaskier says, without pause. “I do this job because it’s exciting and I enjoy it. I haven’t been with him for a long time, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to stop. I like it.”

Geralt sighs in relief. “Okay.” He meets Jaskier’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier replies. Then he grins. “So how about I buy you dinner tonight?”

Geralt sniffs a laugh. “How about we get you home to rest and hydrate, and I grill something instead.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

Geralt laughs. “Really.”

Chapter Text


The fifth time Jaskier’s phone buzzes, Geralt tells him to just look at it.

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“It’s probably important.”

“There isn’t anything that could possibly be as important as dinner.” Jaskier takes another bite. “It’s really good.”

“It could be a family member.”

“No, actually, it couldn’t.”

Noted. “It could be a friend.”


“Who else has your number?”


“Yennefer? What if it’s about the shoot?”

Jaskier sighs. “It isn’t. It’s notifications. I get… a lot of notifications.”

“Of what?”


Geralt lifts an eyebrow.

“I do cam shows sometimes… when I feel like it.”

“You told me. And they’re commenting on it?”

“No, they’re making requests.”

“Oh.” Geralt stares at his plate for a moment, and then looks at Jaskier. “Like more videos?”

Jaskier’s smile is slow and suggestive. “More like… what they’d like to see.”

“Mm.” What they’d like to see. Geralt focuses on eating and decidedly does not think about Jaskier doing anything his fans ask.

“You have an excellent poker face, Geralt, but I’m learning your tells.”

Geralt puts down his fork and crosses his arms over his chest. It makes Jaskier smile, and Geralt shakes his head. “No.”

“But I am, though. You’re trying to not think about it, but you can’t help it. It’s a little bit of the eyebrow, a little bit of the jaw.”

I’m going to regret this¸ he thinks. “How… often do you do cam shows?”

“Mmm, probably once a month. Sometimes twice a month. Depends how I feel. Sometimes I get… restless.”


Jaskier laughs. “Should we see what they want?”

“You just get requests like this all the time?”

“If it’s been awhile, I see more.”

“Has it been awhile?”

“I’m probably overdue for one, yeah. Maybe I should do one tonight.”

“Maybe you should rest tonight. How many times did you come today?”

Jaskier shrugs. “A few.”

“You think you have another one in you?”

“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll find out.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Why not?”

“Are you finished?”

Jaskier nods, and Geralt gets up and takes their plates. He rinses them and leaves them in the sink. “Now what?” Jaskier asks.

“It’s late. We should sleep.”

“Not tired.”

“You are exhausted.”

“I don’t think I am, though.”

Geralt sighs. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier gets up and goes to the sofa. “You want to know what I’d be doing at my place right now?”

“Going to sleep?”

“Watching TV, actually.”

Geralt watches him make himself comfortable. He sighs again. “Fine.”


Jaskier scrolls through Geralt’s Netflix for a full twenty minutes, and it makes him feel exposed. More exposed than being seen turned on, even. “Interesting,” Jaskier says, looking through a row of “Historical Dramas Based on Books.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Just is. I figured it would be all war movies or like, Mission Impossible Twenty.”

“No, I buy those on Blu-ray.”

Jaskier looks appalled, and then his eyes go wide. “You just made a joke.”

Geralt keeps his face placid. “Are you going to pick something, or are you just going to try to psychoanalyze me for the next hour?”

Jaskier selects some Australian murder mystery show. He sits close to Geralt, but doesn’t touch him. He unlocks his phone and starts scrolling through it.

“Aren’t you even going to watch it?”

“I’ve seen it.”


“You haven’t, have you?”


Jaskier lifts an eyebrow. “I like this show.” He scrolls more. “Besides, I’m watching. I’m multitasking.”

Oh. “Mm.”

Jaskier smiles. He turns himself on the couch, and then leans back against Geralt.

Geralt feels a warmth run through him, centered on the pressure of Jaskier’s body against his side. He is acutely aware this is the first time they’ve touched for any significant amount of time. Jaskier wiggles a little, as if working his way back, even closer to Geralt. “God, you feel good,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

Geralt’s pulse races, and he wraps his arm around Jaskier and draws him against his side. “Are you warm enough?” he asks.

“I’m better, with you.”

“Mm.” Geralt unfolds his blanket from the night before and drapes it over them.

Jaskier purrs in response. He snuggles up and continues to “multitask.” Twenty minutes into the show, he tilts his phone up to Geralt. “Lots of dick pics tonight. I think they’re getting thirsty.”

Geralt glances at it. “Hm.”

“Oh, here’s an idea. Tell me what you think.” Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s thigh. “This guy wants me to start by fingering myself. View from behind, of course, for the close shot.” He looks up at Geralt. “That way you can see it sink in, bit by bit, and get an idea of the way it stretches around even a finger.”

Geralt tries to watch the show instead of listening. His cock, of course, doesn’t get the memo. The blanket was a good idea.

“Then he wants me to add another finger, to work it open a little bit more, nice and slow. Are you listening to me?”


Jaskier’s hand shifts on his thigh, and Geralt feels his body respond. He tries to hold his legs in place, but they refuse to cooperate. “Hmmm, good.” Fuck. Jaskier’s tone goes straight to his dick, which starts to throb.

It aches. For all the frustration and embarrassment of it being in his pants, at least he got off the night before. Now he’s just aching and on fire. Jaskier’s hand refuses to still, and Geralt sucks on his bottom lip, determined to stay still.

“After my fingers, we’d need something a little bit bigger.” He looks at Geralt’s hand where it rests on his arm. “Hmm. Your fingers would be bigger,” he says. “You’d be able to work me really good, wouldn’t you?”


“You keep saying my name like that.”

“I’m trying to get you to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“You don’t really want me to, though.” Jaskier’s voice is a low murmur. Geralt sighs and presses his free hand against his forehead. Jaskier’s hand moves further up his thigh, and Geralt spreads his legs an inch more. “You don’t want me to stop at all,” he whispers.

“You’re doing this in the wrong order.” Geralt tries to keep his voice even and neutral, but it comes out as a growl.

“According to whom, exactly?” Jaskier presses his hand back, and the heel of his palm pushes against Geralt’s cock. They both suck in a breath. “Not your body.” Jaskier licks his lips. He moves his palm up and down. “Your body wants me bad. You want me bad. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Geralt groans.

“Then why aren’t you giving in?” He rubs along Geralt’s length, humming in satisfaction.

“I’m not your toy.”

“No one has ever, ever said that to me before,” Jaskier says.

“You’re going to, ah fuck,” Geralt grunts, “you’re going to have your fun while you’re filming, and then it’ll be done, and you’ll—” he hisses, bucking up against Jaskier’s hand, “you’ll go.”

“Why do you think that?” Jaskier reaches his other hand for Geralt’s fly.

“Because you—hnn—you won’t even tell me your name.”

Jaskier unzips his jeans, and Geralt can’t help but stare down at his hands. They still. “Fuck.”


“I can’t do this.”

Geralt shakes. “Okay,” he says. “That’s fine—I would never ask you to do something you—”

“No, I can’t because the testing. I’m filming tomorrow. I—I just… I’m sorry. I got a little…”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Geralt squeezes himself, willing his cock to settle down. Jaskier’s hands are still pressed to him. “You never need to apologize.”

Jaskier closes his eyes, and then opens them and stares into Geralt’s. “Are you real?”

“What do you mean?”

Jaskier shakes his head, and then hauls himself into Geralt’s lap. He rolls his body against him, and Geralt groans. He lets his hands grip Jaskier’s back, but they drift down as Jaskier grinds against him. Jaskier hums in pleasure. “You’re so fucking good,” Jaskier moans. “So noble.” He buries his fingers in Geralt’s hair and lets out a throaty sound. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt’s hands stroke down to Jaskier’s ass, and he grips him tight and meets the movement of Jaskier’s body. He kneads into the meat of Jaskier’s rear with one hand, and strokes back up his spine with the other. He desperately wants to feel Jaskier’s skin, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep himself sane if he sees it now or feels it. Instead, he clutches at the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls his face down.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he tenses. Geralt immediately lets go. “What?”

Jaskier’s lips part. “I…” he swallows. “I haven’t, um. It’s just been…” He stares at Geralt’s mouth. He licks his bottom lip. “I don’t usually kiss… anyone.”


“Because I’m usually filming, and I don’t kiss on video.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Mmm hmm.” Jaskier sits back on Geralt’s knees.

“Is—has—how many—no—” He huffs. “Is Marx the only relationship you’ve ever been in?”

“I’m not… broken, okay. It was a bad relationship. A lot of people have them. It’s been years.”

“I didn’t think you were broken.”

“It’s just that… a lot of people aren’t really interested in… me.”

Geralt frowns. “But—”

“No, that’s different. That’s interested in fucking me.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t give them a chance,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s face transforms with some emotion Geralt can’t identify, and he tries to move, but Geralt grabs his legs and holds him in place. “You’re misunderstanding me.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t want to give me a chance to be interested in you.”


“I’ve had to pry everything out of you.”

They stare at each other for a moment. “Julian.”

Geralt frowns. “Huh?”

“My name. It’s Julian. But no one has called me that in years.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“For most people, Jaskier. But for you…” He looks away, and his cheeks flush.

Geralt feels that twisting in his stomach again. “Hmm.” Jaskier’s hands find his shirt front and toy with the fabric. “Thank you,” Geralt says in a low voice.

“For what?”

Geralt shrugs.

Jaskier leans forward, and Geralt stills, watching him. He stops an inch from Geralt’s face. “Hmm,” Geralt hums, “you’ve made me miss the entire episode, Julian.”

“We can watch it again tomorrow,” Jaskier whispers. He stares at Geralt for a long time, and his breath gradually becomes labored. Finally, he presses his lips against Geralt’s.

It’s a tiny thing, and he pulls back almost instantly and touches his fingertips to his lips. Geralt’s lips feel bereft, but he holds himself back and lets Jaskier go. His cheeks are pink, and he looks so incredibly bashful, it’s hard to reconcile this man with the one who was just scrolling through fans’ dick pics and seducing Geralt, but it makes sense, somehow. The look Jaskier gives him now is completely different than the look he’s seen him give anyone else. It isn’t even the shy heat he used with Marx. He shimmies off of Geralt’s lap and picks up his phone. “Okay, now I’m ready to sleep.”

Geralt lets him use the bathroom first, and when he comes out, face scrubbed and teeth brushed, he’s wearing tiny boxer briefs and one of Geralt’s old shirts. It swallows him, and Geralt has to fight the urge to pounce on him and claim him. Jaskier smiles, clearly knowing the effect he has, and relishing it. “You going to sleep on the couch again?” he asks.

“It would be the best idea,” Geralt says.

Jaskier climbs into Geralt’s bed and lays himself out like a feast. “It’s your loss,” he says through a yawn. “It’s a very comfortable bed.” He rolls over and arches his back a little, pushing his ass up. He buries his face in the covers and makes a low hmmmm sound.

Geralt sleeps on the couch. He feels like his testicles are going to never stop aching.


Geralt checks the guards off a list. Eskel has background reports on each of them in a file folder, recently obtained from Coën. Later, he needs to go through the details. There are eight assigned tonight, and only eight check in with him. “You have a good visual?” he asks Eskel.

“Sure do. I guess tonight’s just the one other actor?”


“That good or bad?”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“You think you’d rather see him with just one guy or a full on—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt says.

“’Cause you’re jealous regardless?”

“No." Geralt smirks. "It’s hot as hell regardless.”

“Well then.” Eskel sounds surprised. “Not the answer I expected.”

Geralt has a flashback. “Part of why it feels good is I know you think it looks good.” He remembers the glint in Jaskier’s eye as he said it. He likes to be watched. “You know I like to watch,” he reminds Eskel.

“I’m just surprised you’re admitting it.”

Geralt just grunts in response.


The warehouse is set up like a bedroom. The set walls have curtained windows, lit from behind to look like daylight streaming in. The room is dressed in soft creams and warm wood, and it is dominated by a massive bed. Jaskier is in the bed, ostensibly asleep. A man enters the room. He’s wearing a suit. He’s trim, with silver-grey hair and a tidy beard. Geralt realizes his hair is almost the same color as his, and the thought sends him spiraling. He holds in the groan.

The man quietly walks to the bed and gently sits beside Jaskier. He tenderly pushes his hair back from his face, and Jaskier stirs a bit in his sleep. My shirt. Tiny shorts. Geralt aches, remembering the image. The man continues. He caresses Jaskier’s cheekbone, and then shifts himself and pulls the duvet down, exposing Jaskier.

He’s shirtless beneath the covers, wearing briefs he’s already straining against. Think about me, Geralt thinks. He wonders if Jaskier has had this fantasy for real. He wonders if he’s hard when he wakes in his bed.

The man lets his hand drift across Jaskier’s body. He touches him softly, and Jaskier’s body curves beneath his hand, as if he wants to draw him in for more. Geralt swallows. If he stares hard enough, he can imagine it’s his bed instead. He can imagine it’s his hand.

The man lifts his hand to Jaskier’s face. He traces a finger across Jaskier’s lips, and Jaskier opens for him. He pushes his finger into Jaskier’s mouth.

Geralt feels like someone has kicked him in the chest. Jaskier sucks on his finger for a moment, and then he opens his eyes and smiles. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” The man smiles back. “Were you too sleepy to get up?”

Jaskier looks down, and then back up, cheeks flushed. “Someone kept me up late last night.” He reaches over and runs his hand along the man’s thigh.

The man smooths his hair back again. “And he intends to again.” He licks his lips. Jaskier’s lips part as the man strokes down his chest. “It looks like you’re ready for more already.” He runs a finger along Jaskier’s waistband, and then trails it around his cock. Jaskier arches his back. He twists himself around and straddles the man’s leg, and then undoes his tie. He slides his clothes off slowly, sensually, stealing touches as he exposes skin. He doesn’t stop until he has the man down to his boxers. “So eager,” the man says. “Did you miss me while I was at work?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier murmurs.

“Show me how much you missed me, baby.”

Jaskier nods, and then slides down in the bed, pulling off the boxers. The man has a nice body, Geralt has to say. His dick is an impressive size, and he pushes up off the bed so that he stands at the edge while Jaskier sits below him. Jaskier brings his hands up to his hips, looking up at him, at the man takes himself in hand. He rubs his cockhead around Jaskier’s mouth, and it leaves a wet streak of precum on his skin, which Geralt can see reflect the light. Jaskier’s mouth opens, like he’s waiting for it, ready for anything the man will give him. Then the man stills, and Jaskier goes to work.

He starts by licking along the length, and then swirling his tongue along the head. He laps at the slit in the end and strokes it with his hand. Then he takes it fully into his mouth. His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, and the man groans in pleasure. He buries his hands in Jaskier’s hair.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful, Geralt thinks. He thinks about Jaskier palming his cock last night. I could get a test… He can hear the wet slurp of Jaskier’s mouth, and the half-choke of him swallowing around it. He watches Jaskier suck at the man’s cock like he’s savoring every second of it, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. The man strokes his hair, adoringly, and Jaskier looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Do you like that?” the man asks.

Jaskier pulls off and gasps a breath. “Yes.” He licks it again.

“That’s so good,” the man encourages him, “you’re so good to me, aren’t you?”

“So good,” Jaskier murmurs, “to me.” He swallows him back down, and the man groans.

“Mmmm yes.” He thrusts forward a little into Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier takes it, gripping his hips, until his nose is pressed against his pelvis. “That’s it,” the man says. “That’s so good.”

They stay there for an impossibly long time, with the man whispering tender, filthy praise. Finally, Jaskier pulls back, panting. He crawls back on the bed and turns around, sticking his ass in the air. The man pulls his briefs off and strokes a hand along one side of his ass. “Yeah,” Jaskier purrs.

“Look at you, baby, showing yourself to me like that.”

Jaskier arches his back further. He turns his head, eyes catching on Geralt. “Mmm, please, give it to me daddy.”

Geralt squeezes himself through his jeans.

“You want this?” the man asks, rubbing his wet cockhead up and down Jaskier’s ass.

Jaskier opens his mouth and rocks back against it. “I need it.”

The man leans forward instead, and licks Jaskier’s ass. Geralt watches Jaskier’s jaw relax. His eyes slip down to where Geralt still has a hold on his erection. “Mm, daddy, yes…”

“I got movement,” Eskel says in his ear.

Geralt grits his teeth and turns away.

“Where?” he mutters, as soon as he’s clear.

“South side of lot. On the ground.”

Geralt slips past the door guard and sticks to the shadows. He crouches and stealthily moves from car to car.

“By your truck,” Eskel says. “Dark clothes. Hat.”

Geralt creeps along, eyes sweeping from side to side. He stops to listen, and then he hears it: the squeak of a new bootheel. He pursues.

“Opposite the next car,” Eskel says in a low voice.

Geralt silently moves around the sedan, drawing his firearm, and then peers along the side. He sees the person, turned away, also attempting to be stealthy. Geralt tiptoes, and then grabs him. “Don’t move,” he says in a low voice.

The man freezes and lifts his hands. “But—”

“Turn around.”

The man turns. He’s dressed like their security team, and Geralt recognizes him: he’s the extra guard from the day before.

“Who are you?”

“I’m one of your guards,” the man insists. His voice is unsettling and familiar, and Geralt wonders how many days this week he’s added himself to the security team without them noticing.

“No, you aren’t.”

“I was hired by Yennefer. I’m here to—”

“No, you weren’t. Who are you really?”

“I’m just…” the man’s eyes move across Geralt’s figure to the pistol in his hand. “Okay, fine, fine. I’m just a fan, okay? And I knew Jaskier would be here…”

“A fan?”

“I’ve seen every film he’s ever done. I… I love him.”

Geralt shakes his head. He pats him down. His pockets are empty except for a phone, and he isn’t carrying. “How did you get here?”


“What’s your name?”


“Get out.”

“But I want him to know—”

“Leave a comment like everyone else. And get out.” He pushes the guy the direction he needs to walk. “Don’t come back.”

“Okay, okay!”

He watches him leave the parking lot. “Status report?” he prompts.

Seven guards respond affirmatively. Geralt feels his pulse pick up. God damn it. “That’s west lot missing,” Eskel notes.

Geralt walks to where the guard should be and doesn’t find him. He pulls a flashlight from his belt and sweeps. “We’re going to have to lock it down.” He races across the parking lot and rushes into the warehouse.

Jaskier is on his back, legs pushed back, as the man thrusts into him. “Mmm, yeah,” he murmurs. “So good to me.” He reaches up and runs his hands along the man.

Their pace is leisurely, and the man turns his head and kisses the inside of Jaskier’s knee. “You… feel… so… good…” he grunts with each stroke. He lets Jaskier’s legs open further, and he lovingly caresses Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt feels that twist again. He crosses the warehouse, resigned that he’s going to have to stop the shoot for the day.

The man pulls out, and turns Jaskier onto his side. He lies behind him and Jaskier reaches back to pull himself open. Geralt can see that he’s fucked open, muscles loose and relaxed and ready to take more. The man runs a finger along his gaping rim. “That’s so gorgeous, baby. Look at you all open and ready for me.”

“Want more,” Jaskier moans. “Want you to fill me up, daddy.” He pouts. His lips are still roughed up and plump from sucking him, and Geralt feels like he’s going to have to slap himself to focus.

He leans down to where Yennefer is sitting, beside the camera operator. “We have a situation,” he says.

She holds up a hand. He looks back and sees the man push his cock back into Jaskier’s ass, all the way to the hilt. They both groan. The man continues to rock into him, tenderly. “They’re too far gone to stop,” Yennefer says.

“We have a guard missing and just had to remove an intruder.”

She turns to scowl at him, and the glare is, quite frankly, decidedly more terrifying than anything probably lurking outside. “Cut!” she calls. “We’re ending early. Emergency and all that. Photography—make sure we have everything to edit, so we don’t have to redo all of this.” She lowers her voice. “Maybe it won’t have been an entire waste.”

The man pulls out of Jaskier and sits on the side of the bed. He stares at his cock like he’s trying to convince it to soften. Geralt can empathize. Jaskier is already half-dressed, tucking his own erection into his briefs and grimacing. He keeps his eyes on Geralt. Geralt nods at him.

“Guards,” he says into his headset, “I want a full sweep.”


They find the guard in the bed of Geralt’s truck. He’s bound with rope—the same type of black robe they used on Jaskier—and stuffed with a ball gag. Pinned to his chest is a note that reads, “Jaskier is mine.”

Before they leave, Yennefer slides a card into his pocket. “If you change your mind about the gig next week…” She flutters a wave and saunters away.

He doesn’t look at it until she’s gone. It’s a 24-hour clinic downtown. Testing. “Fuck.” He licks his lips.


“Do you think it was him?” Jaskier asks on the way home.

“Pale skin, my height, brown eyebrows.”

“Could be. What about his hair?”

“He was wearing a hat.”

Beside him, Jaskier adjusts himself, murmuring.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get comfortable.”

“Are you—are you jacking off?”

“No. Do you want me to?”


“Did you see what I was doing an hour ago?”

Geralt nods. “Mm.”

“And did you see how it ended?”


Jaskier leans back. He palms himself again. “I may do a little camming tonight after all.”

Geralt lets his breath out slowly.

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier purrs, “You can watch. You’ll like it. You can see me touch myself, put my hands everywhere, and think about what it would feel like if they were yours.”

“I can think about that, or you can think about that?”

“How about we both think about it?”


Chapter Text


Geralt places the note on his kitchen table. He reads it again. Jaskier is mine. “Hmm.” He takes another photo of it and sends it to Lambert, Coën, and Vesemir. He also sends pictures of the tied-up guard.

Jaskier leans over his shoulder and peers at his phone. “Not a bad job,” he says. “See where he has that knot? That’s right on a pressure point. He wouldn’t struggle too hard against that. If he’s just a random stalker, he’s been doing his research.”

“No, it was definitely Marx.”

Jaskier lifts his eyebrows. “You recognize the knots? What have you been watching?”

“No. I knew his voice sounded familiar. I couldn’t quite place it before.”

“Ah. I see.”

Geralt grimaces. He heard the voice in the video, telling Jaskier what to do. Telling him how good he was. “I need to think.”


“It’s clear he’s violating the restraining—”

“I told you I don’t want the cops involved. We just need to get through one more week.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. I can get out of town.”

“Forever?” Geralt fumes. “Didn’t he have pictures of you at different locations? That pool?”

Jaskier shrugs.

I could intimidate him, Geralt thinks.

“That face is the face of violence,” Jaskier says. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a bad idea.”


“Valdo Marx is… well-connected. If he decides you’re in his way, there’s no telling what might happen.”

Radovid. “Hmm.” He unlocks his phone again and calls Coën.

“It’s late,” Coën says as a greeting.

“Tell me you have something on this Radovid guy.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. He sinks down on a kitchen chair, shaking his head.

“Actually, I was just watching CCTV footage from outside a massage parlor on the north side. There happens to be a bank and a gas station nearby with security cameras.”


“There seems to be an unusually high number of trucks using the loading bay.”

“Why would a massage parlor need a loading bay?”


“Find out what they’re delivering.”

“Lambert’s already there.”


“So I hear you’re shacking up with a porn star now.”

“Fuck you.”

“Good night, Geralt.”

“Night.” Geralt ends the call and looks at Jaskier. “What’s the deal with Radovid?”

“You don’t want to get involved with that. He’s… When I left Empire, you know how long it took me to find a new studio?”


“It was years. Multiple years. Until I met Yennefer. And I was already successful and established. People were terrified of casting me.”

“Is he directing Marx, then? Telling him what to do?”

“I doubt it. Valdo really is crazy. Possessive, obviously. Radovid is actually just evil. And powerful.”

“You know anything about a massage parlor on the north side of the city?”

“No, it’s been a long time. I imagine they’ve changed their whole operation since then.” Jaskier yawns.

“Did you know they’re secretly filming people and blackmailing them?”

“I’m not surprised. They also don’t respect safe words or ‘no’ lists.”


“No one does anything about it because they’re huge and it’s work. They pay—unless, apparently, they’re blackmailing you. And Radovid has connections in government, probably organized crime, all sorts of places.” Jaskier shrugs. “And Valdo Marx is his number one. Another reason it’s easier to just get through this and disappear for awhile.”

“Sounds like another reason the problem isn’t going to just go away. If Marx is his number one guy and he has some weird obsession with you…”

“Well, life has to go on regardless.” Jaskier stands up. “And I still have to make rent.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means this conversation is ruining my mood, and I still have a show to do.”

“Tonight? Still?”

“Yes, why not?”

“It’s Friday night. You have all weekend.” Geralt swallows hard.

“I already sent out an announcement.”

Geralt groans. Jaskier walks around the table to him. He leans against it and waits for Geralt to look up at him. “Hm?”

“Do you really not want me to?”

Geralt can’t help but let his eyes travel up and down Jaskier. He looks tense as a bowstring, ready to snap. Geralt wants to reach out and pull him into his lap. He wants to protect him, and he doesn’t know how. It drives him crazy. “I don’t know how to protect you from these people,” Geralt admits.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I’m here. You’re with me. Take the night off.” He opens up his backpack and pulls out his laptop. “And order us a pizza.”


An hour and a half later, Jaskier is sprawled on his stomach on Geralt’s living room floor with his laptop open and propped up in front of him. There's an assortment of toys on the coffee table, and multiple bottles of lubricant. Geralt sits on the sofa, watching him click and smile. “You’re really going to—”

“I don’t criticize your work,” Jaskier says.

“I’m not criticizing.”

Jaskier looks over the computer screen at him. “Three hours ago, do you know where I was?”

Geralt sighs. “The warehouse.”

“And do you know what I was doing?”


“I was being quite thoroughly fucked by a rather fantastic cock. And then I had to stop. I don’t like to stop. It doesn’t feel good.”

“Tell me about it,” Geralt mutters.

“Oh?” Jaskier smiles, devilishly. “Have you been experiencing some frustration, Geralt?”

Geralt glares at him. “Not at all, Julian.”

Jaskier licks his lips. He shivers. “Mmmm that does things to me. Say it again.”


“Oh yes. How strange. You know, if it was next Friday night, I could fuck anybody I wanted.”


“You know,” Jaskier says, “I don’t know that it’s totally fair how much you’ve gotten to see me, when I’ve never even seen you without a shirt.”

“You’re the one who likes to be watched, not me.”

“But we’re not in public right now.”

“If I take my clothes off, I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay away from you.”

“You want me that bad?”

Geralt stares at him.

Jaskier’s smile grows. “A little peek never hurts. I’m going to start this. They’re waiting.”

“I thought those things were one-on-one.”

“Not this kind. It’s a show.”

Geralt nods.

Jaskier clicks. He waves at his webcam. “Hi there.” His voice is warm honey, and all the hair on Geralt’s body stands on end. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had one hell of a week.” He grins as he looks at the screen. Geralt assumes there are comments rolling in already. “Oh, thank you darling. Yes, this isn’t my apartment. Part of the long week. I’m staying with a…” his eyes flit up to Geralt’s and he bites his lip. “A friend.” He nibbles on a fingernail.

Geralt thinks he should get his computer out so he can see what the comments are, but then Jaskier sits up. “It’s been a long week and I’m a bit on edge.” He reads the screen and chuckles. “Yes, absolutely.” His eyes flash. “Oh my, aren’t you eager? You just want to take care of me? Okay. Let’s start with that.” He adjusts the laptop, and then kneels in front of it. He untucks his shirt, and then starts to unbutton it. “You had a long week, too, didn’t you?” His eyes shift to Geralt again, and then back to his computer. “And you’ve been so tense. Why don’t you let me do the work and make you feel good? You just enjoy it, okay, and I’ll make you feel so good. You know making you feel good makes me feel good.” He finishes unbuttoning the shirt and lets it fall to the floor beside him.

He looks down at himself. “Hmm.” He strokes his chest. “I’m so sensitive today. I think it’s because I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I knew I would be here and you were going to watch me. I’ve been thinking about it.” He pinches his nipples and lets out a little moan. “Oh that’s good.” He writhes, and lets one hand slide down to his belt, which he undoes with nimble fingers and slides out of his jeans with a swish and a snap of leather. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?” He reads more, toying with his nipple. “You want to spank me with it? Hmm… I think I might like that. You want to spank me with it on my bare ass until my skin is all red?” He squeezes himself and rubs through his jeans. “Look how excited you’re making me.” He leans back some. “I think it’s time to get out of these clothes, isn’t it?” He unzips his jeans and slides them off. He’s wearing the same briefs as earlier, and Geralt wonders how wrecked they are. His fucked-open body may have been slick with lubricant and the other actor’s precum, and his own cock must have been leaking with his arousal.

Geralt spares a moment to imagine it being his own fluids—spit from rimming Jaskier, precum or more—dripping from him. He’d need to take care of him after, of course, with a soapy bath, but the delicious filth of having Jaskier walk around like that, marked by him, has Geralt breathing through his mouth.

Jaskier notices. He lifts an eyebrow and smiles at him. “I know,” he says. “You’re waiting for these to come off, aren’t you?” He rubs himself through the fabric. “Mmmm.” He pushes down the waistband, and then turns, so that instead of immediately revealing his cock, he shows his ass. When he gets them off, he pauses for a moment like that and looks over his shoulder at the computer, then up to Geralt, and then to the computer again. “You like that?” he asks. He spreads his cheeks. “Am I still loose for you?” He traces a finger along himself. “I was all prepared, earlier. Ready to take all of your cock.” He pushes a finger at his hole, and Geralt bites back a groan. “Hmm, not ready yet. I may need a little help.”

He turns, and Geralt sees his cock. It’s the closest he’s seen it. He realizes he has Jaskier alone, naked, in his apartment. He can’t touch, but it’s exquisite anyway.


It takes a moment for Geralt to realize Jaskier is talking to him. He frowns and lifts an eyebrow.

“Can you hand me that bottle, please?”

Geralt picks it up from the coffee table and hands it to him. Their fingers touch. He struggles to breathe. He realizes it’s ingenious: Jaskier’s viewers will have the illusion of handing the bottle from their perspective, since he’s effectively behind the camera. He watches Jaskier dribble lube on his fingers. “I’d rather you get me wet with your mouth, but this will have to do for now.” He grips his cock and starts to stroke it. “That’s a good start,” he whispers, setting a slow pace. “Yeah…” He strokes with one hand, and toys with his balls with the other. His eyes lose focus as he starts to get into it, and he starts to release those little moans of pleasure Geralt has started to find familiar.

Geralt wants to make him make those sounds. He wonders what noises he’d make with Geralt’s mouth around his cock, or if he sucked one of those balls into his mouth. He wonders what noises he’d make if his tongue found Jaskier’s asshole.

Jaskier seems to be on the same wavelength. “I want to feel you,” he moans. He turns so that he’s facing away again. And then he does just like the fan asked in the message: he sinks his finger in, bit by bit. Geralt watches his body take it. Jaskier groans. “Fuuuck, that’s so good. Yes.” He rocks his hand a bit, and then he adds another finger.

Geralt bites back his own groan. He realizes he’s rubbing himself through his jeans. Jaskier looks back at him, sees his hand, and lets out another desperate sound.

“I need more,” he whimpers. “Need more.” He strokes harder with his fingers. “I need you deeper than this.” He looks at Geralt. “Hand me that.” He points to the toy on the coffee table. It’s a modest-sized dildo, pale violet and ribbed. Geralt heaves a breath and does what he says.

Jaskier lies on his side and holds himself open with one hand so Geralt can see him push the dildo past his rim. He twitches.

Geralt unzips his jeans.

Jaskier fucks himself slowly at first, and then quickens it. “Fuck I want you so bad. It feels so good.” He looks at his computer screen. “Mmm thank you,” he says with a smile. “You think I have a pretty little asshole? It’s so needy for cock. Needs you to fill it up, like hnngh…” He fucks himself harder. He looks back, reading. “Yes, yes, it’s my friend.” He hisses a breath as the dildo hits a good spot in him. “He’s—I think he’s enjoying the show, yeah. YeahRight there…” Then he lets out a low chuckle. “A bigger one?” He bites his lip. “Well aren’t you naughty tonight? If that’s what you want—I told you I was going to make you feel good. Gonna give you everything you want.” He pulls out the dildo and sets it aside. “Give me that one,” he tells Geralt. Geralt winces as he leans forward. He picks up a larger dildo and hands it over. This one looks more like a cock, with bulging veins and more flare at the base. “Thank you,” Jaskier purrs.

He dribbles lube onto the toy and leans back. His hard, flushed cock seems to throb as he looks at it with excitement, and Geralt thinks how easy it would be to reach over and help him with it. He could take him by hand. He could taste him. Jaskier meets his gaze, and Geralt reaches into his jeans.

Oooh yes,” Jaskier whispers. His jaw drops open and he watches Geralt grip himself. It’s a bad angle, and he’s bound by the denim. Jaskier bends his knees and pushes the larger dildo into his ass.

Geralt groans. He can’t hold in the sound. Jaskier hears it and his cock visibly throbs. He starts to fuck himself in earnest. “Yeah,” Jaskier whispers, “more, more…” He thrusts with one hand, and then switches to the other. He starts to sweat, and Geralt realizes he really is tired. Jaskier whimpers in frustration. “I need…”

Geralt picks up a different dildo. It’s bigger. Shaped like me, Geralt thinks, with a thrill of excitement. He grabs the lube. “Fuck, yes, please,” Jaskier moans, pulling out and watching Geralt. “Give it to me.” He doesn’t call him daddy, but it still makes Geralt feel like he’s in a fugue.

“Is this…”

Yes, please…”

Geralt grips Jaskier’s leg and holds it so that he’s spread open. His hole is fucked open again, but Geralt lines up the bigger dildo and knows he’s going to have to go slow. Gentle. He rubs it against Jaskier’s rim and listens to him beg. He ignores his own trapped erection, and watches Jaskier’s pulse and drip onto his stomach. Jaskier’s skin is cool beneath his hand where he caresses and supports his leg. And then he pushes the dildo’s head past Jaskier’s rim.

Jaskier’s chest heaves with his breath. “Fuck, fuck it’s so good, yes, more, more…”

Geralt thrusts in, shallow at first. He watches Jaskier’s body adjust. He feels him relax and the resistance give. He gives and gives, and Jaskier’s words turn into mere sounds. Then he pulls it out and stares. The furl of muscle seems to pulse, gaping, ready to be filled. Geralt wants to touch so bad. He remembers how Jaskier falls apart when he’s being rimmed. He groans and pushes the dildo back in instead.

Jaskier goes boneless as Geralt fucks him with the toy. Then, just when he seems to have adjusted to Geralt’s pace, Geralt shifts the angle. “Fuuuuuuck…” Jaskier’s eyes roll back as Geralt hits the spot, pressing against his prostate with every stroke. He starts to shake. Geralt feels the tremor of his thigh beneath his hand, and he sweeps his thumb across Jaskier’s skin. He watches his chest flush and he starts to tense again as it builds and builds, and Geralt keeps focusing on that spot as Jaskier reaches his arms out to the side, fingers splayed, and manages to say, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” between gasps. When the orgasm takes him, he tosses back his head and keens. It gets everywhere: Geralt’s arm is splattered, Jaskier’s stomach, the floor.

When Jaskier comes back to earth, he looks up at him with soft eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs. Geralt grunts, and then stands and walks away. He hears Jaskier adjust the computer behind him. “I… I gotta go, guys. Thanks for watching. Thanks for the tips. I’ll—I’ll see you later.” Geralt stares blankly into the kitchen. “Geralt?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. He feels like his body is on fire. He feels like he’s going to come apart.

Jaskier steps around him and faces him. He’s still nude, splattered with cum. He shifts his weight and winces a little. “You didn’t…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I should’ve just—”

“No, please, please don’t apologize.” He smiles. “Though everyone is now dying to know whose incredible hands and forearms they just saw.” He steps close. “I’m not sure I want to share, though.” He reaches out and touches Geralt’s forearms. He hums in interest, and steps closer. Then he leans forward, closing the gap between them, and covers Geralt’s lips with his own.

Something in Geralt snaps. He wraps his arms around Jaskier and hauls him against his body, opening to the kiss. He teases Jaskier’s mouth with his tongue, running it along the seam of his lips. When Jaskier parts his lips and reaches his tongue to meet Geralt’s, he feels that twist in his gut again, but more acutely. He presses one hand into the small of Jaskier’s back and runs the other up the ladder of his spine, acquainting his fingers with the ridges of his bones, the lean muscle, the cool, smooth skin. He tangles his fingers in Jaskier’s hair and kisses him deep, letting himself go.

Jaskier meets every shift of his lips and tongue and gives back.

Geralt trails his hand back down, and he grips Jaskier’s hips. Then he groans into the kiss and reaches further and grabs Jaskier’s ass. In response, Jaskier clings harder to him, puts his arms around Geralt’s neck, and wraps his legs around him. Geralt carries him to the bedroom, kissing him through it all, and deposits them both on the bed. Jaskier pulls down at his jeans.

“You can’t,” Geralt reminds him.

“But you haven’t—”

“I’ll survive.”

“Get me a condom,” Jaskier argues.

“I’m not going to—”

“Not that. Just trust me.”

Geralt frowns, and then reaches into his nightstand for a condom. Jaskier takes it and, eyes wide, finally releases Geralt’s cock from its cage. He licks his lips and opens the condom, then rolls it onto Geralt. He comes back up for another kiss, and then finds a bottle of lube. “Julian… What are you-”

“Just this,” Jaskier murmurs, dribbling it into his hands. He reaches down and takes Geralt in hand.

Geralt is shaking before Jaskier even has his hands fully wrapped around him. He chases his lips for more of the searing kiss, and lets Jaskier stroke him with lube-slicked hands. It’s messy and loud, and Geralt’s whole body convulses as Jaskier speeds up. He sits back on his heels and watches, making thoughtful sounds and whispering encouragements until Geralt cries out and comes. Jaskier strokes him through it, and then falls into place beside him. He turns his face back to Geralt. His lips are puffy from kisses, and Geralt traces them with his thumb. Jaskier’s eyes look silver in the bedroom light, fixed on him, only him. He feels something in him building and building. He thinks, If they try to hurt him, I may kill them. The thought is terrifying.

He cleans himself up, and wipes down Jaskier with a warm, wet cloth.

“Sleep with me,” Jaskier whispers. “Stay with me tonight.”

Geralt sighs. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and slides into the bed. When he looks over, before he turns off the lamp, he sees Jaskier close his eyes and smile.

“Mm,” Geralt says.

“Mm,” Jaskier agrees.



Chapter Text


The message on Jaskier’s phone reads, “I’m the only one who will ever truly understand you.” It’s morning, and Geralt stares across the table at Jaskier, who chews on his lip and scrolls through his messages.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, unsure what else to say. He won’t tell Jaskier to block the number—and even if he did, Marx could always use a different one.

“Geralt…” Jaskier pushes egg across his plate with a fork. He likes soft yolks and a lot of pepper.


“I know you’re planning to protect me for the rest of the shoot…”

Geralt nods. “Mm.”

“And you’re worried that Valdo is still going to… whatever this is… afterward.”

“Harassment. Stalking.”


“That’s what this is.”

“Oh. Yes, well, about that. I was thinking last night…” He plays with his eggs, and Geralt watches him and waits. “So it used to happen less.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And now it happens… a lot more.” He frowns. “And the thing is… I don’t actually know how to stop it. I mean, I got the restraining order. And then I tried to… Well. That didn’t work.”

“Tried to what?”

“Have it enforced.”

Geralt frowns. He already tried. That’s why he doesn’t want to go through the police. “Hmm.”

“So… if I hired your… whatever. Company. Security team? Whatever you are. If I hired you… what would you do?”

Geralt sets down his coffee mug. “First, we’ve already been hired. By Yennefer.”

“But not to help me. That’s just to keep the set safe and all that.”

“Safe from a person who wants to sabotage it because he’s obsessed with you.”

“Riiight… And that’s—”

“So, we’ve been hired to stop him. Which is why we’re looking into their business dealings.”

“I’m not talking about Radovid. I can tell you now that he’s untouchable.”

“Why is he untouchable? It was easy for Lambert to catch them filming people illegally. In one night.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “That’s irrelevant. Do you know how many times that guy has settled lawsuits? He’s like a billionaire. He owns an entire island. I know. I’ve been there. It’s like Richard Branson.”

“From porn?”

“In the beginning. I don’t… I don’t know what else. But he’s friends with like, CEOs and politicians.”

“Jaskier. Julian.”


“Did you ever see anything—”

“No. I was… managed. I met him through Valdo. Valdo recruited me, and took me along. I was… young, even at the end. I just didn’t think I was.”

“You’re still young.”

“Doesn’t feel like it. And anyway, I’m nowhere near as young now as I was then.”


“But I heard things. Enough to know to be afraid of him.”

“Like what?”

“They say he has cameras in every room of every property he owns, for one.” He shrugs. “That’s a lot of footage of a lot of people.”

“That’s just more to incriminate him.”

“No, it’s more to incriminate the people who would have to prosecute him—or the people connected to them or running them. They’re not going down just because he made some porn without people consenting to be in it. I know this business, Geralt. People like to pretend we don’t exist… until about ten o’clock at night, with headphones in, so their wives won’t hear from the next room.” He makes a wry smile. “Or until they’re invited to the orgy, to play with whatever new toy Valdo recruited.”

What?” Geralt feels a surge of adrenaline.

“Not me,” Jaskier says. “He always made sure I knew he wasn’t going to make me work any of those things. It’s part of how he would show me I was special to him.”

Geralt growls. He doesn’t even try to suppress it.

Jaskier sits up straight. “Wait.”


“I do know other people, though, who could know more.”

“Anyone who would talk?”

Jaskier nods. “I think I might.”


Geralt takes Jaskier with him to the office. Vesemir frowns at them as a greeting, and Geralt lifts a hand in a half-wave. “Do you always work on Saturdays?” Jaskier asks in a low voice. He yawns.

“When we’re working on something, yes. The sort of thing we do makes us busier on the weekends.”

“And what exactly would you say you do, dear Geralt?”

Geralt ignores the question and leads him into their pseudo-conference room. Eskel and Lambert are already there, waiting. “Have a seat,” he tells Jaskier.

“Oh my, what a terrifically scary bunch you are. You’re… Eskel, right? I’ve seen you at the warehouse.”

“Hello Jaskier.”

“Which makes you… Lambert? The spy?”

Lambert straightens his shoulders a little at the pronouncement, and Geralt and Eskel snort in laughter. “First of all,” Lambert says, “fuck you two. Second, yes, I’m Lambert.”

“Sitting outside a massage parlor doesn’t make you a spy,” says Eskel.

“I found out they were recording those people.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Because you happened to find the video of the orgy they recorded… Just part of your investigation?”

Lambert glares at them.

“There’s nothing wrong with watching a little porn from time to time,” Jaskier says. “Especially when it’s from a studio that respects its employees. I’ll get you a premium membership to a better site.” He winks.

Lambert’s face turns pink. Geralt shakes his head. “That isn’t why we’re here, though.” He watches Vesemir step into the room and sit down at the table with them, and then turns to Jaskier. “You want to tell them?”

“Well first, I’d like to say I think you’re all short a marble or two, just for the record. Trying to take down Radovid and Valdo is a terrible idea, and we’re all probably going to end up dead.”

Eskel shrugs. Lambert smiles. Vesemir doesn’t show any response at all.

“That said, I may know someone who’d be willing to share some inside information on Radovid. If you can keep her safe.”

“Who?” asks Vesemir.

“Her name is Essi Daven. She used to work for Empire, too.”

Geralt nods. “If she has a first-hand account, coupled with what Lambert has seen…”

“You need more than seeing,” Vesemir says. “Lambert, get back to Marx’s house. Find something we can use. Photographs… anything.”

“Already on it. I have an appointment to set up testing equipment for radon.” Everyone stares at him. “What?”

“Radon?” Geralt asks.

“Radon gas is one of the leading causes of lung cancer after cigarettes.” He shrugs. “You gotta get that shit tested and put in a mitigation system.”

Vesemir blinks. “Just get me something I can use—not anything illegal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Geralt, Eskel, you go with Jaskier and meet with Essi.”

“What about you?” Geralt asks.

Vesemir heaves a breath. “I have a meeting with Roche.”

“What?” Eskel leans forward. “Why?”

“He’s one of the only people we know on the inside.”

“Inside what?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt explains, “Vernon Roche works in intelligence.”

“Oh, like an actual spy?”


“How exciting.”


Jaskier tracks down Essi at a café on the south side, where she’s working as a barista. She has long, blonde hair and bright, sparkling eyes, and the three men pile into a corner booth until she has a break. When she joins them, she looks wary. “Jaskier? What’s going on?”

“My dear, you look fantastic. These are my new friends, Geralt and Eskel.”

She gives them a placid smile.

“It’s good coffee,” Geralt grunts. Eskel swallows and seems tongue-tied. Geralt considers her for a moment—she is, truly, a remarkably beautiful woman.

“Thanks,” she says. She slides into the booth beside Eskel. “But I know you didn’t track me down just to introduce me to your new boyfriends.”

“No,” Jaskier agrees, “I didn’t.” He forces a smile. “They know people. People who may be able to…” he trails off, and then looks to Geralt. “To do what, exactly?”

“Justice,” Geralt says.

“You’re talking about Radovid.” She tenses.

“Essi, I know—I’m not—I was there, remember? I know you weren’t… telling me something. You were hiding something. How old are you now?”

She smiles bitterly. “I don’t think my word will be enough.”

Geralt nods. “Probably not, but if you have anything to back it up—anything you maybe didn’t throw away, it could be used as evidence.”

Eskel clenches his fist. “He let you work for him underage?” His voice drips with fury.

She puts her hand on his fist. “Oh no. It was a lot more than that.” She pats it a few times. “And I’m free from that now. I work here. I’m a manager. I have benefits. But I’ll look around and see what I can find.”

Jaskier grins. “Thank you, Essi. Call me?”

She nods and adds his number to her phone.


“So,” Geralt says. They have take-out spread across the coffee table, and Jaskier is flipping through Netflix again. “You and Essi…”

Jaskier slurps a noodle. “We never did any scenes together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I just mean… she doesn’t seem to have… happy memories.”

“Everyone has a different set of experiences. Not everyone chooses it.”

“Fuck. So she was—”

“I don’t know, exactly. There were a lot of things I didn’t know to look for, but I know now. Red flags.”

“Is it something that’s different for women than men?”

“Not that simple. And Yennefer got started as a performer, too. She liked it, but decided she liked being behind the camera more. Triss has been her partner on and off the camera for years. I know people who love it, and other people who just really need money. It’s a job. Have you ever had a job that ended up being something you didn’t expect?”

Geralt takes a drink from his bottle of beer. “Most of my career was something I didn’t expect.”


“You grow up thinking you’re the good guy, that you’re going to save people… That isn’t always what actually goes on in the world.”

“There you have it. Expectation versus reality, right?”

“And your reality?”

Jaskier smiles and picks up his phone. “My reality… Let’s see…” He taps a few times. “Ah yes, here we go.” He connects his phone to Geralt’s TV.

“Julian, what are you doing?”

He bites his lip. “Just a little illustration.” He presses play on a video. “I tried to send this to you the other day, but you wouldn’t watch it.” He pauses it. “Wait. Do you want to see it?”

“Tell me what I’m seeing first.”

“This is the first video I made for Yennefer. We’re both older, experienced, and safe. Yennefer has very strict safety policies, as you know. Lots of testing. No exceptions. No risks.”

“I don’t want to watch Yennefer.”

“No, she directed it.”

“Oh.” Geralt takes another sip. His eyes track down Jaskier, and he sees the way he leans forward, angled toward him. He thinks about the way his body took the toys last night. “Do you want to watch it, or do you just think I do?”

“It’s so much more entertaining than anything on Netflix.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I would love to watch it with you.”

Geralt sighs. “Okay.”


The video begins in an office. It’s cosmopolitan, with a slick, grey floor, shelf-lined walls, and broad windows. Jaskier sits at a desk. It’s contemporary, with a glass top and chrome accents. His hair is styled, and he has a good amount of scruff. Geralt wonders what it feels like.

There are long shots of Jaskier typing on a laptop, and another man watching him from outside the room. Watching him, Geralt thinks. Wondering what he tastes like.

He continues typing, and there’s a knock at the door. “Enter,” he commands. His voice is authoritative and clear, and it sends something tremoring through Geralt.

The door swings open and the other man enters. He’s around the same age, but cleanly shaven. He has blonde hair. “The reports are filed, sir.”

Jaskier looks up. “Excellent. Thank you, Draig.” He goes back to typing, but Draig doesn’t leave. He stands for a moment and stares at Jaskier. The camera takes his perspective, and it focuses in on Jaskier’s face. Then it drifts down to his tightly-buttoned collar, his tie, his typing fingers. He’s wearing a wedding band. Geralt’s mouth quirks up.

“What?” Jaskier asks him.

“Nothing,” Geralt says. “I just see where this is headed.”


“I’m watching.”

On the screen, Draig shifts his weight from leg to leg, and Jaskier looks back up. “Is there something else you need?”

Draig licks his lips. “It’s getting late. I thought you’d head home by now.”

Jaskier rakes his fingers through his hair. “I guess it is.” He shrugs. “You know how it is.”

“How what is, sir?”


Draig bites his lip. “But you’ve only been married a few months.”

Jaskier shrugs. “It isn’t that kind of marriage.” He closes the laptop.

Draig takes a step forward. “What do you mean?”

“For her, it was more of a business transaction.” He picks up a pen and starts to fidget with it.

“Is that why you’ve been so stressed?”

“Stressed?” Jaskier sniffs.

Draig takes another step forward. “Yeah,” he says, smiling, “stressed. You look tense.”

Jaskier returns the smile. He rotates his chair a little. “I suppose I'm a little stiff.” He stretches his neck. “Haven’t been able to find much time for myself, you know?”

Draig nods. “That’s why you have me, though, sir. I’m your assistant. You can use me however you like.” He bites his lip, eyes tracking down over Jaskier’s body. He leans against the side of Jaskier’s desk.

Jaskier chuckles and looks up at him. “Oh really? Your duties are going to expand to backrubs, then, too?”

Draig’s voice takes on a husky quality. “If you want me to, I would, sir.”

Jaskier’s chest visibly moves as he takes a deep breath. “Backrubs, huh?”

Draig nods. “You have to take time for you.”

Jaskier watches him step close, and then he looks up and Draig moves to stand behind him. “Draig, you don’t have to—”

“Let’s get you out of that jacket, sir.” He tugs Jaskier’s lapels apart and slides it down his arms, then tosses it across the desk. “Isn’t that better already?”

Jaskier rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. “I suppose…”

“That’s right,” he murmurs. He starts to knead into Jaskier’s shoulders. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Jaskier agrees. His eyes close, and his expression changes. His lips just barely part.

Draig seems to take note of the shift. He kneads up the back of Jaskier’s neck, and then dips his thumbs beneath his collar. Jaskier tilts his head forward to offer more of himself. Draig pushes his lips together. He looks down at Jaskier, and he looks hungry.

Geralt shifts in his seat, and Jaskier grins at him. “Good, right?”


Draig’s hands slip around Jaskier’s neck and start to loosen his tie. Jaskier opens his eyes and looks down. He watches Draig’s fingers slide the tie free, and then start to unbutton his shirt. “What are you…”

“Shh… It’s okay. I’m just going to make you feel good.” He reaches further, unbuttoning as he goes. “Let me make you feel good.” He slides his hands back up Jaskier’s chest, humming in satisfaction as his fingers rake through the chest hair. He pulls the shirt apart and off Jaskier’s shoulders. They’re broad and fit, and Geralt’s cock likes what he sees. He adjusts himself.

“Already?” Jaskier asks. Geralt glares at him, and then looks back at the screen. “God, the way you look when you watch me, Geralt. Fuck, do you know what you do to me? I can’t even think about what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Draig presses his thumbs into Jaskier’s back, and then strokes up and down his skin. Jaskier groans. “You know, sir, that I would do anything you want to help you out. Anything you need.”

Jaskier’s eyes flutter to the side, and then down. “Mmm, that’s… that sounds good, but, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t think my wife would—”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

Beside Geralt, Jaskier continues, “I'm supposed to focus on someone else, but you're there, watching me from the shadows, eyes burning through me. I can't stop thinking about what you'd feel like, what your cock would do to me, what noises you'd make when I take you apart." Geralt keeps his eyes fixed on the screen.

Draig keeps rubbing, and then reaches one hand around to Jaskier’s chest. It toys with his hair, and then finds a nipple. When he tweaks it, Jaskier gasps.

“Oops,” Draig murmurs.

Jaskier lets out a throaty laugh. “You—” He stops when Draig tweaks his other nipple, too.

“I what?”

“You know what would make me feel really good?” Jaskier asks. Draig takes a step back, and Jaskier twists his chair around. He reaches down and undoes his fly. “If you help me out with this, that would make me feel real good.”

Draig nods, smiling, and drops to his knees. He reaches for Jaskier and pulls his cock out of his trousers. It’s already hard and Geralt feels his twitch in response. He gets to business. He grips it by the base and licks along the length. The camera pans out, and Geralt takes in the view: Jaskier, unbuttoned and undone, laid back in a chic office, with his assistant on his knees at his feet, sucking down his cock it’s candy. “Fuck, Julian.”

“You like it when I take charge then, hmm?” Jaskier leans toward Geralt.

Geralt squeezes himself and stares at the video.

Jaskier runs his fingers through Draig’s hair, and then pushes him further down on his cock. Draig takes it. He swallows at Jaskier’s cock until his nose is pressed to his abdomen, and then he pulls back and sucks it, cheeks hollowing, and sets a moderate rhythm. In the video, Jaskier whispers praise. “That’s right, suck on it, just like that,” and “So good to me, that’s perfect. Yes.” The camera focuses on his fingers as they card through Draig’s hair, and they’re nimble and steady, and Geralt can’t help but look at them, where they rest on Jaskier’s lap beside him.

As if he knows, Jaskier reaches over and strokes one hand along Geralt’s thigh.

When Jaskier has had enough of Draig’s mouth, he pushes him back. Draig is panting, and he stays on his knees as Jaskier stands. He reaches down and loosens Draig’s tie without undoing it, and then unbuttons and removes his shirt. He licks his lips. Draig is lean—a bit delicate for Geralt’s tastes, but undeniably hot regardless, with defined muscle on his abs. Jaskier unfastens his trousers and pushes them off, so that Draig is left in nothing but his tie. He pulls him with it and leads him to the desk. “You really want to make me feel good?” he asks.

“Yes, yes,” Draig nods.

Jaskier chuckles, low and confident. Geralt groans. Jaskier pushes Draig over the desk. He runs his hands down his flanks, and takes a hold of each side of his ass, squeezing it. “I’ve seen you watching me,” Jaskier says in the video. He kneels down. “Is this what you imagined me doing?”

Draig nods again, frantically. He spreads his legs. Jaskier licks along his ass.

“Jesus, fuck,” Geralt groans. He reaches for Jaskier, and then pulls himself back. “God damn it.” He fumbles around the coffee table, pushing food cartons to the side.

“What?” Jaskier asks.

“Where’s the fucking card?”

“What card?”

“Yennefer gave me a card for a clinic, and—”

Jaskier launches himself into his lap. Their lips come together, and tongues, and teeth. He tangles his fingers into Geralt’s hair and pulls on it, and Geralt thrusts his hips up against him, unable to stop himself. Jaskier rolls his hips down, thrusting back and grunting. Their teeth clink together, and he breathes a laugh into Geralt's mouth. He pulls back from the kiss, and then licks along Geralt’s neck. Geralt tears Jaskier’s shirt out of his jeans and yanks it over his head. He presses his face against his chest and breathes him in, and feels that gorgeous chest hair bristle against his cheek. He makes a feral sound, and then he sucks hard on Jaskier’s nipple. “Oh my god, oh, fuck, Geralt, fuck that’s—shit—”

He kisses him again, and the wet squelching sounds on the television are combined with Jaskier’s moans as he pulls Geralt’s shirt over his shoulders, too. When he has him out of it, he stops for a moment. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes.

“What?” Geralt asks.

“It’s Christmas and my birthday. Are you real?”

In response, Geralt unbuttons Jaskier’s jeans.

Fuck, yes, you are.” Jaskier scrambles up. “How do you—”

“Just take them off.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier says with a grin. He slides everything off, and his cock bounces free. He makes to climb back onto Geralt’s lap, but Geralt stops him. “What?”

Geralt turns him around so that he faces the TV, and then pulls him down onto his lap. “I think you should watch this, too,” he whispers in his ear.

A shiver runs through Jaskier’s body, and Geralt feels every bit of it. He reaches his hands out and feels Jaskier’s thighs, and then slowly, so slowly, trails them up toward his groin.

On the TV, Jaskier pulls his tongue from Draig’s ass and spreads his cheeks apart. Draig reaches back to help, and Jaskier pushes a finger into his hole. “Hnnngh,” Draig groans.

Jaskier exhales, and Geralt grips his cock. He presses his thumb against the tip and rolls the precum around the head.

Jaskier pumps a finger into Draig, and then adds a second and a third.

Geralt strokes Jaskier slowly, and he moans and drips. He reaches up and grips Geralt by the back of his neck, leaning back against Geralt’s chest. He rocks his shoulders against him, as if he’s relishing the feeling of their skin finally touching.

In the video, Jaskier slicks his cock with lube. Geralt reaches for the bottle still on the coffee table and does the same for him now. When he pushes his cock into Draig on the screen, Geralt strokes him. He presses his free hand against Jaskier’s chest and pulls him back against him even closer.

Jaskier groans and thrusts up into Geralt’s hand. Geralt nips at his shoulder. “Impatient.”

Jaskier nods, “Yeah…” On the screen, he wraps his hand in Draig's tie, pulling it tight around his neck.

“Do like he said and let yourself be taken care of,” Geralt murmurs.

They watch Jaskier fuck into Draig, and Geralt strokes him along with the screen. When Jaskier sits back in the desk chair and Draig climbs into his lap, Geralt reaches down and toys with his sack. He squirms and whines.

“You look like you’re liking that,” Geralt continues to growl. Jaskier pants and holds on. On the screen, he grips Draig’s hips. “The way he’s riding you… Tell me, Julian,” he whispers into his ear, “do you want to ride my cock like that, or do you want me to ride you?”

Jaskier nods. “Both,” he groans, “both is good.”

Geralt tightens his fist around Jaskier’s cock. It’s flushed dark and slick in his hand. He speeds up, and Geralt gets to hear him moan through the television speakers and, even better, close to his ear. He leans back, and Geralt sucks kisses onto his neck, and then presses his teeth against his shoulder. “Ah, fuck, fuck, Geralt…

Geralt bites, and Jaskier comes. Geralt nurses him through it, squeezing his sack and kissing to sooth where his teeth have plundered. On the screen, Draig kneels back down, and Jaskier shoots on his face. He leans back against Geralt, chest heaving as he comes down from it.

Geralt lifts his hand to his mouth and tastes.

“Geralt, you’re going to—Christ that’s…” He spins around and straddles Geralt, reclaiming his mouth in a bruising kiss. He grips Geralt’s hair and clenches his thighs around Geralt’s hips, rolling against him.

Geralt lets his hands find Jaskier’s back. He pushes one up to the back of his neck, and presses the other against his lower back. Jaskier moans and grinds on him, and Geralt’s hand dips lower. He lets his fingers explore as he pushes his hips up to meet Jaskier. His fingertip creeps down, down, until it reaches the pucker, and Jaskier bucks, groaning into his mouth. Geralt comes., for the second time this week, in his jeans.

When his vision clears and his breath returns, Jaskier hands him the card. “When do you want to go?” he asks.

“When do you want me to go?”

“Now,” Jaskier says. “Right now.”

“I think I need to make an appointment.”

“They know me. It’ll be fine.”


Jaskier looks him up and down, like he’s a feast on a table. “You have no idea.”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “I should change pants.”

Jaskier shrugs. “If you insist.”

Chapter Text


Geralt and Jaskier park a block away from the meeting site. It’s just after noon, Sunday, and a church has let out down the street. Pedestrians crisscross the street in their best, and Geralt wonders if they are conspicuously casual amid the crowd. Jaskier’s eyes are soft and grey, still sleepy, but he grabs Geralt’s arm. “I want that suit,” he says. He’s wearing tight black jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a sleek, red jacket with the sleeves pushed up. Geralt looks at the well-tailored oxblood he subtly points to. Jaskier must have the same concern.

“Mm,” Geralt says. He scans the cars parallel parked on the street, checking for a tail. He imagines they know Jaskier is staying with him by now. He wonders if they’ve figured out who he is, or anything about his past, or Vesemir. Most of their records won’t appear in any databases; the government keeps its secrets that well, at least.

The site is a dull, brick building, four-stories tall with a poorly-maintained fire escape in the alley that runs along it. Geralt casually does a visual check of the alley. No one lurks by the dumpsters or bins. A panhandler sits outside the front, and Geralt pulls a few bills from his pocket. “Enough for a coffee or two,” he says.

The man looks up at him. “They’re inside, sir.”

“Thanks. We’re clear?”

The man’s eyes sweep up and down the street. “Affirmative. Proceed.”

Geralt opens the door, and he and Jaskier duck inside.

The building is nearly empty. The windows are papered over, and the old, commercial carpet and linoleum are stained and ragged. Vernon Roche stands to one side of the space, and Sigi Reuven stands to the other. Vesemir waits at the back, Eskel by his side.

“Sigi. I didn’t expect you to be here,” Geralt says. “I thought you were more selective about where you get involved these days.”

He crosses his arms across his broad chest. “You could say my interest was piqued.” He looks Jaskier over. “You have information about Radovid?”

Roche lifts a hand. “Just a minute, alright? You don’t even know who this is, and you’re—”

“He’s with Geralt,” says Sigi.

Jaskier looks at Geralt, and then back at the group of men. “I take it you’re the spies.”

Sigi laughs and Roche frowns. Eskel looks annoyed, and then looks at his watch. Vesemir shakes his head. “Shall we take this upstairs?” He leads the way.

They crowd into a service elevator and take it to the top. The landing is also stained and run-down, with holes in the drywall and spray-painted profanities on the wall. “What is this?” Jaskier asks.

“Just a slum,” says Roche.

“No it isn’t,” Jaskier argues.

Roche and Vesemir both turn and stare at him. “What?” Roche asks.

“That’s not real.” He points to a bold FUCK, messily sprayed in black paint.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not real?’” Roche glowers at him, but then he schools his face into something more placid. His eyes scan down Jaskier, as if trying to decipher him like a code.

 Jaskier brushes his finger along the crumbling white powder of broken sheetrock. “I mean, someone came in here and tore this up to look like a, I don’t know… opioid den. Is that a thing? Like an opium den but for the twenty-first century?”

Geralt watches Sigi eye Jaskier, and it makes him nervous.

“Now the downstairs, yes. That shop clearly dried up during the Recession, and probably hadn’t been maintained before that. But the windows are glass, not boarded, this isn’t a bad part of town—whatever that even means—the elevator works, and someone used a hammer on this drywall, see?”

Roche stares at him, agape.

“It’s stagecraft,” Jaskier explains. “And sloppy.”

Sigi’s laugh is a rumble in his chest. He looks at Geralt. “I see why you like him.”

“Oh no,” Jaskier corrects him, “he’s after my money and my looks.”

Geralt coughs.

Roche pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the doors, and then leads them in. He switches on a pair of lamps. “This is one of our safe houses,” he explains. He stares at Jaskier again.

Jaskier looks around, and Geralt tries to see it from his eyes. It’s a dumpy apartment—not unlike Geralt’s actual home. They’re trained to need little luxury. He thinks back to Jaskier’s cozy place, which he didn’t look at closely, but knows was far homier than anything he’s had in his life. Jaskier turns to Geralt. “Huh.” It’s as if he, too, is recognizing the Spartan aesthetic.

They take seats around the Formica kitchen table. Roche pulls the chain on a cheap light fixture that hangs over it. He sets his phone on the table, and Geralt can see a recording application. “Vesemir,” he says, “this had better be good.”

Vesemir keeps his hands under the table. “I understand you’ve both been looking into Radovid.” Sigi keeps his face neutral. Geralt sees Roche’s jaw clench.

“No one will touch him,” Sigi finally says. “Too many people in his pocket.”

Roche scoffs, “You would know about that.”

“I’ll use your tactics when they’re effective, Vernon; leave me to mine.”

Roche shakes his head. Eskel taps his fingers on the table. Geralt glares at him and he stops.

Vesemir nods. “I want to go above the people in his pocket, then.”

“You can’t,” Roche insists. “It goes all the way to the top. Leaders of foreign states. Past and current officials here. I don’t know what he has on these people—”

“You don’t?” Jaskier asks.

“Why is he here?” Roche asks.

“Let him talk,” Sigi says. “What do you mean, Mr. Pankratz?”

Geralt tries to keep his face neutral. He is aware he fails. Spectacularly.

Jaskier swallows, but continues. “Videos, of course. And since he’s in the skin business, I think it’s an easy guess what he has videos of.” He leans forward. “But it can’t just be a scandal, for some of them, right? People have affairs all the time. It has to be more.” He sits back in his chair, confident and at ease. God damn he is attractive, Geralt thinks. “And based on what I know… I’d bet it’s pretty dark. Probably trafficking, but for it to be that clear in videos, we’re talking young, probably, or… kinky—however you want to put it. Hard stuff. Probably drugs, too. It’s a poorly-kept secret they fuel shoots with them.”

“Sigi?” Vesemir asks. “Tell me you have something.”

He looks at Roche. “How many people do you know will be tied up in this?”

Roche leans back and pulls a file from the counter, which he opens up on the table. He shuffles through it, and then pulls out a list of names.

Geralt looks over it, and his eyebrows raise. “Some of these… Yeah. That would be big.”

“With something like this,” Sigi says, “we have to go high and we have to go public if we’re going to uncover this. Something shocking. Newsworthy.”

“And even then, they may try to sweep it under the rug.” Roche flips to a photograph. “This is the townhouse he uses when he’s in the city.”

“There has to be some sort of storage for these videos,” Jaskier says. “He’d either have hardcopies on discs or hard drives, or both.”

“Have you been there?” Geralt asks.

“Years ago. I certainly didn’t see anything like that. Back then… he probably would’ve burned DVDs.”

Roche turns to Vesemir. “What do you think you have? If he didn’t see anything.”

“We have another witness who did see things. We’re gathering evidence.”

“Who?” asks Roche.

Eskel lifts his hand. “She may want to stay anonymous.”

Roche and Sigi nod. “Jane Doe, then,” Sigi agrees. Geralt watches him. Knowing Sigi, he’ll know it’s Essi, and have her life story within twenty-four hours.

“Vernon,” Vesemir says, “I need you to talk. Find out who would be willing to sign off on a raid. Get a team together.” Roche clearly bristles at being ordered, but if anyone can command him, it’s Vesemir. “Sigi, I need anything you can get me. Security footage. Money transfers. Gifts. Trips.”

“This is going to be a pain in my ass,” Sigi says. “You’re going to owe me.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something you need, and it’s probably going to be Geralt’s help with something.”

Sigi looks at Geralt, and then back at Vesemir. Geralt shrugs. “That’s fine. You got my number.”

“It may be this one I want,” Sigi says, pointing to Jaskier.

Jaskier grins. “Get in line,” he says, batting his eyelashes.

Sigi snorts a laugh.


Geralt takes Jaskier to lunch at a diner he knows nearby. “My turn,” he says.

“I love it already,” Jaskier says. He slides into a booth. Geralt orders a patty melt. Jaskier orders coffee and cherry pie.

“That’s all? You need more than that.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and also orders a burger. He looks at his phone. “Oh. Essi texted. Do we want to go to her place or meet her somewhere else?”

“She wants to meet now?”


“Can she come here? If we have a tail, I’d rather not lead them to her.”

Jaskier texts, and then waits a moment. “She’s on her way.”


Essi wears her hair in a braid like a crown. She’s wearing an oversized sweater that suggests she wants to blend in. It doesn’t work. She is strikingly beautiful, and Jaskier embraces her in welcome. “Thank you,” he tells her. “This is… This is very brave of you.”

She turns her huge eyes to Geralt, and then back to Jaskier. “You really think he can stop them?”

“We’ll do everything we can to keep you safe,” Geralt says.

“Not stop them hurting me,” she says. “I can handle them. I just don’t want it to happen to anybody else.”

Jaskier nods. “I know. Do you… Do you want to tell us about it?” It’s mid-afternoon, and the diner is nearly empty. Geralt waves the waiter over, and Essi orders a malted.

“I was fourteen,” she says, “when my father died. I was sixteen when I ran away from home.”

Jaskier nods. Geralt drinks water. He wishes it was Scotch.

“A woman found me outside a shelter. She told me she had a better option. I thought she meant a job. I guess she did… Just not the job I expected.” The waiter brings her milkshake, and she takes a sip. “Mm that’s good. Anyway, she took me to this mansion. It was… paradise. Unlike anything I’d ever seen. They gave me food. I had a bed.” She takes a deep breath. “The thing is—even after I realized what happened, I thought well, I’m lucky. They made it easy for me, when I didn’t have to… work. Radovid and Val told me I was so special, so blessed, because I’m pretty. I thought it was wrong to want out because I knew—I knew how bad it was on the street. And I just had to let their friends…”

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say,” Geralt tells her.

“It isn’t that easy for all his girls. Some arrive the day they’re… needed… and fly back out that night. Not always from here. Don’t always speak the language. They would… cry.” She takes another drink. “It made me think, well, I am lucky. And I thought, well, if I don’t always hate it, it isn’t the same.”

Jaskier nods.

“I have a support group,” she says. “And it’s still different, you know? Most people don’t have this experience. You know, I left. I didn’t tell a soul, and one morning, early, before anyone else was up, I took everything I could carry, and just walked out.”

“That is incredibly brave,” Geralt says.

“It was incredibly stupid. I still didn’t have a goddamn clue.” She laughs. “And how do you tell people you’re a human trafficking victim when you’re wearing Dior? You’ve piled on so much jewelry you’ll set off metal detectors in the next town?”

“Essi, dear, I wish I knew. You could’ve stayed with me.”

“I knew Val still looked for you. He was furious when you left. Radovid was furious at him. Told him how stupid it was to fall in love with someone like us.”

Jaskier snorts. “Pfft. What a douche.”

Geralt can’t help but smile at that.

Essi drinks more of her shake and nabs one of Geralt’s fries. He pushes his plate over to her. “I went to a shelter for domestic violence survivors because I figured they had good privacy, and I didn’t want to use any of the trafficking resources. I thought they’d be watching them.”

“They never found you?” Jaskier asks.

“It’s a big city.”

Geralt looks at Jaskier. “How’d you find her, then, if it’s a secret like this?”

Jaskier smiles. “I hear things. And I listen. Also, my dear Geralt, I am very good.”

He shakes his head. “If you say so.”

“I am! I’m going to become a spy.”

“You are not going to become a spy.”

“Yes I am. That guy said I could.”

“What guy?”

“The big one.”


“Definitely not a real name. I know a stage name when I see it.”

It’s Sigismund, Geralt thinks, but doesn’t say. Not really a stage name, though Reuven isn’t his real surname. “If you say so.” He looks at Essi. “Did you find anything?”

She nods. “I have this fake ID, for one. It says I was born two years early, so I’d look eighteen.”

Geralt swallows his rage and takes the ID. “This will help.”

“I also have a few files on a flash drive… These are videos. Please don’t share them.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jaskier says.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” says Geralt. “That’s just basic decency. Not even decency, actually. Humanity.”

“You’d be surprised,” she says. “Here are a few boarding passes. These are the first times I flew anywhere, so I saved them.” She hands them over. “And this is a magazine clipping.” She slides it across the table. Geralt looks at it and feels his jaw drop open. She nods. “There were a lot of people at that party. It ended up in the society pages. I thought it was incredible, to be in a picture with all those people. Famous people.”

“Thank you,” Geralt says. “This is really helpful.” She nods. “They’ll probably have you make a statement. We have a friend, Regis, who’s a lawyer. He can help with that.” She nods again. “Before that, though, I just want to make sure, again, that you’re okay with everything. Do you have questions? Are you comfortable with this?”

“Radovid is a monster,” Essi says. “I will do everything I can to help you stop him.”

Geralt thinks, They better lock him up for good, or I’m going to end up stabbing the motherfucker. “How would you feel about having some personal security?” he asks.

“Like a bodyguard?”

“We can set up someone to watch outside your house or apartment, they can sit in or out of your work, whatever you need.”

Essi chuckles. “Really?”

Geralt nods. “It would be best.”

“That would… That would actually be really nice.”

“Let me take down your address, and I’ll have someone there by the time you get home. I’ll send Eskel. You met him at the café.”

“Oh, the cute, quiet one?”

“Cute?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier nods. “Yes, that’s him. They’re all like this, too. Even the older one.”

“There are more?”

“It’s incredible,” Jaskier tells her.

Geralt takes another drink and wishes harder for it to turn to Scotch.


Sunday night, Geralt stands in his kitchen and watches Jaskier gather things and pack his bag for work the next day. “I can feel you staring at me,” Jaskier says.

“Is that how you met Marx? Did he offer you that first job?”

“I saw him, actually, and flirted with him. He was—still is, actually—an attractive man. I pursued him, not the other way around.” He walks across the room to Geralt and stands in front of him. “Thank you for asking.”


“And thank you for doing this.”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s my job.”

“Not really. But that’s okay.” He steps close. “Have they called you yet?”

Geralt feels his warmth. He feels his breath on his cheek. The skin on his arms pebbles into gooseflesh. “No. The lab is closed Sundays. You know that.”

“Unfortunate.” He presses into Geralt, and Geralt wraps his arms around him. He pulls Jaskier close. He presses his face against his neck. Jaskier sighs and relaxes into it. “Geralt…”

“Julian.” He feels Jaskier tremble.

“When you’re with me, I feel like we can actually do this.”

“Mmm.” Geralt grips handfuls of Jaskier’s shirt.

“Take me to bed.”

“Okay.” Geralt switches the lights off and leads Jaskier to his bedroom. In the soft glow of lamplight, he strips Jaskier down to his boxer briefs, and does the same to himself. He presses him onto the bed, and covers him with the duvet, and then climbs in after him. He turns off the lamp, pulls him close in the dark, and covers Jaskier’s lips with his.

It’s a soft kiss. Jaskier yawns, and Geralt moves them so that Jaskier is nestled against him, draped across his chest. His skin is warm and soft, and Geralt wonders if he’s going to have this after next weekend. His hair tickles. Geralt closes his eyes. He allows himself to squeeze, just a bit, and then he lies there, eyes closed, and feels for a bit.

He tries to stay awake, but sleep comes anyway.


Morning arrives too soon. Geralt’s bed is a cocoon, and he’s tangled up with Jaskier, almost too warm and heavy with sleep. Jaskier doesn’t snore, but he lets out little pffs sometimes as his breath pushes through his lips. They’ve shifted so that Geralt is on his side and Jaskier is behind him, pressed against him. His breath stirs Geralt’s hair. His body wakes slowly, and he reaches for his phone.

He has sixteen missed calls, all from the last hour.

Geralt slides away from Jaskier, who curls up into the warmth he left, pressing his face into Geralt’s pillow. It’s still early—very early. He unlocks the phone and taps to call Eskel back.

“Christ, Geralt,” he greets him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replies in a low voice, stepping into the kitchen. He opens the coffee tin. “Was asleep. What happened?”

“I have Essi. We’re on the bike. I think I lost the motherfuckers.”

“Shit. Where are you?”

“Out on the lake road. I thought I might take her to the cabin until things are further along.”

“Good. No tail?”

“No tail.”

“Now, what happened?”

“After I got your message, I went straight to her house. She arrived shortly after. I set up a camera in the back and took position out front.”

“You decided to do a stakeout on your bike?”

“It’s… You know what my car looks like.”

“I see.”

“You don’t see anything, asshole.”

“She there right now?”

“She’s stretching her legs.”

“She said she thinks you’re cute, you know.”


Geralt chuckles.

“You bastard. Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not! So did Jaskier.”

“Heh. Well, I’m definitely cuter than you.”

“You wish. So, you wanted to look cool and took your bike. Took position. Then what?”

“Everything was quiet for hours. She went to bed. It was a cold night.”

“Spare me the details.”

“Couple of hours ago, so… four or so, there’s movement in the back. I thought it was a stray cat or something at first. Then I saw something on the camera. I had to break through the front door, and they already had her.”


“Two guys, full tactical gear.”

“Fuck. You okay?”

“Grazed my arm, but it was a clean shot. Flesh wound.”


“She was pretty scared, I think, but god damn she has a cool head.”

“And the other two?”

“Took care of them.”


“I called Dijkstra. I mean Reuven. He’s sending a team.”

“I’ll follow-up and see if they get any information off of them. You take Essi out to the lake house, lock it down, and I’ll be in touch.”

“Got it. And Geralt?” Eskel’s voice goes low and serious.


“Take care, buddy. These guys aren’t fucking around.”

“You too.”



Chapter Text


“I got a massage.” Lambert is dressed, inexplicably, in khakis and a polo shirt.

“The fuck are you wearing?” Geralt asks.

“This is what everyone who goes there dresses like.”

“Is it a massage parlor for accountants or something?”

“Middle school math teachers,” Jaskier interjects.

Geralt and Jaskier have arrived at the warehouse early Monday, but Lambert and Coën are already there. Lambert holds up a bag. “I have my kit here to change into.”

“Was it a good massage?” Coën asks.

“I don’t know. It was fine.”

Geralt smirks. “I take it you were expecting a happy ending that didn’t arrive.”

“I don’t know, man, they seemed really concerned about money. Kept asking me if I was tipping. She even gave me a suggested amount.”

Jaskier laughs, and all three other men stare at him. “What?” Geralt asks.

“That was her asking if you wanted the happy ending.”


“But you, uh, probably didn’t want it anyway,” Jaskier says. “It would be a bit shitty, wouldn’t it, knowing the place is run by a guy like Radovid.”

“Well I wasn’t going to actually let anyone do it,” Lambert insists. “I was just seeing if it was that kind of place.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Hmm. Well, at least the question was answered.”

“Damn. I tipped like, seventy-five percent before I left. I thought she just really needed the money.”

“She probably does,” Jaskier says. “And she didn’t have to jerk you off, so you probably made her day.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Geralt laughs, deep in his chest, as Lambert feigns outrage. He puts his arm around Jaskier.


Once he’s suitably changed, Lambert flips through a file folder and shakes his head. “No wonder it’s been a fucking mess. You’ve been checking in this many people every day?”

Geralt peers at it. “No,” he says. He looks at Jaskier. “Why is this—”

“It’s a different kind of scene. More extras,” he explains.

“Yennefer needs to start checking this with me, instead of Vesemir,” Geralt complains. “This is the worst possible day for this.”

“Because Eskel isn’t here?” Jaskier asks.

“What the fuck?” Lambert objects. “I’m here!”

“Uh, me too?” Coën adds.

“Exactly,” Geralt says.

“Fuck you, Geralt,” Lambert says.

Geralt grins. “Alright, here are earpieces.” He opens his bag and gets to work.

The crew arrives soon after them, and it seems like they carry in far more gear than usual. Geralt paces back and forth outside the warehouse doors. He checks IDs for everyone. He matches faces with their files. He checks in the guards and assigns them positions. He tells them to be even more attentive than usual, that there’s an increased risk today.


When he makes his first perimeter check, he finds the warehouse set up like a nightclub. Jaskier is talking to Yennefer, and Triss is checking in the other actors. They mingle, laughing with each other. It’s mostly men, but several women are there, too, and others who don't conform to a binary. Geralt wonders what kind of scene they could possibly need such a menagerie of people for. There are all kinds here, with a variety of clothing styles.

Jaskier has changed. He’s wearing tight jeans with rips across the thighs and knees, and Geralt can see the bulge of his cock, even soft, beneath the denim. He feels interest bubble in him like a simmering pot. On top, Jaskier wears a tight black shirt, which clings to his body. Geralt wants to tear it off. He wonders if anyone is going to tear it off. I get to take him home, he thinks. He wonders what they’re going to do to his body, how good they’re going to make him feel, how desperate he’ll be before he gets to cum, and how hard it’ll be.

As if he feels Geralt’s eyes on him, Jaskier turns. He looks him up and down and licks his bottom lip. His lips curve up into that little, suggestive smile. Geralt doesn’t hide his appreciative scan of Jaskier’s body. He lets his eyes linger on the bulge, on the visibly erect nipples beneath the tight, black shirt, on the denim that clings to his powerful thighs. He looks him in the eye and thinks, I am going to absolutely wreck you.

Jaskier’s lips split around a grin. He adjusts himself. The bulge has grown.

“Get your ass back out here, motherfucker,” Lambert says in his ear.

“I’m going to regret bringing you along, aren’t I?” he asks.

“I certainly do,” Coën says. “Already. What are they doing in there, Geralt?”

“Nothing, yet.”

“He won’t tell you,” Lambert says. “He’s trying to keep all the good stuff for himself.”

“You’re just excited you think it’s going to be a gangbang. We all know that’s your thing, Lambert.”

“It’s everybody’s thing—some people just won’t admit it.”

“I don’t think so,” Coën argues.

“It’s a woman—”

“Wrong,” Geralt interrupts.

“Sorry, it’s a person letting themselves surrender completely to sensation and pleasure.”

Geralt makes a face. “I don’t think I like hearing you say the word pleasure.”

Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure—”

“I’m muting you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Coën’s laugh is audible without the headset.


The next time Geralt checks the warehouse, the “nightclub” is buzzing. Music plays, though it isn’t too loud—Geralt imagines it would echo too loudly around the space, and the video editors will have to balance all of the sounds later. Postproduction, he thinks, that’s what it’s called, right? He’ll have to ask Jaskier. There are people at a bar that’s been set up, with two scantily-clad bartenders pouring drinks. Geralt wonders if they have anything real.

The foreground of the scene is where the action takes place. It’s set up like a dance floor, with dramatic, shadowed lighting and high-top tables around the edges. Jaskier is on the dance floor, giving himself up to the sultry pulse of the music. He’s with a woman in a tiny, spangled dress, and she writhes against him, hanging on him and swaying to the beat. His eyes are closed and he loses himself in it.

Then, another couple come and begin to dance with them. The man is just a bit larger than Jaskier, and his partner is voluptuous, with large, pert breasts and exaggerated hips. They take their place beside Jaskier, and he’s flanked by the group, still moving to the raw, primal beat. He opens his eyes, and they immediately seek out and find Geralt, where he’s watching from the shadows. He feels his lips curl up into a smile, which Jaskier returns.

He keeps his eyes on Geralt as they grind together. The woman pushes herself against him, rubbing her ass back against his hips, and he runs his hands over her. She turns, and touches him as well, letting her fingers trail across his hips and then across his cock, which Geralt can only imagine is hard, ready to be freed from its confines. He keeps his eyes on Geralt, and when the woman’s hands dip down and graze him, he bites his lip and lifts an eyebrow. Geralt thinks, I’d take him to the bathroom, push him into a stall, and show him how it’s done. Or into the back alley.

The other couple mirrors them, save one difference—the man doesn’t watch Geralt, of course, but watches Jaskier instead. He licks his lips, letting his gaze track up and down Jaskier. When the women are both facing away, his hand reaches out to steal touches. Jaskier just smiles and dances harder.

The music changes, and Jaskier makes his way to the bar. The women make their way to a table, chatting animatedly, laughing with each other. Jaskier must be getting drinks for the group. He leans against the bar, and the other man follows him.

It’s crowded, and the man presses against him. Jaskier looks to see who it is, and then he looks to the table, where the women pay them no mind. The man lifts his finger to his lip, as if shushing him. He tilts his head, theatrically looking from side to side, and then reaches around to get a handful of Jaskier.

Geralt can’t see his face. He can only see it in profile, and it makes something curl impatiently beneath his skin, prickling and bubbling. He sees the man run his hand along the outside of Jaskier’s thighs, and then sweep inward, stroking him through those wickedly tight jeans. Jaskier pushes back against him, rocking his ass against the man’s erection, and a bartender comes to take their order.

Geralt can’t hear them speak, but he sees the bartender talk, as if visiting with the larger man over Jaskier’s shoulder. Meanwhile, the man unbuttons Jaskier’s jeans. Jaskier’s hand comes up to cover his mouth, as if he’s covering a gasp, hiding what they’re doing beneath the bar.

No one around them seems to notice. No one pays any mind to what they’re doing.

The man slides the jeans down.

Another person comes over to order a drink, and the man pushes Jaskier forward, covering him with his body, as if that would hide his partial nudity. The bartender takes his order, and then he turns and starts to visit with the large man, too.

Geralt still can’t see Jaskier’s face. He wonders if he can walk around the set, if he’d see him from the other side. He has no official reason to. The other guards are visible. They’re focused on their work.

“Geralt?” Lambert says.

“Mm?” he quietly asks.

“You coming back out anytime soon?”

“In a minute.”

“Jesus Christ, man. You’re lucky we’re friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The man lowers Jaskier’s briefs and, as if there’s no time to lose, begins to stroke his cock. Jaskier’s body contorts with the shock of pleasure, and again, Geralt is desperate to see his face. A camera is set up to capture it, he knows, and he thinks, Maybe we’ll watch this one together when it’s ready. Then I’ll see his expressions, how he feels, and I can make him feel something even better. He forces himself to keep his hands off of his own body, and just watch.

Then, the man stops stroking Jaskier and starts to play with his ass, teasing him, massaging his rim, while continuing his conversation with the man beside him as if absolutely nothing is happening. The man asks Jaskier something, and Geralt can see that he nods, but barely responds. He presses his hands onto the top of the bar. Geralt can picture his face, awash with pleasure and anticipation, but nervous that they'll be caught. Is he licking his lip? Are his eyes half-closed?

The man behind him backs up a few inches and unzips his jeans, still talking, as if nothing is happening. The bartender returns with drinks, and the man pushes his cock into Jaskier in one long thrust. Geralt realizes Jaskier must have prepared himself for this, must have worked himself open with something beforehand. He quietly groans, picturing it. The man’s cock smoothly thrusts in, and Jaskier’s body takes every inch. The bartender places a drink in front of Jaskier and asks him something. Geralt can see him nod again. He can see that his lips are parted, and then that he bites his lip. The man fucks him in shallow little thrusts. Jaskier arches his back to press against him, offering himself up. Meanwhile, the man continues to talk to the others, almost as if Jaskier isn’t there, as if no one notices he’s being pleasured right beside them.

Geralt’s phone vibrates. He pulls it from his pocket—it’s an unrecognized number, so he walks quickly to the door and takes the call.


“Hello, may I speak to Geralt, please?”

“This is he.”

“Great, I have your lab results, sir. Can you confirm you full name and date of birth?”

He does.

“Excellent. Everything was negative. Full results will be available through our web portal. Did you receive login credentials through the email address you provided?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Alright. Do you have any additional questions for me?”

“No, thanks, that’s… That’s good.” He hangs up and imagines Jaskier beneath him, in his bed, trembling with pleasure, coming completely undone. He remembers Jaskier telling him, “I can make you forget your name.” He thinks, I’m going to make you scream it.

He gets a status check from the guards. He walks the perimeter of the parking lot. He feels like he needs to do a few push-ups to work out excess energy.

“This part of this job is really boring,” Coën complains.

“Good,” Geralt says. “Let’s hope it stays this way.”

“You think this is boring, I should have you do the next stakeout,” Lambert says.

“Nah, man, I don’t want to put you out of a job,” Coën tells him.

“Oh great, now I’m taking shit from you, too? I got Geralt, Eskel, you—even Geralt’s new fucking boyfriend. God damn it.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so much of a prick,” Geralt suggests.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I never said I wasn’t a prick.”

“No,” Coën says, “Geralt isn’t a prick, he’s just salty.”

“Salty?” Geralt asks.

“Like an old man,” Coën explains.

“You think I’m like an old fisherman or something?”

“You’re right, kid,” Lambert says. “I can just see him fishing some goddamn giant fish while sharks are swarming, going days with it pulling him along but refusing to give up like that fucking book—what fucking book is that?”

“Are you talking about The Old Man and the Sea?” Geralt asks.

“That’s the one. That fucking book. You’re like the—”

“What are you talking about? I am nothing like the old man in that book.”

“Stubborn, self-righteous… Remember that time—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m going back inside.”


Jaskier is sitting at a table with his “date” to the nightclub. He nods his head as she chats, merrily beside him, and the other man’s “date” replies. Meanwhile, the other man kneels beneath the table, sucking Jaskier’s cock.

Jaskier sees Geralt immediately, and his eyes seem to sparkle. Geralt has half a mind to interrupt the scene, toss Jaskier over his shoulder, and carry him to his truck. He doesn’t even need to get him home—he can find a nice, empty parking lot and… He takes a deep breath.

Jaskier reaches below the table and grips the back of the man’s head. He pushes him faster, harder, making him take him deep in his throat. Geralt can see him half-choke on Jaskier’s cock, and then pull back, saliva and precum dripping from it. He strokes him a few times with his fist, and Geralt can just barely hear it. They’ve cut the music now, and Geralt is grateful because he can hear Jaskier let out a soft grunt as the man swallows him back down, bobbing on his cock.

“What do you think, baby?” the woman asks, regarding who-knows-what that she’s been talking about.

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, “it sounds good—so good, yes…”

She looks at him strangely, and continues to address the other woman.

Jaskier reaches down with both hands and shifts himself forward so that he can fuck the man’s mouth. Geralt sees him sucking, cheeks shifting with the suction, and he licks and slurps. Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes, again, and winks at him, so fast it would be missed by anyone not watching his every move. Geralt just stares back at him and tries to channel everything he wants to do into his look. Jaskier's mouth opens as his breath hitches, and he pulls back and proceeds to cum all over the guy’s face.

Geralt frowns at the set; the cameras close in and block his view.

When the scene wraps, after a close-up of the cumshot, Yennefer calls out for a set change. Jaskier goes to the side of the set to get cleaned up and drink a bottle of water.

“Most of them will leave now,” Yennefer tells Geralt. He watches the extras clear out. Meanwhile, the crew moves the set pieces apart, shifting everything around until it’s a bare room. Then they bring out a flat-packed piece of... something... that looks like metal. They start to assemble it with power drills, and Geralt realizes, “They’re making a bathroom stall?”

“Sort of,” Yennefer says. “No toilet. It takes up too much space, and people don’t need that much verisimilitude.”

“Right… And that’s…”

“It’s a glory hole, Geralt.”


Geralt steps out as the extras leave. “Coën, watch to make sure no one shows up during the exchange. Lambert, make sure they all actually leave.”

“Roger that, boss,” Coën replies.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Salty,” says Lambert.

“I really wish Eskel was here.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that,” says Lambert.

Geralt just shakes his head.

“Were all those people actually fucking in there?” asks Coën.

“No. They were extras. It wasn’t a group thing.”

“When are the rest leaving?”

“I don’t know. They’re doing another scene.”

“What’s this one?” Lambert asks.

Geralt swallows. “A glory hole.”

“Oh man.” Lambert chuckles. “Anonymous… Faceless… Huh. This one time I was at a truck stop out on I—”

“Do you really have to tell us this?” Geralt grumbles.

“You got a blowjob at a truck stop?” Coën asks. “That’s like, dangerous man.”

“If you assholes would listen you’d hear that I did not, in fact, get a blowjob at a truck stop. I saw the glory hole, got offered more than that, saw this greasy-looking blonde-haired motherfucker with far too much cash running the gig, and got that shithead sent up for thirty years. That was my first trafficking case—and I did it on my own, thank you very much.”

“You did it on your own which means we weren’t able to trace his connections down,” Geralt reminds him.

“We did too.”

“Took weeks longer than it should have.”

“See what I mean? Salty. You can’t just appreciate the job got done. Ain’t any fish’ll do—just the huge fucking marlin.”

“Have you even read that book?”

“Uh, guys?” Coën interrupts them.


“Newcomer, main entrance.”

Geralt signals to the two closest guards, and they move that direction. A black Mercedes SUV pulls slowly into the lot. It stops for a moment, and Geralt approaches. It reverses, backs out of the lot, and leaves.

“Anyone get out of the car?” he asks.

“No one,” Coën answers.



Jaskier is on his knees in the stall. He’s nude, and hard, and when he shifts his body, Geralt can see a plug in his ass. He shivers. A man stands on the other side of the wall, and his cock is thrust through a good-sized glory hole. It gives him space to lean into it and push himself out to great effect. Jaskier toys with him. He flits his tongue against it, and wraps his fingers around the base. He sucks one ball into his mouth, and doesn’t hold back. Geralt hears the man groan on the other side of the wall. Jaskier pumps his cock with his fist and pulls back with a sly smile. He knows he’s getting to him, he knows he has him in the palm of his hand.

Geralt is fairly certain Jaskier has everyone in the palm of his hand. Anyone he wants.

Jaskier licks up and down the shaft, and then takes it into his mouth. Geralt has seen him give… numerous… blowjobs at this point, but every one manages to be different. This one turns on a dime from playful to merciless. Jaskier’s mouth makes those wet, squelching noises as he bobs on it, sucking hard.

The guy doesn’t last long. They get a closeup of his cum dripping down Jaskier’s cheek, and then they wrap for the day. Jaskier doesn’t get off a second time, and Geralt licks his lips. He doesn’t see Jaskier clean up, so he doesn’t know… Is the plug still in? Did he take it out? Is he going to…

Geralt’s body tenses more and more as they take apart the set. It is unbearably slow. One of the techs is painfully inefficient with the power tools they use to disassemble the stalls, and Geralt wants to ask them why they chose something that takes a goddamn hour to put together and take apart when the scene itself couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Maybe they’ll edit it into something else. Regardless, it’s insufferable. He has half a mind to go take it apart for the guy.

Jaskier’s smile seems to grow in proportion to Geralt’s frustration.

Geralt essentially ushers Yennefer and Triss to their car. “See you tomorrow,” he says.

Yennefer gives him an infuriatingly knowing look, and he closes her car door for her.

“Have a good night,” Lambert says, clearly holding back a laugh. Geralt doesn’t even care. He makes sure the door is locked and all but shoves Jaskier into the truck.

“I didn’t realize you like glory holes so much. Or is it just the public thing in general?” Jaskier asks.

“No. Well, I don’t know. Hmm.”

“Who was on the phone, Geralt?”

Geralt smiles at that. He did notice. He’s eager, too. “The lab.”

Jaskier bites his lip, but he can’t hide his smile. “Interesting,” he says. “What did they want?”

“I have a clean bill of health.”

Jaskier sucks in a breath and lets it out. His phone buzzes. He unlocks it. “Uh.”


Jaskier holds it up. On the screen is a picture of his bed. Their bed. Someone has been in his apartment. Jaskier reads, “Last chance.” He frowns and looks at Geralt. “The fuck does that mean?”

Geralt puts the truck in gear. "Fuck." He mashes the gas pedal to the floor.



Chapter Text


The door to Geralt’s apartment is closed and locked. Gun in hand, he unlocks it and lets the door swing open. Inside, it looks untouched. He walks through the rooms, inspecting everything. He has few possessions, but he has lived here for years. He realizes things have piled up in a way he would’ve been ashamed of ten years before. He does not, in fact, own all of the Mission Impossible Blu-rays, but he does have a few video games, both a laptop and a desktop computer, a closet full of serviceable and simple clothes, and cabinets stuffed with stale cereal and tinned green beans.

Nothing is out of place. He looks in the vents. He remembers Radovid and Marx’s apparent aptitude with hidden cameras, and he searches.

He finds nothing. Somehow, finding nothing feels infinitely worse than a busted door or window. Seeing nothing out of place makes him sure he’s missing something. He goes through the apartment again. He looks under the sofa and the bed. “He’s just showing he can get in,” Jaskier says. “They have the ability. They can pick locks or whatever.”

They may come back. Geralt latches the bolt inside the door and double-checks the window locks. For now, Jaskier is right: it seems like stupid threats. Taunting us. Normally he isn’t concerned with the prospect of break-ins. If someone wants into a house, they can always get in; he can always fight them off. But now, he watches Jaskier pick at his thumbnail, eyes restlessly sweeping the apartment.

“I’m going to kill that motherfucker,” Geralt says.

“You can’t just kill him,” Jaskier argues.

He holsters his pistol and cracks his knuckles. “He’s a human trafficking rapist piece of shit and I can.”

Jaskier makes a face that seems to say, “You make a good point,” but then he says, “You still shouldn’t kill him. Prison would probably be worse, actually.”

“Doubtful. They’ll end up at some minimum-security joint with underpaid guards desperate for cash, willing to take the first bribe offered.”

Jaskier frowns. “So, then what’s the point of any of this?”

Geralt forces the rage and cynicism from his mind. His vision clears. “Sorry. We just have to make sure the judge isn’t corrupt.”

“I told you Radovid has everyone in his pocket.”

“Not everyone. There are people like Roche who still have a moral code.”

“And if he fails?”

“Then there’s people like Sigi.”

“And what are they like?”

“The people who aren’t in Radovid’s pocket or moral—they’re in Sigi’s pocket.”

“So, you’re friends with a criminal.”

Geralt sighs. “I was friends with him before he was a criminal. And he’s not really a criminal, he just… has a different set of morals.”

“That’s interesting.”


“So… what exactly does he do, then, if he isn’t really a criminal but has a different set of morals?” He lowers his voice at the end of the phrase, as if imitating Geralt.

Geralt sits down on the sofa. “He’s a consultant.”

“A consultant? Hmm. And what exactly would you call what you do? I mean, when you aren’t being my personal body guard.”

“I’m not your personal body guard. I told you this before. I’m… an investigator.”

“Yes, yes. But you’re not exactly Sam Spade.”


“And you have friends in… high places. Whom you’ve worked with for years, it seems. And you have guns.”


“Whatever. And your ‘security’ team has interesting equipment they use to watch the parking lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fancy goggles and headsets.”

“You can get most of that at a sporting goods store.”

“Funny that I’d never thought of it, huh, in all the times I’ve been shopping.”

“You aren’t in security, and I see what you’re trying to do. It isn’t going to work.”

“What I’m trying to do? What am I trying to do?” Jaskier bats his eyelashes.

“You’re trying to get me to tell you… stuff.” Geralt shakes his head. “I already told you we’re ex-military. That tells you a lot.”

“Well, in the words of someone I know in security, ‘hmmm.’” Jaskier sits down on the coffee table, facing Geralt. Their knees touch. “Here’s the thing—remember all that time you spent telling me I wouldn’t let you know anything about me? Remember how you said I was closed off?”

“I… don’t… think I used those words.”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you, Geralt, you are faaar worse than I.” He puts his elbows on his knees and stares up at Geralt.

“You wouldn’t tell me your name. You know my name. And my job.”

“And then I told you about my first boyfriend, I told you about my career. I think—have I told you about my education?”

“Not… directly.”

“I showed you the first time I had sex.”

“That’s not really a—I don’t know what you want here, exactly. I started off in the Navy. How’s that?”

“Okay. I went to university at Oxenfurt.”

Geralt feels his eyebrows knit together. “That’s—”

“Expensive? Yes. Yes, it was. Shall we keep going? I’ll go first this time. I was nineteen when I fell in love with Valdo Marx. I thought I would die if I didn’t have him. He was the first person who seemed to understand me. He was the first person who made me think I wasn’t perverse.”

He stares expectantly at Geralt until he talks. “I… was recruited by Vesemir into doing… special work. They moved me to a type of special operations. I did it for ten years. Every year was worse than the year before.”

“I was with Val for five years. By the end of it, he had to be present for every scene I shot. If anyone else fucked me, he had to fuck me afterward, almost immediately, or he at least wanted me to suck him off. He wanted to do a collaring ceremony.”

Geralt isn’t exactly sure what that is, but he has a good enough idea. “You didn’t want to?”

“I don’t mind playing the sub, but I’m not a sub. I’ll let you spank me, I’ll get on my knees for you, I’ll let you tie me up—I’ll let you do anything you want if I’m feeling like it. But sometimes, I’m not feeling like it.”

“I take it you weren’t feeling like it for him.”

“I was not.”

“Because he got so possessive?”

“Eh. He also wasn’t very interesting. What seems fascinating and exotic to a nineteen-year-old isn’t the same thing that fascinates a twenty-four-year-old. Or a thirty-year-old, for that matter.”

“Are you thirty?”

Jaskier just smiles.

“What did you do for the years you couldn’t get cast in videos?”

“That isn’t how this works. Quid pro quo, Agent Rivia.”

“I was injured. Nearly bled to death. I got out of it. Came home. Lived on savings for almost a year. Found a girlfriend. Found another girlfriend. Found a boyfriend. Did construction for a year. Then I got a call from Vesemir. It was a murder case that no one seemed interested in solving.” He shrugs. “I’ve been doing this since then.”

“Did you solve the murder case?”

“Murderer was a judge, coincidentally. He’s dead now.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I didn’t have to. What did you do those years?”

“I taught a few classes and got another degree. Doesn't pay well. Is it hard?”


“To see all the terrible things you must see.”

“Is it hard to see the terrible things you see?”

“I don’t see terrible things. I provide a distraction from terrible things. Panem et circenses.”

“Do you?” Geralt looks at Jaskier. He nods. His eyes are the color of a winter sky. Geralt lets out a long exhalation. “Then distract me.”

Jaskier slides forward. Geralt catches him and pulls him all the way against him, so he sits astride his hips. Jaskier’s hands come to rest, gently, on Geralt’s chest. He tilts his face forward, and Geralt meets him at the halfway point.

Their lips come together, retreat, and then find each other again. Geralt opens his mouth to the kiss, and Jaskier’s tongue is eager to explore. Their tongues meet, finding a rhythm that heats Geralt’s blood. His hands move. They start on Jaskier’s thighs, and then slide around him, pulling him closer. He grips his back. He presses one hand to the base of Jaskier’s spine, and lets the other trace up to the back of his neck. He pushes his fingers into Jaskier’s hair. He brings his other hand up, following it, and cups his cheek. He pulls back and stares at him, and a thrum of some undefinable emotion runs along his nervous system. He grips him by the hips.

Jaskier lifts his hands to Geralt’s face. He runs his fingers along his jawbone, then up to his brow. He stares at him, as if he’s taking in every detail, every inch of skin, every bit of stubble or wrinkle. He traces a finger beneath an eye. He runs his middle finger across Geralt’s lips. Geralt parts them, and he sees Jaskier’s mouth curve into a soft smile. He pushes forward, and Geralt licks the tip of his finger. He hears Jaskier’s little intake of breath, and he feels himself mirror the smile. He watches him, and he sucks Jaskier’s finger into his mouth.

His skin is salty and hot, and he nibbles a little at it. Jaskier giggles in response, and the sound lifts something in Geralt’s stomach. His heart speeds, and their lips find each other again.

This time, the kiss is deeper. It’s messier. Jaskier tugs at Geralt’s shirt and gets it over his head. He pulls back and looks at him again, lips swollen from kissing. His hair is mussed. He looks up and down Geralt’s body, and grins. His mouth finds Geralt’s neck. He mouths at his throat, sucking kisses into his skin, definitely leaving marks. He laps at his collarbone, and then sucks kisses harder as he goes lower. He bites at Geralt’s nipple, and it sends shocks through Geralt’s body. He smooths Jaskier’s hair back and softly says, “I don’t actually think you distract.”

Jaskier kisses his stomach, and then presses his cheek to his chest. “Why?” He looks up at Geralt.

Geralt pushes his hair back again. “I still know the world’s there.” He pulls Jaskier back up. “It’s still a terrible place,” he tugs the shirt over Jaskier’s head, “full of shit people.” He kisses him again. “You don’t distract, but you make it…” Don’t say he makes it worthwhile, Geralt thinks, kissing him. Think of something less trite. “You make it…” He tries to kiss Jaskier again while he thinks, but Jaskier stops him, and looks at him, waiting. “You make it easier.” He looks at him, shirtless now, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. He rakes his fingers through his chest hair, and Jaskier smiles and does it back to him. “Hmm.”

They kiss again. Jaskier tastes sweet, somehow, and Geralt leans back against the sofa cushions. Jaskier rolls his body on top of him, and Geralt grips him and pulls him closer. In response, Jaskier unbuckles Geralt’s belt. He pulls it from his jeans and tosses it aside, and then unbuttons the fly. “I am going to get you out of these clothes,” he says, voice low, “and make it real easy for you.”

He slides Geralt’s jeans and boxers down in one motion, and then has to stop. They both laugh, and kick their shoes off. Geralt pulls his socks off with the rest of his clothes, and then he pulls Jaskier back down against him. “It would be easier if you weren’t wearing those pants,” he tells him. He flicks open Jaskier’s fly, running his hands over the bulge.

Jaskier smirks. He stands up and slides the jeans down to the floor. He’s wearing black briefs—stylish ones, cut to show off his straining erection. “What about these?” he teases.

Geralt makes a noise he has to admit is something like a growl.

In response, Jaskier turns around. He looks over his shoulder at Geralt. And then slowly, so slowly, he pulls down the briefs. He bends over with the motion.

The plug is still there, keeping his ass open and ready.

Geralt groans. He had forgotten, in the panic. The wave of raw lust that washes over him leaves him breathless. “Fuck… You’ve—you’ve had this in…”

Jaskier nods, biting at his lip. “Sitting beside you in your truck, walking beside you, sitting on your lap,” Jaskier turns. “Feeling it every time I moved, aching, thinking it could be you there, inside me, instead, filling me, stretching me…” He climbs back onto Geralt’s lap. “Wanting you…” He stops when his cock brushes against Geralt’s. They both moan.

Geralt slides his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, and then reaches around him. He squeezes his ass on one side. He lets his other hand explore. He traces it up and down Jaskier’s ass, reaching up for another kiss. He rocks his hand across the plug, and Jaskier squirms. “Mmmf…”

“Is that good?” Geralt whispers.

Jaskier nods.

“This whole time, this,” he jostles it again and feels Jaskier cling to him, “this has been making you think about my cock?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispers back. “Desperate for it.”

Geralt hums. He pushes Jaskier off of him and gets him on his hands and knees. He rubs his hands on Jaskier’s ass, squeezing each side and toying with him. He runs a finger around the flat base of the plug, and he sees the skin on Jaskier’s back prickle with goosebumps. He shivers. Geralt licks his lips. Then he leans forward and finally, finally licks along Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier makes a sound in his throat that is something like a cry.

Geralt laves the stretched muscle with his tongue. The piece of the plug clenched in the furl of muscle is narrow, and Geralt has no idea how big the rest of it is. He laps at it, and every swish of his tongue makes Jaskier tremble. Geralt grips the base and slowly, gently, pulls. He rubs Jaskier’s lower back with his other hand. He hears him moan as the plug grows bigger, and his body stretches around it. Geralt pulls it a little, and then pushes it back in. Jaskier’s legs shake. Geralt rocks it in and out, just a tiny bit, and then pulls again. He watches it stretch Jaskier’s body, and then the largest part slides free of Jaskier’s rim. Geralt sets it aside and stares. Jaskier’s ass, prepared and waiting. He grips the globes of his ass, holds him open, and licks into him. He runs his tongue along the sensitive rim, flitting it, and Jaskier quivers and moans.

He pulls back to say, “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

Jaskier pushes back and groans, “More, give me more…”

Geralt obliges. He experimentally presses against him with his finger, and Jaskier grunts in encouragement. There’s still a small bottle of lube on the coffee table, and Geralt uncaps it and dribbles it directly onto Jaskier’s ass. He catches the excess with a finger and slides it right into Jaskier’s body. He pushes back in with two.

The plug was modest—designed to tease. Geralt curls his hand against Jaskier and fingers him open further. He keeps his other hand on Jaskier’s lower back and delights in the feel of him rocking back against him, seeking more. Jaskier turns to look back at him. His breath is quick and shallow, and he makes little mewls. Geralt wants to see more of his face. He stops, turns him over, and pushes back in.

Jaskier’s cock twitches under his inspection. It’s dark and swollen, engorged, and Geralt can’t help but lower his head. He mouths at it first, lazily. He crooks his fingers a little, and Jaskier gasps. Geralt licks him. He tastes him. He takes him deep.

Geralt knows it isn’t as artful as some of Jaskier’s experiences, but he stares up at him as he sucks it, telegraphing how much it means to him, how much he loves this. Jaskier’s eyes are half-closed, but he keeps them fixed on Geralt, moaning. He whispers his name and grips his hair, cursing through his bliss. Geralt doesn’t even want to blink. He watches Jaskier’s face show emotion after emotion as they stare at each other. Geralt pulls off and licks again. He toys with his frenulum, fluttering his tongue, and watches Jaskier’s eyes lose focus, but it returns when he sucks down again, hollowing his cheeks with suction, hooking three fingers, now, into his body.

Every tremble of Jaskier’s body seems to quake through Geralt as well. Every gasp steals his breath. Every moan seems an echo of his own pleasure, and he wants to fuck him, too, but he doesn’t know if he can make himself stop long enough to change his position. His jaw aches and his fingers start to cramp, but he keeps going and Jaskier’s cries are like music. Jaskier’s hips start to pulse against him, and Geralt takes him as deep as he can, past his gag reflex, trying to suck air through his nose.

Fuck, fuck, wait,” Jaskier gasps, and Geralt pulls back. He can feel his mouth is slick with spit and Jaskier’s fluids. He pulls back his hand, as well, and gently strokes at Jaskier’s rim. “Fuck, Geralt, I want—please, fuck me.”

Geralt wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and then kisses Jaskier. Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck, and Geralt pulls his fingers back, gripping his cock, holding himself back.

“You taste like me,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt groans, letting the kiss go filthy and messy. He dribbles more of the lube onto his cock, covering it, while their tongues tangle together. He pulls back and pushes Jaskier’s legs up, exposing him to his view. He can see his body, open, ready, waiting, and he lines up. He stares into Jaskier’s eyes and pushes forward, just enough that the head passes Jaskier’s rim. “Yes,” Jaskier whispers. “So good…”

He presses further. Jaskier’s body is all wet heat, smooth, and just stretched enough that he feels nothing but pleasure. It’s still a hot pressure around Geralt’s cock, and he inches forward, watching Jaskier’s mouth go slack and drop open as he sinks into him. He holds himself still. He feels sweat on his chest and his brow. Jaskier makes a noise from somewhere deep in his chest, and Geralt can only nod in response. Yes, he thinks, I feel it, too. When he’s fully seated, he reaches up and caresses Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier tilts his head into his palm, and then leans forward for another kiss.

Geralt pulls back and thrusts as he kisses him. Jaskier moans into his mouth, then licks him, and Geralt does it again. This time, Jaskier bites at his bottom lip, and Geralt pulls back and looks at him. Jaskier grins with that mischievous, flirtatious smile, so Geralt lets himself go.

He fucks him hard. Deep. He finds a rhythm that keeps Jaskier breathless. He pushes him into the corner of the sofa, leg hooked over his shoulder, and pumps his hips into him until all Jaskier can do is try to hold on. He leverages himself so that each thrust brushes that spot inside that Geralt knows will make him unable to keep his eyes open, and when he starts to close them, when they start to roll back he says, “Look at me. Look at me, Julian.” He does. His eyes flash, dilated wide and dark, and he keeps them fixed on Geralt as he strokes hard into him, consumed with the feeling, with the sound of Geralt’s sack slapping against him, Geralt’s soft grunts, and Jaskier’s breath. He presses a hand against Jaskier’s chest, and trails it down his stomach as he fucks into him, and Jaskier looks desperate, like he wants to be touched so bad it hurts, so Geralt gives in. He wraps his hand around Jaskier’s cock, and with a pair of urgent thrusts, Jaskier comes. He throws his head back with it and cries out, sobbing in ecstasy as Geralt nurses it out of him. His body clenches up tight, and Geralt keeps pounding into his body as aftershocks course through him and then—then, Jaskier looks back up at him and Geralt loses it. His balls feel tight. He shakes. He tilts his forehead against Jaskier’s and with a final trio of thrusts, he falls over the edge.

His orgasm hits him, rattles through him, splits him apart like flame. It devours him. He feels like he must fill Jaskier up, pulsing into him, feeling the hot clench of his body coax out every drop. His hips stutter, and then finally stop, and he keeps their foreheads together until he can breathe. When he pulls himself up, Jaskier’s chest is still flushed red, rising and falling with his still-labored breath. Jaskier nods, and Geralt nods, too, and tries to smile.

Then he presses up on Jaskier’s knees and holds him there while he slowly, gently pulls out. Jaskier tries to peek down, too, and Geralt watches the trickle of his cum drip, slowly, from Jaskier’s deliciously pink, gaping rim.

He watches it intently. He wants to remember this moment forever. He thinks he will most certainly remember this moment forever.

Jaskier hums, and Geralt leans forward and kisses him. It’s gentle this time. They’re lazy with it. “I’ll get a cloth,” Geralt says.

“Let’s take a shower, instead. I love your soap.”

Geralt smiles. “Shower or bath?”

“Shower, this time. Then I want food.” He grins.

Geralt leads Jaskier to the bathroom and turns the water on hot. He takes in his appearance—his hair is even more of a mess, sticking all over the place. He has cum smeared on his stomach, dripping, and Geralt can’t resist running a finger through it before it dries or is washed away. Geralt knows he can probably feel his cum, too, where he’s filled him, and he’s so thoroughly debauched and marked that Geralt feels himself start to rouse again. He pushes Jaskier into the shower, steps in after him, and closes the glass door. He washes his hair for him and scrubs him with the soap he likes so much. They breathe in the aroma and the heat, and Jaskier toys with his hair more than he washes it, but he returns the favor. Geralt ignores the stirring as Jaskier cleans his cock, but Jaskier, of course, smiles and teases him. “I have to feed you first,” Geralt says. He crowds him close to the wall, pressing him against the tile. “And then you’re going to fuck me until I can’t stand.”

“You look pretty sturdy. That might take awhile.”

“It will.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes. He shuts off the water and grabs towels from the rack. They dry off, stealing kisses, and step out of the bathroom.

Geralt smiles, watching Jaskier smile back at him, and then there’s a crack, a splintering, and a loud smash. The bolt on his door splits from the wall, and it swings open.

Five men rush in. They have guns.

Valdo Marx steps through after them. His face is impassive as he takes in their state. “Get dressed,” he says. “You’re both coming with me.”



Chapter Text


Geralt is not an easy man to subdue. He shoves Jaskier back into the bathroom and doesn’t hesitate: he disarms the first of Marx’s men easily, taking his gun by the barrel and ripping it from his hands. They don’t immediately shoot him, so they’re clearly trying to incapacitate, rather than kill. He punches the guy in the face and moves to the next one. He dodges a fist, grips his arm, and rolls him over his shoulder and sends him crashing into an end table. He lunges at the next one, but pulls up short as he hears something smash behind him. Then he hears a pistol cock. The hair on his neck prickles and he freezes and turns. Marx has Jaskier. He’s holding a Beretta, pointing it vaguely in the direction of Jaskier’s head. Geralt lifts his hands.

Marx nods, and two of the men grip him from each side, holding him in place. He lets them, watching Marx’s trigger finger. Then he feels a prick of a needle in the top of his shoulder. He turns and tries to fight again, but Marx says, “Tsk tsk, Mr. Rivia,” and wiggles his gun.

Geralt’s goes dizzy before it gets dark. Before he goes under he hears Marx laugh. “As if I would ever hurt you.” He wonders if they’re going to take him, too, or if they’ll only take Jaskier, and then everything goes black.


Geralt has been captured before. He has been tied up, imprisoned. Once, notably, he was even subjected to “advanced” interrogation methods, which had been, in a word, unpleasant. He was waterboarded as part of his training, and that was one of the worst things he has experienced. The list of worse feelings is short: the first time he killed a man, waking up after not bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the neck, and this. He is bound and gagged, seated in a metal folding chair. His arms are stretched up and out, with a spreader bar that rests on his shoulders, like the very first guard had been. There’s ball gag in his mouth, and saliva drips, uncomfortably, down his chin. His legs are tied, which isn’t a new experience, but they’re bound with interlocking knots that crisscross and hold him in place. He recognizes the work, now. Marx has a brand. Geralt strains, again, against the bar. He tells himself to calm down and wait. At least they dressed me. He isn’t wearing any shoes.

They are in a well-appointed room with a shiny parquet floor and a sort of wide plinth in the middle, like a low stage. There are seats around the room, and dark, paneled walls with wainscot trim. The light fixtures cast a reddish glow about the place, and Geralt realizes it must be some sort of set. It feels like something out of Eyes Wide Shut, and Geralt hated that movie, and he hates that he’s living some powerful bastard’s sexual fantasy right now, which was probably fed by that very film.

But the bad feeling has nothing to do with his bindings or the setting. The bad feeling is a result of seeing Jaskier across from him, sitting in one of the wingback chairs.

Jaskier is wearing Geralt’s clothes, and they’re just a little bit too big—not much, as Jaskier is actually fairly muscled and tall, just not as large as Geralt. He isn’t tied, but he looks terrified. He’s covering it as well as he can, but it’s clear, in his eyes. A young woman wearing a negligee and stilettos carries a tray to him, and it holds one of those wide-brimmed, old-fashioned champagne glasses, full to the brim. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispers to her. “There are other studios than Empire. You can get help.” Geralt can’t see her face. “This isn’t a movie,” Jaskier continues to hiss. “This isn’t an act—please help us, and we can help you, too.”

“Don’t you know that everything’s an act?” Marx steps out of the doorway to the room. “All the world’s a stage.” He walks across the room. “I remember when you were in that play. Twelfth Night.”

“It’s As You Like It, you twat.” Jaskier mutters, “Can’t even get your clichés right, for fuck’s sake.” The fear leaves his eyes, replaced by a seething, loathing look. He sets his jaw.

Marx licks his lips. “You’re still so spirited. I love that about you, J.”

“Where are we?”

“You don’t recognize it? I guess we’ve made some changes over the years.”

Jaskier purses his lips. “Why aren’t we at your house? Why Radovid’s?”

“He agreed we needed to do this the right way.” Marx looks at the girl. “Give us a kiss before you go, sweetheart.” She pecks him on the cheek and saunters out of the room. She’s wobbly in the heels, and Geralt wonders how long she’s been here. Marx sits in the chair beside Jaskier. He stares at him for a long time. Jaskier stares back, as if he’s showing dominance to an animal. Marx lifts his hand, as if he’s going to touch Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier slaps it. “Oo-hoo. So much spirit. That fire you have, J…” He sighs. “It’s what I miss most, you know?” His voice suddenly turns plaintive. “Getting all of it under control. There’s no one else like you. No one.” He leans toward Jaskier, and Geralt strains at the bar. “I saw that video you did with Drogodar last winter. I saw the way you knelt for him, the way you let him use you, J, but he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t have it. I could see it in your eyes. You need someone who understands you, to make that connection. Somebody who recognizes the spark, who has one of his own. I could see you making decisions—you wouldn’t let him make them for you. You need someone who can take care of you.”

“I’m actually quite able to take care of myself now, thanks.”

“But you shouldn’t have to, baby. I can treat you so much better—”

If I want to be taken care of, I am also quite capable of choosing someone who will take excellent care of me.”

“Not like me. Remember, J? Those trips to the Caymans? We made that beach your playground. Everyone was so jealous—they wanted you so bad. No tan lines, remember? The fun we had… And Amsterdam, London, Tokyo…”

“I remember just fine. It was fun for a few years. And then it wasn’t.”

Marx wets his lips again. “That night in Seoul. We kept the lights on, the curtains open, and made love where everyone could see you, and how magnificent you were.” He shakes his head. “No one will ever be able to do the things to your body that I know how to do. The connection we have, J. We’re perfect for each other. You’re so perfect, J.”

Jaskier looks pointedly away. “What do you want?”

“I told you. I want you to come back. But you wouldn’t come on your own. You don’t understand, do you? I have to show you.” His eyes are wide.

“Understand what?”

“How much I love you.”

Jaskier makes a face. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, J. I love that spirit you have—it calls out to me.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I see it, still, when I watch you. You look into the camera, and you look for me.” Marx taps himself on his chest. “I know you do.”

“That’s acting. It isn’t for you. It’s for whoever is watching the video.”

“No. No it isn’t." Marx's voice gets louder, but then he softens it to just above a whisper. "I know what’s happening, but it’s okay. I’m not going to let it.”


“It’s him. He’s trying to pull you away from me.” He leans toward Jaskier.

“I was away from you a long time before I met him, Val.”

“We spent some time apart, but that was just you waiting for me to show you how much you mean to me. I know now, that you needed me to show you how much I love you. I didn’t show you enough before, and that’s why you left. But I will now. I am now. I’m going to take care of you, J. I’m going to prove it.” Marx stands and walks across the plinth, to Geralt. He cups his cheek, and Geralt thrashes in his bindings. His voice goes monotone. “I’m going to prove it, and I’m going to record it so that we can always have this memory to cherish.”

“Record what? What are you talking about?”

“This one…” He strokes a finger across Geralt’s jawline. He sucks in a sharp breath. “He’s strong. I see what you think you like about him. So I’ll be stronger.”

“What do you mean? What are you planning?”

Marx’s eyes gleam in the rosy lights. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Pain,” he whispers.

Jaskier stands up. “No. I’m not going to—” A pair of men come through the door. They’re dressed, bizarrely, in formal suits with dove grey gloves, like some sort of strange duo of butlers or footmen.

“Mr. Marx, sir,” one says, “Mr. Radovid sent us to collect your friend. His dinner is prepared.”

Marx’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Just as well. You need to be taken care of first. I had them make your favorites. And then, I’m having a bath prepared for you, to wash away these past years. And then…” He licks his lips. “Then we’ll go to bed.”

Jaskier looks repulsed, but then his face goes neutral. “I’m really tired, Val. I think I’d rather just sleep.”

“I’m just going to make it good for you, baby. You won’t have to do a thing. I saw your stream the other night. You took those toys like such a good boy, and I saw how much you liked it.”

“I’m not a boy, Val. I’m a grown man and if I say I’m tired, I’m tired.”

“So petulant.” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s just get you some dinner and see how you feel after you eat.”

Geralt sees Jaskier pull in a long breath. He exhales through his mouth. “Right.” He looks at Geralt, and then back at Marx. Geralt can see him processing, thinking. His face goes perfectly neutral, and then he curls his shoulders in, lowering his gaze. “You’ve really waited for me, for all this time?” he asks. His voice, as he speaks, shifts into a softer tone.

Marx visibly swallows. “More than that. I was mad at first, I admit. I didn’t understand why you were testing me like that. But I learned. I’ve paid attention. I could see it in your eyes, last week, when you were filming—that you were finally ready to come back. I saw the way you looked for me during your solo scene. That’s why I sent them to collect you.”

Jaskier clears his throat. “You sent those men to break in and ‘collect’ me?”

Marx nods. “But then he came and stopped them. I knew, someday, someone was going to try to take you from me. I knew I was going to need to show you how much more I love you than anyone else. I’m ready now. And now nothing will ever take you from me again. It’ll be like before—but better. It’s just me and Radovid, no one directing us, telling you what to do. You’ll only need to listen to me, the person who loves you most in the world.” His voice is low and earnest, and Geralt thinks it would be pathetic if it weren’t so disturbing. “The only person who truly loves you and understands you. And I’ll only ever make you feel good, J. You know I’ve only ever wanted you to feel good.”

“Why don’t you untie my friend? That will make me feel better about eating.”

“J, baby, you know I can’t do that. He’s still very strong. We need to give it a little time before we take any risks like that.”

“I’m not eating anything until you at least take the gag out.” He tilts his head down and looks up at Marx through his eyelashes. “Please?” he asks in a low voice.

Marx sucks in a breath. Geralt sees his eyes scan down Jaskier’s body. He squeezes his hands closed a few times. “I see. Would that make you feel better, baby?”

Jaskier nods.

“Do you want to undo the gag?”

Jaskier nods again, eyelashes fluttering.

“Okay. But no touching other than that. We don’t play until after we eat our dinner.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmurs, deferent and soft. He steps around Geralt. His fingers brush against Geralt’s hair as he unbuckles the gag. As he pulls it free, he surreptitiously slides his other hand down Geralt’s shoulder and squeezes. Geralt closes his aching jaw and pulls in a deeper breath. It's an immediate relief.

“Lead the way,” Marx directs the servants. One goes ahead of them, and the other, without sparing Geralt a glance, follows behind.

“Oh, please close the door,” he hears Jaskier request. “I don’t want anyone else to play with my toy.”

“Of course,” Marx agrees. “Shut it.”

The door slams closed. Geralt thinks. They definitely have cameras. Someone might be watching right now. He tries to turn as much as possible and spot them, but it’s futile. His mobility is limited. Think. He pulls against the bar. It’s definitely solid metal, but the cuffs aren’t. They’re leather, attached to the bar with links of chain. “Huh,” Geralt says. Evidently, they aren’t used to people actually trying to break free—at least people with years of training.

The problem isn’t breaking out, then, in and of itself. Geralt will need to break out quickly, before they can send guards to stop him—and he needs to find Jaskier and get him out.

Then, he needs to call Roche. He’s been abducted, and he isn’t afraid to testify. It isn’t trafficking, but it is kidnapping. Pain, he said. Pain. What does that mean? Torture? Geralt wonders if they’re planning to film him being maimed or if Marx actually plans to kill him. He remembers there’s a Nicolas Cage movie about snuff films, and he chuckles. “Fucking Nic Cage,” he mutters. What was the movie called? He could search for it in seconds if he had access to his phone. That’s what he’s going to do right after calling Roche. All he can think of for the moment, inexplicably, is the pyramid mausoleum Nicolas Cage owns in New Orleans, and it really isn’t helpful. He looks at the wrist cuffs. If he leverages the bar against something, he should be able to snap the connection—he can see where it’s welded together. Then what? He only sees the one door. He tries to listen for anything outside the room, but no sound penetrates the door. Break the cuff, untie the rope, make it to the door, listen, open it enough to look out, procure a weapon, incapacitate any guards, secure a line of sight… He forces himself to focus. Once he determines if there’s a guard, he’ll be able to plan.

It isn’t pleasant. He has to twist his wrist to grip the bar, and his arm protests at the awkward angle as he holds it to leverage against his force on the other side. He exhales, thinking, This better not break my fucking wrist, and he commits, jerking his arm down.

The link holds its place, and the entire bar bends instead, wrapping around his shoulder. “The fuck?” Geralt tries to lift his arms, to force it over his head. His muscles cramp with the angle, and his shoulders feel like they’re about to pop out of the sockets. If they do, you get them back in. Come on. He strains, lowers his head as much as he can, and with a hiss of discomfort, gets the thing over his head. He manages to get it beneath his bound legs, puts his weight on it, and snaps the welds free from each cuff.

Then he has to figure out the damn knots. “How the hell…” He calms himself and focuses, finds an end, and pulls it slack. Once the knots start to unravel, he shakes it free easily. He picks up the rope and the gag. He shakes out his sore, fatigued muscles as he creeps to the door. He leans against it, but hears nothing. “Soundproof,” he murmurs. He turns the handle and carefully, quietly, pulls open the door.

The guard outside the door is dressed the same as the strange servants. He’s playing on his cellphone. Geralt scans the hall, sees no one else, and gets his arm around the man’s neck. He squeezes off the man’s carotid for five, four, three, two, and he goes limp. Geralt knows he’ll only be out for seconds, so he gets the gag in the man’s mouth first. Then he drags him back into the room. He’s disoriented as he wakes, and Geralt already has him half-tied by the time he’s fully conscious. “You’ll be fine,” he says. He picks up the man’s phone in the hallway, but it’s locked. It uses facial recognition, but it won’t work with the gag in the man’s mouth. “Unlock it.” He holds it to the man's hand.

The man just glares at him. Geralt enters zeroes. The phone unlocks.

“Hmm,” he says. He dials Vesemir.

He doesn’t answer. Eskel is at the lake house. What’s Lambert’s number? He stares at the numbers for a moment. “Oh. Right.” He dials Lambert.

Lambert picks up on the third ring. “This better be good,” he growls.

“Jaskier and I have been abducted, I think we’re in Radovid’s townhouse.”

“Fuck! Are you okay?”

“No. Not sure how I’m going to get out of this without… Right. Get Roche… and Sigi.”


“He doesn’t go by that name anymore, remember?”

“Shit, right. Reuven. I’ll head straight there.”

“Not by yourself. Get Coën.”

“You know he isn’t good at this sort of thing. He’s an intelligence guy.”

“We need somebody.”

“I, uh, I may know someone.”


“My neighbor. His name’s Aiden.”

“You’re going to bring your neighbor on a rescue mission?" Geralt shakes his head. "You know what, fine. This is taking too long. Just, make sure you get Roche.” He hears thumping in the background over the phone, but it’s still quiet there. “I got a bad feeling…”

“This your phone?”

“I’ll keep it on me.”

“Be there soon. As long as it takes me to get over the river.”

“Mm.” Geralt hangs up. The floor is warm beneath his feet. It's a strange sort of opulence. There's something wrong about it.

The stage room must be at one end of the house, with another large room opposite. The hallway appears to stretch down the middle, with a door mirroring it at the other end. This place must be massive. The floors are parquet in the hall, too, with a runner. Several doors also lead from the hall to rooms along each side, and Geralt can see that there’s an opening, presumably a staircase, in the middle. They have to see me on security cameras, he thinks. Why haven’t they come?

He needs something to use as a weapon. He opens the first door he comes to. Inside is a room set with a massage table. He closes the door and moves to the next room. It holds a washing machine and dryer, and he stares and blinks at it for a moment, remembering these are actual people. He moves to the next room. It contains what appears to be a hospital bed with IV equipment. “The fuck?” He moves on.

The next room is by the staircase, and he peeks up. He can hear a murmur of voices upstairs. There’s definitely someone there, and he needs to find a better way up if he wants to have even the slightest chance of surprise. He opens the door.

The room is set up like some sort of medieval torture chamber, as if the Inquisition has returned and they’re extracting confessions. This room, unlike the others, also holds film equipment. Pain, Geralt thinks. He unlocks the phone again and does a quick search. It’s 8mm. Joaquin Phoenix was in that too? “Hm.” He picks up a knife.

Geralt can hear a piano playing somewhere in the house. He opens the next door and finds a sort of small, intimate foyer with an elevator. The floor indicator is patinaed metal, and shows the lift at the fourth floor. Geralt pries open the doors. He looks down, and then up. Judging by the indicator, he's in the basement, which is above a subbasement. It's a long way up.

A service ladder is attached to the wall in the shaft on his right. He holds the knife in his mouth and jumps.



Chapter Text


Geralt catches hold of the ladder and holds his weight with his arms. It strains his already-fatigued muscles, and he grunts around the blade held in his mouth. He grimaces and steadies himself, looking up and down the shaft. The metal rungs of the ladder are rough and abrasive on the bottom of his feet. He wishes he had a belt to secure the knife. His jaw still hurts, and clamping it around the blade doesn’t help. He climbs. The shaft is surprisingly well lit by ambient light, which streams in from each floor. Lucky this building is two hundred years old, he thinks. It appears that the shaft doors on the main floors of the house are gates.

When he reaches the first floor, he assesses the situation. He’s now three floor up from the base of the shaft, and three floors down from the lift. A small lip is just inside the door, but it is too narrow to stand on, and serves more as a threshold. Fuck, he thinks. The gate itself is shaped with intricately curved metal in an art nouveau motif. He can see through its gaps, to a hall beyond. He sees no one.

The gate, he realizes, will open more easily than the shaft door in the basement. Geralt grips the ladder with one hand. He stretches across the shaft and tries to reach the gate latch, but it is beyond his fingertips. He grunts, sliding his hand down and leaning closer.

A piano is played somewhere in the townhouse. It sounds like the music comes from above. Geralt imagines Marx’s hands on Jaskier. He grinds his teeth down on the knife blade and reaches for a piece of metal pipe that runs down the shaft beside the door.

There is no foothold. Geralt swings his body and attempts to find purchase for a foot on the threshold. His arm aches with the strain, and he holds himself in place, grips the latch, and opens the gate. He slips out, and slides it closed behind him.

The elevator is set in an alcove to the side of a hall. He peers around the corner and sees a long, imposing foyer, with a grand staircase at its side. To the rear of the house, he sees a closed set of double doors with the lights on. The music definitely comes from further above. It echoes down the stairs. They look marble.

He sends a text to Lambert: Foyer looks unguarded. They have him upstairs. He tucks the phone back in his pocket without waiting for a reply. He reopens the gate and leaps onto the ladder. The soles of his feet scrape against the rungs. He pulls the gate closed behind him, arms screaming with the stretch and strain, and climbs.

The light is only a bit brighter on this floor. Second floor, he thinks. This time, he hears voices. He takes a steadying breath and hauls himself over to the pipe, and then opens the gate, hoping it’s been oiled.

The alcove with the elevator is shadowed and dark. The floors are marble here, too, and light reflects on it from the front and the rear of the house. Geralt hears the pianist in the front room, and he recognizes the tune, but can’t name it. When he sneaks a glance around the corner, he sees one of the men in suits is playing.  He wonders how many servants they have.

The middle of the floor feels like an intimate space, with the same dark paneled walls as the basement chamber, and blood red upholstery on antique chairs. A table in the center holds orchids. A petal has fallen to the floor.

The voice comes from the rear, and Geralt ducks low and creeps out until he can see. The dining room, he realizes. Jaskier sits at the table, and Marx sits directly beside him, despite its size. He talks to him in a low, tender voice.

Geralt realizes he’s holding something and trying to coax Jaskier into eating. He also realizes he’ll be spotted easily if he makes a sound. He ducks back into the shadowy alcove, thinking. There’s no space on this floor for a kitchen, so it must be somewhere above or, most likely, below. Food would be brought up with the elevator, and while it’s a gamble, he imagines they only have one. There has to be a staff area, like a butler’s pantry. He slides his hand along the wall, and finds the edge of a subtle, mostly-hidden door.

He opens it, and finds a service staircase and passageway leading to another door on the other side, serving area beyond. It’s open, and a servant stands at the far end. He’s young, and Geralt takes a few steps forward and waits for him to turn, holding the knife behind his back. The man turns, and his eyes go wide. “Sir?” His eyes go up and down, taking in Geralt’s bare feet and rumpled clothes.

“I need some help,” Geralt says in a low voice.

“Are you a guest?” He peeks through the glass door, checking the dining room.

“Uh, yeah. Staying… upstairs.”

“Do you need something?”

“I, hm, was wanting a… drink…” He inspects the room as he talks. There are spare table settings, it seems, glasses and some decanters, as well as closed cabinets.

“Which room are you staying in?”

“…Mar—er, Val’s?”

If it confuses the man, he covers it well. Geralt supposes there are frequently multiple guests in any number of the rooms here. “There’s a wet bar, sir, by the television.”

“Yeah, uh, I need different… Scotch.”

“I see. I will have something sent up—”

“No, I need you to get it now.”


“Go get it for me.” He gestures back toward the staircase. “You know they’re… occupied.”

The man peeks out again, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Very well. I’ll return shortly.” He disappears down the stairs.

Geralt opens a few cabinets and closes them. He turns and opens another, then smiles. He pulls out a table runner and a cloth napkin. He peeks through the window. Marx and Jaskier’s backs are to him. How to do this, he thinks. “Hmm.” He tucks the knife through his belt loop, and decides to just go.

He’s through the door and across the room in seconds. He tosses the runner around Marx and pulls it tight, knotting it behind his chair. Marx is stunned for a second, and then starts to yell.

“Shove the napkin in his mouth,” he tells Jaskier.

“No, J, no—”

Jaskier doesn’t waste any time. He clamps his fingers around Marx’s jaw and cuts off his pleas with the napkin. “Won’t he just spit it out?”

“Push it back far enough he won’t. Just don’t choke him.” Marx flails, attempting to spit it out and fight, but Geralt tightens the knot. “Are you okay?” He ignores the stifled noises Marx makes.

“I am now,” Jaskier says. “I expected you’d get free, but I thought it would take a bit longer. I was…”

“It’s okay. We need to get him out of here before that… waiter… comes back.”

“Radovid likes having ‘manservants,’” Jaskier explains. “We can take him up—” He looks up. The pianist has come into the dining room.

“Fuck,” Geralt says. “I forgot about you.”

“Um,” says the pianist. He pivots.

“Why’d you stop playing?” Jaskier asks.


Jaskier winks at him and licks up the side of Marx’s face. Marx makes muffled sounds of protest.

The pianist’s face turns into an “Oh” expression. He hustles back to the piano.

Marx flails again. The table runner is slick, and it comes loose enough for him to twist his arm back. Geralt feels a sharp pain in his side. He looks down and finds a steak knife embedded in his abdomen. He is momentarily stunned, and Marx uses the time to push himself away from the table, reaching up and pulling the napkin from his mouth.

Geralt punches him. Jaskier stuffs the napkin back in his mouth and Geralt tosses him over his shoulder, grunting. He lets himself look down. He’s bleeding. A lot. Marx kicks and thrashes against him, and Geralt winces, gritting his teeth, and follows Jaskier to the elevator. He presses the call button and then holds Marx’s legs. He tries to pull the knife from his belt loop.

Geralt’s world starts to spin as they get into the lift. Jaskier presses the fifth-floor button, and everything starts to go dim. “Geralt? Geralt! No!”


Geralt awakens in a large bedroom. He’s handcuffed, and his ankles are bound in another spreader bar. He tries to say, “This is getting old,” but his mouth only makes a feeble sound. He gradually becomes aware of his surroundings. Jaskier is bound in a chair beside him.

“I tried,” Marx says, pacing back and forth. “I tried to show you. You wouldn’t listen. You refuse to see.” He turns and his eyes seem to bore into Geralt before turning to Jaskier. “You’re trying to leave me again. I won’t let you.”

Geralt looks down. The knife has been removed, and it’s bleeding even worse. “Val, I thought you liked to play,” Jaskier says in a teasing voice.

“I don’t believe you.” Marx’s voice has that monotonous quality again. He runs his hand along Jaskier’s face. “I don’t understand why you have to lie. You’re everything to me, J, and no one is ever going to love you like I do again. Ever.”

“You can’t love someone you don’t even know, Valdo.”


“I said you can’t love someone you don’t even know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you don’t love me. You love fucking me. There’s a difference.”

“No, I do. See what I’m doing for you?” He gestures to Geralt. “You’ll never see. I let you spend too long on your own.” He shakes his head. “It’s ruined now. You're ruined now.”

“So let us go.”

“No. No, I’ll never let you go, J. You’re going to be mine forever.” He wraps his hand around Jaskier’s neck. “Forever.” He squeezes, and Geralt hears Jaskier’s breath quicken. Geralt tries to move, to launch himself at him, but his body feels heavy and limp. “But first…” Marx lets up. He stands, and goes to a wardrobe. He opens it and pulls out a camera and a tripod. “I have to make sure everything will be recorded perfectly. I only have one chance to get this right.”

“Get what right?”

Marx doesn’t answer. He extends the tripod and sets it up across the room. Jaskier’s breath is still heavy and loud. Marx turns on the camera. He checks the view, moves the lens in and out, and then hums in satisfaction. “Good,” he whispers. “Always so pretty on camera.” He pulls out a knife. It’s the one Geralt had in his pants, and that just figures. He actually got a knife, and it’s only going to be used against him. Marx carries it over and slides it, flat, across Geralt’s neck.

“No,” Jaskier says. “No please, don’t.”

“It’s so sharp. Look—it shaves him.” Geralt glares at him in silence, and he scrapes the blade across his stubble. He looks down at his side and gestures to the wound. “See how he’s bleeding? A man can’t live long like that.”

“Please, Val, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry—I’ll come back.”

“It’s too late.”

Jaskier slips out of his chair, onto his knees. His ankles are in a spreader, too, and he is also handcuffed. “Val…” Jaskier’s voice goes soft again, like before. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

Marx takes the knife to the neck of Geralt’s shirt, and then tears it down the middle. Jaskier leans forward, onto his hands and knees, crawling forward. “All this skin…” Marx whispers. “I think I should carve my name onto him, to mark him, first.” He looks down at Jaskier. “And you, too. So anyone who sees what you become will see my mark.”

He leans forward and holds the blade to Geralt’s chest. Jaskier reaches forward, as if he’s pleading, and a gleam catches Geralt’s eye. Without hesitation, Jaskier plunges the steak knife into the back of Marx’s thigh. Marx screams. He turns to Jaskier, wielding the knife. “You little slut, who do you think you are? Kneel!”

“No,” Jaskier says. Marx holds up the knife and lunges at him. Jaskier rolls to the side, and Marx’s knife plunges into the floor. He yanks on it, but Jaskier is quick. He holds the steak knife to Marx’s neck with his handcuffed hands.

The door bursts open. Lambert walks through, holding a gun. “Why didn’t you answer the goddamn phone?” he complains. He assesses the room. “Huh,” he says. He calmly strides across the room, leans down, and punches Marx in the face. He falls hard, and Lambert presses him down with his boot.

Jaskier crawls to Geralt and unfastens the ankle spreader. “He’s been stabbed.”

“I can see that.”

“We need to get him to the hospital.”

“Get that spreader over here on this one.”

Geralt’s vision fades in and out. “I’m trying,” he hears Jaskier whine.

He tries to say, “He’s wearing handcuffs,” but all that comes out is another low rumble of sound.

“Where’s the key to these handcuffs?”

“Probably a spare in the nightstand.”

“Well, get yourself out of the spreader, too, and then get the key.” Marx groans, and Lambert pushes harder. “Don’t piss me off any more than I already am, motherfucker.”

Jaskier unfastens his own spreader and shakes out his legs. “We need to get something on Geralt—it’s bleeding bad.”

“Secure this one first, then we take care of the big guy.”

Jaskier mumbles something and gets the key from the nightstand. He unlocks his handcuffs and puts them on Marx instead. He gets his ankles in the spreader and fastens it. Then he rushes to Geralt. He gets him out of his cuffs, and then pulls back his torn shirt to look at the cut. “It’s deep.”

Lambert glares at Marx. “Stay,” he commands, like he’s a dog. He ducks into the en suite and returns with a towel. “Alright,” he says. “Lots of pressure. Just add more if he bleeds through.”

Jaskier looks pale, but he nods. Geralt manages to lift his head. “Roche?”

“He’s downstairs,” Lambert says. “Saying hello.”

“Hel-lo?” Geralt grunts.

“This one’s pal, Radovid, is downstairs.” He takes the camera off the tripod. “Huh. Still recording. That’s interesting, isn’t it?” He looks at Marx.

Marx looks paler than Jaskier.

“Alright,” Lambert looks at Jaskier. “Can you help Geralt to the elevator?”

Jaskier nods, and all but lifts Geralt to his feet. His arm around Geralt is strong and sturdy, and Geralt allows himself to lean against him, grinding his teeth with the pain. “That’s it,” Jaskier whispers. “Lean as much as you need.”

Lambert unlocks his phone and taps it a few times. He holds it up to his ear and waits. “Got it?” he asks. The person must answer affirmatively, because he says, “Good. Can you come to the fifth? I got something I need help carrying... Heh. Yeah, it's a giant piece of shit.”

Jaskier gets Geralt almost all the way to the elevator when it chimes and opens. A man steps out, blonde and bulky. He looks at Geralt’s side. “Um…”

“Who are you?” Jaskier asks.

“Aiden. Are you Geralt?”

Jaskier laughs. “No. No, this is Geralt. I’m Jaskier.”

“Where’s Lambert?”

“Front bedroom.”


“Oh, thank you, darling.”

Aiden lifts an eyebrow, but Geralt sees the flush on his cheek as he goes.

“Flirt,” Geralt grunts, letting Jaskier guide him into the lift. He hisses as his arm is jostled.

“Mmm…” Jaskier leans close to his ear. “You like it, too, don’t you? Want to think about me and him later?”

“Hmm,” Geralt tries to sound annoyed.

“I can see you like it.” He nibbles lightly at Geralt’s ear and hits the first-floor button. “Don’t get too excited, though. Oof—” He takes more of Geralt’s weight. “That’s right, like that.”

“Distract me... more,” he grunts, closing his eyes.

“Of course. You know, you have a lovely bunch of friends. Do you think you’d like to pass me around?”


“You want me all to yourself then?”


“Or do you want me all to yourself, but they have to watch?”

Geralt pictures it: himself, driving into Jaskier, in a featureless room, them watching, unable to touch. “Hmm.”

Jaskier presses a kiss to his neck. “What were you like as a child?”

Geralt huffs. “They called me an... old soul...”

“I’ll bet you hated to share your toys.”

“You aren’t... my toy.”

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Good answer.” The elevator stops, and they make their way into the long foyer. Vernon Roche stands by the doors to the back, which Geralt saw the light behind before. They're open now, and he sees it is a sort of office or study. A man sits at a broad desk, and Geralt recognizes him. Radovid.

“Ah, is this Mr. Rivia? How good of you to join us.” He ignores Jaskier, seeming to not notice him, and Geralt feels rage course through his veins. It’s like he’s invisible.

Roche sees the blood-soaked towel. “What happened?”

“Marx,” Geralt says. He tries to be forceful, but his voice cracks with the effort to speak.

“Valdo Marx stabbed him. It’s on tape. They’re bringing it down.”


Jaskier looks at Radovid, and then back to Roche. “The others.”

Roche nods. “I understand you were kidnapped. Radovid, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Why?” He doesn't move from his desk.

“Kidnapping. It’s a felony.”

“I wasn’t aware of any kidnapping. You’ll recall, Vernon, that just now, you informed me of his presence here.”

Their,” Geralt corrects him. He tightens his grip on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Both.”

“It’s your home, if I remember right,” Roche argues.

“All manner of people stay at my house, as I’m sure you’re aware, Vernon. You can check with any number of them about this, and I’m certain they will affirm that I have nothing to do with a great many things that happen here.”

“Bullshit. Why would Valdo Marx bring them here, when he has his own place across town? You’re involved in this, Radovid. I know it.”

“He probably brought them here because he’s deranged.”

Roche and Jaskier both lean back in shock. “What?” Jaskier asks.

“Honestly, he’s been useful to me for many years, but recently… he’s a liability. It seems he’s finally been consumed with his obsessions.” His eyes flit over Jaskier. “And his films have become stale. I could stand to hire some new talent. What’s the sentence for kidnapping and attempted murder now?”

Roche shakes his head. “You aren’t foo—”

“Vernon,” Geralt cuts him off. He gasps with the pain. He’s still barefoot, and his foot feels slick on the marble floor. The elevator chimes again, and Lambert and Aiden carry Marx out from the lift.

“There he is now. Rest assured, Vernon, that I’ll assist the prosecution in any way I can… Unless I’m needlessly tied up in this.”

Roche clenches his fists. “Let’s go,” he says. “We need to get him to a hospital.”


Outside, Lambert and Aiden load Marx into the back of Roche’s car. A silent man in tactical gear sits in the passenger seat. Another car, nondescript and black, slowly pulls up. The rear window rolls down. Sigi peers out. “It looks like you need a ride,” he says.

“Mm,” Geralt grunts.

Sigi opens the door. He slides over, and Jaskier helps him into the seat. “If you would join us, Mr. Pankratz, I would appreciate it.”

“What are you doing here?” Roche hisses from the sidewalk.

“I take it your methods were unsuccessful.”

“He has at least one girl in there,” Jaskier says. “And at least one of his male servants looked young as well. Can’t you just—”

“No. We don’t have any sort of warrant for a raid. Did they seem distressed?” Roche asks.

“No, but—”

“We have to find a different way.”

“Is that the go-ahead?” asks Sigi.

Geralt feels lightheaded. “We need to get him to the hospital now,” Jaskier urges them.

“That’s the go-ahead,” Roche sighs.

Jaskier climbs into the front passenger seat and closes the door.

“To Memorial,” Sigi tells the driver. “Before Geralt loses any more blood.”



Chapter Text


Riding in Dijkstra’s car takes Geralt back a decade. He remembers being curled into a rear compartment, smuggled into an embassy in Yerevan like a spare tire. He’d been bleeding then, too. “Keep your eyes open, Geralt,” Sigi commands.

“Don’t… tell me… what to do.” He holds onto the towel.

“What’s your plan?” asks Jaskier.

“It’s a tricky situation, isn’t it?” Sigi muses. “A man like Radovid has dirt on a lot of people. Tell me, Mr. Pankratz, what did you see tonight?”

“He let Valdo go easily. Much easier than I’d expect—I would think Valdo has secrets.”

“He’s confident he won’t talk, or that he won’t be believed. Or something else is planned,” Sigi agrees.

“Basement… had… sets,” Geralt grunts. “Films. But no one… came… saw me…” He grits his teeth.

“Easy, Geralt,” Jaskier says, turning around in his seat. “There has to be camera footage. I’m sure there were cameras set up—but there must not have been anyone watching.”

“That isn’t abnormal for a private residence, even one such as Radovid’s. There must be storage, though. Backups. And something set up for playback. I doubt he’s reckless enough to have it on anything connected to the Internet.”

“He wasn’t surprised to see us come down. He must’ve known what was happening.”

“Was in… office… whole time.”

“Which means he had access to the camera feeds from that room,” Jaskier says. “There has to be a way to get a warrant for it, right, for evidence of our abduction?”

“The problem is not getting a warrant. The problem is finding the right evidence, and then letting it be known.”

“Known?” Jaskier’s brow furrows.

“If no one knows what Radovid has done, no one will be outraged when he walks free in a month. No one will care if he gets work release five days a week.”

“You want to go public.”

Dangerous, Geralt thinks. “Too risky,” he grunts. “Enemies…”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Geralt,” Sigi says. “When I take down Radovid, I intend to take down them all.”


The fluorescent lights buzz in the hospital emergency room. It is sterile, sour-smelling, and the vinyl upholstery crackles under Jaskier’s legs as he shifts and watches the nurse change bandages. “You’re a lucky man,” she says. The curtain partition shifts behind her as another nurse hustles past.

“Lucky,” Geralt repeats. “I was stabbed.”

“The blade went all the way through to your abdominal cavity, but it avoided any major organs. The bleeding was significant, but you didn’t go into shock. You are very lucky.”

“Hm,” Geralt grumbles.

“That said, you heard what the doctor told you. Give yourself time to recover. It’s always you tough guys who I end up seeing back here within the week.”

“Tough guys?”

“Whatever you do—CrossFit, Jazzercise, doesn’t matter. None of it until she says you’re okay.”

“Jazzercise?” Geralt repeats.

Jaskier laughs. “SoulCycle,” he suggests.

“No spin classes allowed.”

“I don’t do spin classes,” Geralt says. The nurse and Jaskier seem to both find his argument hilarious, so he closes his eyes and breathes in the acrid air.

“You better not be doing anything,” she says. “You’re cute, but I don’t want to see you again, okay?”


She lifts an eyebrow at him in warning and repositions the hospital gown. “They’ll be moving you up to a private room in a few minutes.”


“No?” She narrows her eyes.

“Don’t need a room. I’m going home.”

“You are going to a room, where you will stay for at least twenty-four hours.”

“I am not—okay, fine.” He watches her give another warning glare and walk away. He turns to Jaskier. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Oh no, no that’s not how this works.”

“They’re just going to put me in a bed and tell me to watch bad cable television until tomorrow. I can do that at home.”

“At home there isn’t a nurse to take care of you if something… comes loose.”

“Comes loose?”

“I don’t know what’s going on in there! Did you know fifty percent of abdominal stabbings result in a perforated intestine? I googled it! I can dress up like a nurse, but I don’t know what to do with a perforated intestine. Here. Drink this.” He holds out the plastic mug of water they’ve left. Geralt sips from the straw, then realizes what he’s doing and stops.

“It wasn’t perforated, and I can hold my own mug,” he grumbles.

“Of course you can.” Jaskier continues to hold the mug, so Geralt takes another drink.

Another nurse arrives with a wheelchair. “Alright, we’re going to move you upstairs,” he says.

Geralt glares at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Come on,” Jaskier coaxes him.

“I don’t need to stay here. It’s less than an outpatient surgery,” Geralt tells the nurse. “I’ve had worse.”

“The doctor said she wants you under observation,” the nurse says.

Geralt sighs and pushes himself off the hospital bed. Pain sears through his side, and he pauses for a moment. “Geralt…” Jaskier jumps to his feet beside him. “See?” He leans close.

“That won’t go away in twenty-four hours,” Geralt argues.

“Then we need to keep you here longer,” Jaskier says.

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“Well it’s how I’m choosing to interpret it. Get in the chair.”



Jaskier refuses to keep the television on any channel for longer than three minutes. Geralt lifts the curly cord attached to the remote. “I’m going to tie you up with this so you can’t keep changing it.”

“Mmm, that sounds like a delightful idea. Want me to lock the door?” Jaskier already ordered a curry delivered and smuggled it into the room. He shouldered his way onto the bed, not seeming to notice that they are far too big for it. He lies on his side and looks Geralt up and down. “I have to say, that calico print is really doing it for me.”

“This isn’t calico, and it’s ridiculous they’re making me wear it.”

“You’d prefer your tattered, bloodied t-shirt, I presume. I mean, watching it be torn off of you was, I admit, one of the more memorable things I’ve experienced this week. I would have personally preferred if it was me tearing it off of you… and that there were fewer knives involved.” He traces a finger along the lapel of the hospital gown. “Few people can pull off this look, but—”


“Oh, but you don’t really want me to.”

Geralt changes the television channel. “Mm.”

Jaskier leans in and runs his tongue along Geralt’s earlobe. He whispers, “What’s on PBS?”

“Hm.” Geralt punches in the number. He feels a stirring in his gut and it drifts lower. He imagines sprawling on his sofa with Jaskier nestled between his thighs, watching—or not watching—Ken Burns documentaries.

Oh,” Jaskier says. “I had…” he giggles. “Is it the ear or the PBS that has you turned on?” He nibbles on the lobe.

“That sounds weird.”


“Your saliva, close to my ear.”

“So it is the PBS.” He runs his hand down Geralt’s leg and hooks a finger beneath the edge of the gown. The TV plays something about Alexander the Great. “I’ve seen this one,” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt feels his cock throb, and he winces.

“That is not a good expression. Not a pleasurable expression. Sorry.” Jaskier pulls his hand back. “It’s probably not the best idea, at least for a bit, huh?”

Geralt turns to him. “Maybe.” He kisses him instead. Jaskier’s hand comes up to his cheek, and his fingertips are cool and soft against his skin. He tastes like the curry they shared, and Geralt knows he tastes the same, and it should be off-putting. He wonders, instead, if it can become something expected. He leans down and runs his mouth along the column of Jaskier’s throat, and underneath his sweat, he still smells like Geralt’s soap. He presses his lips to Jaskier’s collar bone and his tongue finds the dip of its curve.

Jaskier’s skin moves, faintly, with the reverberation of his pleased hum. “I’m letting you work too hard,” he whispers. “You’re going to strain yourself.”

Geralt reaches a hand beneath his shirt—his shirt, still—and feels the goosebumps on his skin. “I like you in my clothes.”

“Good because I plan on stealing a lot of them.”

“So that’s what you’re after.”

“You caught me.” His lips find Geralt’s again. His fingers tangle in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt deepens the kiss. Jaskier pushes himself up, leaning across him.

There’s a quick knock at the door, and Geralt opens his eyes to watch it open. Jaskier ignores it.

“Ahem.” It’s Vesemir, and he looks disapproving, if a little fond. Geralt recognizes the look—it’s the you almost died and I’d miss you look.

Jaskier sighs and leans back.

“I see things aren’t as bad as I was led to believe,” says Vesemir.

“Oh no,” Jaskier argues, “it was really bad.”

“It looks... cozy.”

“I’m fine. I told them I didn’t need to stay—”

I told him he needs to do what the doctor says, and she said to stay.”

Vesemir nods. “Good.”

“You talked to Roche?” Geralt asks.

“Marx has been taken into custody. He’ll be cooling his heels for a while. Lambert handed off that recording, and that’s pretty irrefutable. Unfortunately, nothing in it directly points to Radovid’s involvement.”

“In the kidnapping,” Jaskier adds.

Vesemir frowns at him. “Right.”

“But he’s done a lot more than, erm, enabling a kidnapping.”

Vesemir frowns even more. “Right.”

“So, it connects to a larger pattern of behavior, right? I mean, isn’t it pretty clear? If he sat and just watched that whole ordeal with us, calmly, from his office.”

“Mm,” Geralt agrees.

“It’s stands to reason he’s seen something like this go down a time or two before, right?”

“If you’re psychoanalyzing him,” Vesemir says. “Irrelevant.”

“That isn’t psychoanalysis,” Jaskier argues. “I’m not trying to talk him through his past trauma. And I don’t even think that would be effective—I don’t necessarily agree with it as a method, especially in a context like this. Maybe for like, the people who he trafficked, but you know, he’s the one doing the trafficking, and I feel like that’s probably a sign of some greater—”

“Who are you?” Vesemir shakes his head.

“Um. Jaskier?”

Geralt chuckles, and then stops, sucking in air between gritted teeth. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Well, we have Essi,” Jaskier says, “plus this addition—even if it isn’t exactly concrete, it was at his house—and wasn’t there something about a massage parlor?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Vesemir says.

“Thanks,” Geralt grumbles.

“It’s the other reason I’m here.”


“We’ve been keeping track of the massage parlor and analyzing past security footage, especially after Lambert determined it isn’t, well…” He clears his throat.

“Legal?” Jaskier suggests.

“Right. We think they’re moving girls with the trucks.”

Geralt looks blankly at the television for a moment. “The scale, to require that.”

“They must be bringing people from all over. I’m guessing it serves as a hub.”

“That would be stupid of them,” Geralt says, “to run a trafficking ring so blatantly—they’ve barely hidden it.”

“Stupid or confident?” Jaskier asks. “And it’s hidden in plain sight.”

“We’ve seen quite a few notable people on security cam footage going in and out,” Vesemir adds.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters.

Jaskier furrows his brows. “What?”

“If Radovid thinks we’re on to his operation, even in the slightest, he could shut it down.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “I think he feels invincible, because he most likely is. I don’t think he’s going to shut anything down.”

Vesemir crosses his arms over his chest. “Do we want to risk it?”

“Sigi said he wanted to go public with everything, to… force some accountability. I’m guessing he has a contact with someone at the newspaper.”

“If that’s the case, they better be a fast writer.” Vesemir frowns. “I’m going to ask Roche to talk to a judge,” he looks at his watch, “today.”

“Oh shit.” Jaskier taps his pockets as if he’s searching for his phone, and then remembers he doesn’t have it. “Um, do you have Yennefer’s number?”


“I need to call in to work.”

“I doubt they’re going to even film, given what’s happened,” Geralt says.

“Does she even know? Who would’ve told her?”


“I’ll call her. This has gone beyond keeping a film set safe.” Vesemir taps at his phone screen.

“That reminds me…” Geralt pulls out the guard’s phone. “I still have this.”

Vesemir takes it. “I’ll take care of it. You just, stay here.”

Jaskier yawns. “Good plan.”

Geralt looks back at the TV.


The journalist’s name is Francis Bedlam, and it makes sense that he’s Sigi’s choice. He’s known for taking down corruption, or at least exposing it. Geralt learned long ago that knowing someone is corrupt is not the same as removing them from office or serving any kind of real justice. Regardless, Geralt has seen his byline on quite a few front-page stories—the kind that are quoted later in all the cable news shows. Bedlam has been the one to do the work. He shows up shortly after Vesemir leaves.

“Sigi didn’t waste any time,” Jaskier murmurs, yawning again. Geralt forces himself the rest of the way awake.

“Sorry to disturb your nap,” Bedlam says, “but I’m afraid I’m under a bit of a deadline.”

“I imagine so,” Geralt says, watching him take a sip of the hotel’s machine-made coffee and making the same face he watched Jaskier make an hour earlier. “There’s a Starbucks by the cafeteria.”

“This is fine.” He swallows it, grimaces, and tosses the cup away. “I imagine you know why I’m here.”

“To ask about the kidnapping, I assume.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You’re here to find out more about Radovid. But I never personally witnessed any trafficking or prostitution… unless you count what’s on camera, which is a funny distinction to make, isn’t it?”

“I’m not concerned about prostitution, as long as it’s consensual. I am concerned about trafficking. But I’m working on a broader view of Radovid’s life—something that will capture the scale of involvement. I’ll keep you anonymous, of course, but if you have information about people who were around, people you saw, it will help.”

“Is this going in the society pages or something?” Geralt asks.

Bedlam laughs. “No.” He sobers. “It’s just going to be… expansive.”




Jaskier chews on his thumbnail. “I had an iPhone—an early one… I wonder if my old account…”

“You had iCloud?”

“I might have pictures. We need to go to my apartment.” He turns to Geralt. “Um.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He uncovers his legs. Bedlam’s eyes scan down to his feet, to the little textured socks the hospital makes everyone wear. “I’m fine,” he assures him.

Bedlam doesn’t look convinced.

“Geralt, just wait. You can stay here, I’ll go fast, and then I’ll be right back.”

“Unless they have someone waiting for you at your apartment.”

“That was Valdo. They have him locked up. I’ll be fine.”

“Radovid is one of the wealthiest and most powerful people in this city, and you are a liability to him. I’m not letting you risk this.”

“You’ve been stabbed, Geralt. You can’t fight.”

“Try me.”

“What the hell is going on in here?” The doctor stands in the open doorway behind Bedlam, hands on her hips.

“Ah, Shani,” Bedlam says. “It’s been awhile.”

“Are you harassing my patients? I’ll have you removed, Francis.”

“No, no, they’re helping me with a story.”

She purses her lips. “It’s important,” Geralt says. “It’s really important.”

“What is?”

“We need to go,” Geralt says.

“You know what else is important?” she asks.


Blood. And you lost a lot of it. And you’re at risk of infection.”

“You patched me up.”

She glares at him. “I don’t want to have to do it all over again.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re right. Because you’re staying here. I can have you restrained.”

“Oh, she’s magnificent,” Jaskier whispers.

“I heard that.”

“It’s true.” Jaskier licks his lips.

“Easy, Ju—” Geralt stops himself. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s face flushes as he smiles. He leans close to Geralt’s ear. “I’ll go with him, get my old MacBook, and we’ll come right back.”

Geralt tries to sit up straight, and pain shoots through him. “Stop that,” Shani tells him.

“You don’t even have a key to your apartment. And we don’t have a key to my apartment. Is it even locked? Do I still have a door?”

“Oh yeah. I’m going to have to call my super.”

“This is going to be a much larger ordeal than just popping over to your place to pick up an old computer. Fuck.” Geralt scrubs a hand over his face. “I should’ve asked Lambert to go by the apartment and make sure everything was—”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Lambert? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“That is uncanny timing,” Jaskier says.

“I came with the writer. I’ve been standing outside for like ten minutes, waiting for the right moment.”


“Vesemir sent me to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. He knows you well.” He taps out a message on his phone, chuckling. “Oh, and you do have a door. Now. I got it fixed. I have your keys and your phone. And your wallet. Oh, I have yours, too,” he tells Jaskier. “Let’s go.”



“If… Just… Watch your back. This feels… too convenient. Too easy.”

“Geralt, you’re sitting in a hospital bed,” Lambert points out.

“They just let us go last night.”

Lambert chuckles. “Yeah, because they don’t know what we’re planning, or what we know. They think we only know about Jaskier’s stalker.” He taps more on his phone. “Aiden bugged the shit out of his house, man.”

“What? Your neighbor?”

Lambert’s cheeks turn a little pink. “Yeah. He’s… He’s really good at stuff like that.”

Jaskier actually rubs his hands together. “Oh my god this is fantastic. Where do you people even come from?” He looks at Bedlam, eyes wide and bright. “And they’re all like this, too. All of them!”

Shani glares at them. “Geralt, you’re staying. The rest of you—do something else.” She gestures vaguely with her hand and marches away.



Chapter Text


Geralt curls one leg beneath him and clicks to another channel. He stretches it back out and bends the other. There’s a twinge in his side, so he tilts himself, shifting the pressure on his back. He changes the channel and stretches that leg out as well. He bends them both. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “There’s no reason to be here.”

A nurse comes in a half-hour later. She checks the bandage, tsking. “You’re moving too much.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“Fidgeting. You think I can’t hear the rustling from the hallway?”


“Hm all you like, but sit still. You need to let your body rest.”

Geralt nods, and she leaves him alone. Another hour passes. Jaskier still isn’t back. He unlocks his phone and opens the messages app. He stares at it. He opens the thread with Jaskier and scrolls to the top, and then rereads all of their conversation to this point. “Just… be normal,” he tells himself. He types, Where are you? He deletes it. He types, Why aren’t you back yet? He deletes that, too. He types, Did Lambert get lost? He hits send.

He locks the phone.

He unlocks the phone.

He locks the phone.

He taps the phone screen and looks at the time. He stares at it until the minute changes. His side hurts. The nurses should be giving him another dose of pain medication any minute. Geralt dislikes pain medication. He knows they also have him on something to prevent infection. He peels back the hospital gown and inspects the bandage. It looks clean. He looks at his phone. Another minute passes. He isn’t even on an IV. He looks at the window. The thick, teal curtains are pulled back to reveal a clear evening sky.

Geralt stands up. It aches, but it isn’t as bad as, say, a gunshot wound. Once, when he was young, he fractured his tibia. This is nothing like that at all. He picks up his phone and his wallet. He looks down. The hospital gown falls surprisingly low on his thighs. He makes sure the tie is secure, and he peeks out of the room.

The nurses’ station is at the end of the hallway. There are two nurses, and neither looks his direction. He walks past them and calls the elevator. His phone is still dark. He hits the ground floor button and remembers he doesn’t have a car. “Fuck.” He opens up the app store and contemplates downloading a rideshare app. He closes it and decides to hail a cab instead. I think there are still taxis, he thinks.

He glares at anyone who looks too conversational and he walks out of the hospital.

There are still taxis. It smells like pine tree air freshener and toilet bowl cleaner. If the driver thinks the hospital gown is unusual, he doesn’t say. Geralt assumes he’s too busy seeing what speed he can reach between stoplights.

Geralt is slowly climbing the stairs to his apartment when the phone finally rings. “Geralt! Where are you?”

“Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m in your hospital room, and you are not here. What the fuck? They’re looking everywhere for you!”

“I came home to get clothes and my truck so I could go find you.”


“You didn’t respond to my message so I thought…” He sighs and leans against his door. It’s freshly painted a bright white, which makes the trim look even dingier. “You’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m okay. You didn’t even call! What the hell, Geralt? One text message? And I have food, but you’re not here so I’m just going to eat it with Lambert.”

“What? No.”

“You didn’t even check yourself out.”

“It’s not a hotel, it’s a hospital.”

“Yeah, and there are things you’re supposed to do before you leave, Geralt. I think. To be… discharged.”

“The doctor said she would restrain me if I tried to leave.”

“They can’t actually do that. I don’t think. Actually, can they do that? I mean, I know they do it on TV—”

“I don’t know. I left anyway.”

“I can see that.” Jaskier huffs. Then he laughs.


“Well, I guess we’ll come to your apartment. That doctor is pissed.”


“See you soon.”

The broken end table sends a surge of adrenaline through Geralt’s body. He goes into his room and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He wonders if Jaskier is still wearing his clothes or if he changed at his place. He remembers the sight of Marx’s gun pressed to his head.

He wonders if Jaskier packed more clothes to bring over. Maybe he’ll want me to go over there instead. He pushes down the thought. He probably wants to be alone. Still, this is nowhere near finished. He’s going to need protection… He washes his face and tries not to think.


Bedlam and Lambert stay late into the night, drinking Geralt’s beer and listening to Jaskier’s stories. Most of Jaskier’s pictures are attempts at artistic shots of buffet tables, champagne bubbles, and sunsets, but some have people. The selfies prove the most useful: a few show a blurry Jaskier in the foreground with party guests in the background. “He’s a federal judge now,” Bedlam says of one.

“Oh look,” Lambert says, zooming in on another.

“God my hair was fantastic,” Jaskier says. “And he’s an enormous prick.”

Even better is the metadata. The pictures have dates and times. “You all have flight records?” Bedlam asks. “Or any evidence he was moving people around these times as well?”

Geralt nods. “Between Sigi and Coën, we have quite a bit.”

“Alright. I’m going to start writing. Send me everything you can. I’m interviewing Miss Daven and your friend Eskel tomorrow.”


Jaskier pushes Geralt to the bed, and he sits on the edge. He reaches up and loops his fingers through Jaskier’s belt loops, stifling a yawn.

“You’re exhausted,” Jaskier says. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Good,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier shivers. He peels his shirt over his head. “You need to rest,” he says. He closes his eyes as Geralt slides his hand up his chest. He leans down, offering himself to Geralt’s hands. “And I smell bad.”

Geralt pulls him close and presses his face to Jaskier’s stomach. “Wrong.”

“On which point?”

“Both. But you should take a shower.”

“Are you allowed to take a shower?”

“I have waterproof bandages.”

“You do?” He rolls his eyes. “What am I thinking? Of course you do. You carry a gun.”

“Needed them more when I worked construction.”

“You were that clumsy?”

Geralt glares at him, and he just grins. He kisses him. “I’m going to take a shower,” he whispers. “You need to rest.”

Geralt sighs. He watches Jaskier unzip his jeans and slowly let them drop to the floor. He keeps his boxer briefs on and walks to the bathroom.


The waterproof bandages are in a kitchen drawer, and Geralt digs them out as the water runs in the background. Fortunately, the wound isn’t very wide; the bandages will work fine. He showers after Jaskier, and it does make him feel more human.

When he finishes, he finds Jaskier already asleep. He gingerly slides in beside him and lets the tension drain away.


Jaskier makes waffles. “I have a waffle iron?” Geralt asks.

“I brought it.”

“You probably have a lot of things I don’t have…”

Jaskier sets down his coffee mug. “Um. Uh, since Valdo is… you know… I should probably go back home, shouldn’t I?” He chews on his lip.

“If Radovid suspects anything… He could send someone.”

“Doesn’t he know where you live, too, though?” Jaskier’s eyes flash. His lips part. “Oh. I have the best idea.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Hmm.”

“We should hide.”

“We were here last night and nothing happened.”

“Well, the apartment either is a risk or it isn’t,” Jaskier argues.


“Yen has this house across the bay, and sometimes we film there. And, even better, we still have a few scenes to record. So we could stay there and I could work. Everyone could work.”

“That is…” Geralt shakes his head. Absurd. Ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. Excessive. “What do you—”

“Well, Vesemir said he didn’t want filming to continue… I think he meant at the warehouse, right? I mean, it’s easy to put together a skeleton crew at Yen and Triss’ villa.”


“It’s… nice.” He makes a dismissive gesture.

“You know they’re just as likely to track us there as they are to find us here or at your apartment.”

“Well, at least she has a security system installed. I mean… It isn’t like they’ve had much difficulty breaking in here or at my place.”


“That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Do you want backup?” Lambert asks.

“I think I’d rather you make sure Bedlam is safe.”

“Sigi sent a few of his people over. We’re just here keeping track of Radovid.”


“Uh, yeah. Me and Aiden. Listening in.”

“Hmm. Is he trying to get a job or something?”

“No... I mean, I don’t think so. He’s just… really helpful.”


“Shut up. Anyway, we can come if you need, you know, extra eyes.”

Geralt sighs. “Honestly, it isn’t a terrible idea.”

“No, no, the whole thing is a terrible idea. I don’t know why you’re doing it. Can’t the filming just wait until he’s arrested?”

“Apparently they have to fly people in, do blood tests, coordinate a bunch of stuff, rent props. And it’s gig work, so if it gets canceled, people don’t get paid.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. But wouldn’t they get an insurance payout to still pay everyone?”

“I don’t know. Probably. You’re looking for logic and I think it’s misguided.” Geralt grits his teeth as Jaskier pulls off the bandage adhesive.

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispers. He looks at the wound as if he has any idea what to look for. “It looks… a little better.”

“It’s too early to be better.”

“Send me the address,” Lambert says. “How many days should we pack for? Is there a pool?”

“Bye Lambert.” Geralt ends the call.

“There is a pool,” Jaskier says. He smooths his finger across the red marks from the adhesive. He watches Geralt’s nipples harden. “Sensitive?” he murmurs.


“‘It’s too early to be better,’” he quotes. “So you have to behave.” He chuckles. “My turn to say that now.”

Geralt pouts, but he lets Jaskier carry their duffel bags to the truck, and then he makes him drive.


Yennefer’s villa is surrounded by a high fence. Jaskier punches a code into the gate, and it opens. The drive is narrow and needlessly curved to showcase the landscaping. The house is a mix of Mediterranean stucco and modern glass. Triss meets them at the door. “Jask, I’m so relieved you’re okay,” she says with a kiss to each cheek. She lowers her voice. “Yen was so worried about you both, though she’ll try to hide it.” She leads them to a suite. “Make yourselves at home. Geralt, that means the kitchen, the theatre, everything.”


She grins. “Enjoy. We’ll be… around. Jaskier, do you think you’ll be ready later today or do you need another day or two?”

“If you’ve got something, I’ll be ready to go later.”

“I think I have something perfect.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Look in the top drawer. I’ll make it happen.” She closes the door behind her.

Jaskier opens the drawer and lets out a throaty hum of a laugh. “Fun,” he says. He pulls out something sheer and black.

“What is that?”

“Oh, I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. “Mm.”

Jaskier brushes his hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll make sure you have a good seat.”


Geralt doesn’t pick up any sort of narrative in the scene. They’re in the living room—one of the living rooms—and he watches from the corner. The setup is intimate: Yen and Triss behind a camera with lights rigged on the side. A pair of screens show feeds from a large, stationary camera and a smaller, portable camera, and Geralt has a view of them as well as the scene. A well-dressed man with a shaved head and a beard sits on a low sofa, waiting.

Jaskier enters from around the corner and Geralt sucks in a breath. “Cut. No, Jaskier, do it again. Geralt, if you can’t stay quiet, you can’t be here,” Yen scolds him. Jaskier walks away and it’s almost worse from the back. Geralt covers his mouth and keeps himself quiet.

Jaskier wears a sort of black bodysuit. It’s sheer and tight, and Geralt can tell he’s already semi-hard, but he can’t quite make out the details. He can see the shadow of his body hair beneath the black netting or nylon or mesh—Geralt doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but it looks like it would come apart in his hands if he ripped it. He thinks, I want to see it ripped open, and he tries to keep his body still. The image stirs his body, and he thinks the pain isn’t bad, and it’s entirely worth it.

Jaskier poses for the man. “Turn around,” the man says, and Jaskier obeys. “Spread your legs.” He stares for a moment. “Bend over.” Jaskier goes slow, teasing him.

Triss takes the small camera and carries it around for a close-up. Geralt watches on the screen as Jaskier reaches back and squeezes his ass. He pulls himself apart and slides a finger down the middle, then rubs each globe. He spanks himself, and his flesh jiggles with the force. Geralt bites down on a knuckle and doesn’t touch himself.

“Do it again,” the man says, and Jaskier spanks himself again with a shaky breath. He stands up and steps behind Jaskier, and then slides a hand along his back. He grips his neck and pulls back his head, and then spanks him hard, twice. Jaskier moans and the camera zoom in to see his skin redden beneath the fabric. The man slides his hand up from Jaskier’s throat and lifts a finger. Jaskier sucks it into his mouth. “Yeah, show me how you want to suck on it.” He spanks him on the other cheek. “Just like that.”

When Jaskier stands back up, Geralt can see his cock strain against the bodysuit. The man turns him around and presses him down to his knees. He undoes his pants and Jaskier licks his lips, and then goes to work. He sucks him into his mouth, and then pulls back and spits on it before stroking him with his hands. When he takes him back into his mouth, he picks up the pace, working it with his tongue and his hands. The small camera gets a close-up of Jaskier’s lips and spit-slick fist as it strokes. The man pulls off his shirt. His chest is smooth, with defined muscle. He watches Jaskier, and then holds his head, directing their movements. He pulls back and thrusts deep, slow a few times. Jaskier looks up at him, and he slaps his cock against his cheek a few times. It leaves a wet streak on Jaskier’s skin that Geralt desperately wants to wipe off with his thumb.

Jaskier rocks up and down as he sucks the man’s cock, and the bodysuit clings to his ass and thighs. Geralt’s fingertips twitch. The man is enjoying it, but Geralt wants to see Jaskier’s face overcome with pleasure instead.

Finally, the man pulls Jaskier to his feet. He slides his hands over his body, toying with the suit. “Sit,” says the man, and Jaskier does. “Spread your legs.” He runs his hands up and down Jaskier’s thighs, and then toys with him through the fabric. “You’re so hard from sucking me. Look at the way you’re leaking all over yourself. Turn over.” Jaskier positions himself so he’s bent over on the sofa. “Good.” He spanks him again, and Jaskier moans and pushes back into it. “Let’s see this.” He grips the fabric and tears it, exposing the skin beneath.

Geralt tilts his head back and breathes. He stays quiet. He’s vaguely worried his pants are going to rub his erection raw. He can’t feel pain in his side because his arousal commands all of his attention.

The man rubs the reddened skin, and Jaskier rocks back against his hand. The man reaches back up to Jaskier’s face. “Here,” he says, “put this in your mouth.” Jaskier turns to suck his thumb, and his eyes find Geralt’s. He smiles around it, and the man pulls it back and rubs the spit into Jaskier’s skin, and then pushes, just a little against Jaskier’s rim.

Jaskier gasps. “I want it,” he moans, looking first into Geralt’s eyes and then at his erection.

The man spits onto Jaskier’s ass. He presses his thumb to his hole. Jaskier’s mouth falls open as his thumb pushes in. “Is this what you want?”

Jaskier nods, rocking himself back. “Mmm, yes.” He pulses, and Geralt watches his face change as he adjusts to the intrusion. He bites down on his lip, and looks back at Geralt. “More,” he urges, arching his back.

The man massages his rim. He pulls a bottle of lubricant from between the couch cushions and dribbles it on. Jaskier stills as it meets his skin, and the man pushes in two fingers and stretches him. He quickly adds a third, and Jaskier nods and groans. The man spanks him in response, and Jaskier just quivers and moans more, throaty and raspy. “Okay,” the man says. He presses down on Jaskier’s lower back, and then lines himself up. He pushes in with one thrust, and Jaskier grips the sofa cushions and closes his eyes. The man pauses there, filling Jaskier, waiting for his body to adjust to the stretch. When Jaskier nods, he starts to thrust.

Geralt watches without touching himself. He watches Jaskier’s face as his breath leaves him. He watches the man sweat as he fucks him. “Alright,” Yen says. “Let’s get the front.”

The man moves to a sitting position, and Jaskier lies beside him in an elegant sprawl. He pulls at the torn edge of the bodysuit and rips it further, opening access to his cock.

Jaskier smirks. He stands up and faces the man. “Now,” Jaskier says, and something in his voice shifts. “Get on your knees.”

The man gulps. He nods and sinks onto the floor. Jaskier stands over him, torn lingerie and sweat-damp hair. The man stares up at him with wide eyes, and Geralt feels like he’s going to lose it in his jeans. If there was any doubt who controls this scene, it disappears. Jaskier doesn’t even need to tell him to suck his cock. The man obeys without an order.

Jaskier fucks him on the floor on his hands and knees. The man shakes beneath him, reduced to breathy noises. He comes only when Jaskier gives him permission.


Geralt draws a bath for Jaskier. He watches him sprinkle salts into it and sink in with a sigh. “You sure you can’t join me?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt sits on the edge, instead, with his feet in the water. He scoops water up over Jaskier shoulders, watching his skin turn pink from the heat.

“You liked it?” Jaskier asks.

“Mm.” He wets Jaskier’s hair.

“Which part did you like best?”

“I like watching you come,” he says.

“That’s an easy answer. Other than that.”

“Sometimes, it looks like you feel so good you forget where you are.”

“Does it?”


“Or does it look like I’m imagining I’m with someone else?”

“Are you?”

“Not always. But even when I feel good, I always know where I am. I always know it’s a show.” Geralt shampoos his hair. “It’s a performance, but it’s an enjoyable performance.” He leans against Geralt’s knee.


“It feels a little different with you watching. It’s still a performance, but it’s a performance for you.”

“Hm. And what about when the cameras are gone?”

Jaskier’s hand finds the top of his foot. “That’s… I think that’s something else entirely.”

Geralt smiles. He cups water and rinses Jaskier’s hair. “Good,” he says. “Good.”

“You know, you’re the one who’s injured. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Geralt looks into his eyes. They're dark in the soft bathroom light. “You are.”




Chapter Text


Aiden sits cross-legged in an oversized armchair, laptop open despite the movie playing. “It does defeat the purpose of the lighting effect, you know,” Jaskier complains. “The screen, that is.” He stares at him. “Of your computer. Because it’s bright. In a dark room.”

Aiden taps the contrast button a few times, dimming it. Geralt leans over to look at the screen, ignoring Lambert’s glare and Jaskier’s huff. “What’s he doing?” he asks.

Aiden tilts the computer and brightens it again, ignoring Jaskier’s exasperated outburst. They’re watching Moonstruck, and on the movie screen, Cher is getting dressed in a closet. “Shh—sh!” Jaskier says. “This is the part!” Geralt looks up, nonplussed.

“I’m in love with you,” Jaskier quotes along with the movie. Cher slaps Nicolas Cage in the face. Twice.

“Oof,” says Lambert.

“Snap out of it!” Jaskier says with Cher. He giggles.

“I don’t get the appeal,” says Aiden. On his computer screen, Radovid listens attentively to a tall, thin woman.

“What appeal?” asks Lambert.

“His character here.”

They watch for a moment. “I love two things,” Nicolas Cage says. “I love you, and, and I love the opera. Now, if I could have the two things that I love together for one night, I would be satisfied to give up—oh Christ—to give up the rest of my life.”

“Huh,” says Lambert.

“Hm,” says Geralt.

Jaskier sighs. “Okay he has game,” Aiden admits.

“Opera?” asks Lambert.

Aiden shrugs.

“It’s like Pretty Woman, but better,” says Jaskier. He sighs, leaning his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You want me to take you to the opera?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier shrugs. He eats a handful of popcorn.

“Hmm.” Geralt pictures himself at the opera. I could do that, he thinks. Lots of people like it. Eskel would know which ones are good.

“It isn’t like the Bugs Bunny,” Lambert says, and Aiden laughs. “Unfortunately.”

“I can’t even hear the movie,” Jaskier complains.

“Well, you should’ve picked Con Air,” Lambert says.

“Cher won an Oscar for this, okay?”

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” Lambert argues. “It isn’t about Cher. It’s about Nic Cage.”

Aiden snorts and steals some of Jaskier’s popcorn. “I always liked The Rock.”

Jaskier and Geralt turn and stare at him, blinking. Lambert nods. “Yeah. Yeah that’s a good one.” He smiles, and Aiden smiles, and Geralt looks away.

“Okay, she’s leaving,” Aiden says. The woman talking to Radovid walks past the hidden camera on her way out of the townhouse. “He’s going back into the office.”

“Damn.” Geralt frowns. “We should’ve gotten into his office.”

“You couldn’t,” Jaskier reminds him. “He was there.”

“We should’ve planned something earlier, like we did Marx’s. Lambert got all those records.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jaskier says. “What did you pose as, again?”

“Radon mitigation service. You can get in multiple times because the equipment has to be set up and left out.”

Aiden nods. “That’s a good idea. Plus radon is one of the leading causes of lung cancer.”

“I know!” Lambert says. “These fuckers never believe me.”

Jaskier lifts his hands. “What? What did I ever say about radon?”

“You’re with him,” he points to Geralt, “so you’re a part of the problem.”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jaskier eats more popcorn. On the screen, Cher gets out of a taxi at the Met; Nic Cage waits for her beside the fountain. “You know, I went to a Cher concert once. It was fantastic. Just me and a sea of horny, menopausal women. Her dancers… They were spectacular.”

“Were they dressed like sailors?” asks Aiden.

Jaskier smiles. “Oh, they dressed like all sorts of things.”

Aiden nods. Lambert stares at the movie screen as if he’s trying to see through it. “Hmm,” says Geralt.

“I know,” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt helps himself to some of the popcorn.


“It wasn’t bad,” Lambert admits at the end of the movie. “I liked the speech about love ruining everything.”

“We are here to ruin ourselves and break our hearts,” Aiden quotes.

Jaskier slides his knuckles against Geralt’s palm. He presses their fingertips together, and Geralt isn’t certain who intertwines their fingers, but they find themselves there. He squeezes. “To love the wrong people and die,” Jaskier murmurs. Geralt squeezes harder.

Geralt’s phone buzzes. “Coën,” he says, answering the call. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something happening at the massage parlor,” he says. “Some woman just showed up and went in—no lights.”

“How long has it been closed?”

“A couple hours.”

“Fuck.” He looks at Lambert. “We need to make sure she isn’t moving anything.”

“Or destroying evidence,” Coën adds.

“We’ll be right there.”

“Yeah, well, be careful. You’re still benched. Lambert just didn’t answer his phone.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious. Vesemir’s going to kill me if anything happens to his second favorite.”

“Second favorite?”

“After Eskel.”

“The dog’s his favorite. I’m third at best.”

“Yeah, but the dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so we decided she doesn’t count.”

“When was this discussion?”

“While you were getting your guts stitched up.”

“Mm. We’re on our way.”

“Good.” Coën ends the call.

“No, no, no,” Jaskier says, shaking his head. “Not okay. You’re technically supposed to still be in the hospital.”

“They would’ve let me go yesterday, if not earlier.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re ready to go fight human traffickers!”

“It’s a massage parlor. What are they going to do? Oil me to death?”

“It isn’t the massage therapists I’m worried about!”

“These people deal in psychological warfare. They won’t know what hit them if there’s actual muscle.”

“They’re human traffickers! I’ve watched television! Human traffickers have guns!”

“That’s television.” I should have brought my vest, he thinks. He looks at Lambert, who’s already halfway to the door. “I didn’t expect them to move this fast.”

“I got everything we need.” He smirks. “I brought the Transit.”

“You brought the surveillance van?”

“You didn’t see it parked outside? See? It blends in. You think it’s a work crew. That’s why people don’t notice.”

Aiden nods, agreeing with him. “Especially the older models. Put a few dings in the fender…”

“Fuck, now there’s two of them,” Geralt grumbles.

“Can I come?” asks Jaskier.

“No,” they all three answer.

“Okay I’m coming anyway.”

Geralt sighs. “Just… put shoes on first.”


Clouds roll across the sky, blotting out the stars. The night is damp, and the mist glows around the streetlights like will-o-the-wisps. The massage parlor is in a strip of dated commercial buildings, surrounded by banks, gas stations, and insurance offices. Geralt sits in the front passenger seat, and he scans the street as they approach. Lambert switches off the headlights.

“You still have running lights,” Geralt says.

“That’s probably more conspicuous,” Jaskier chimes in from the back.

“I should never have brought you two.” Lambert reaches for the switch.

“Well don’t switch them back on now,” Geralt says. “It’ll look like you’re flashing your lights, which is even worse.”

“I swear to god, if you’re like this the whole time… This is why I work alone. Actually, check that. This is why you work alone. Because you henpeck anyone who you’d be partnered with.”

“Henpeck?” Geralt asks.

“That’s offensive,” Jaskier says.

“For fuck’s sake. Aiden, hand me that .45—I’m going to get rid of them both.”

“Even more offensive,” Jaskier complains. “We almost died like two days ago.”

“You didn’t get shot,” Lambert argues, “so it isn’t offensive.”

“Valdo held a gun to my head!”

“He did,” Geralt agrees. “Pointed it at me, too.”

Aiden quietly laughs from the back. Rain starts to drizzle onto the windshield. Lambert parks in front of a liquor store down the block from the massage parlor. The windows are dark and gated this time of night. “Which building is it?” Geralt asks.

“The red awning up there.”

The rear door opens and Coën climbs in. “There’s a cargo truck in the back, backed up to the loading bay.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says. “We need to make sure we’ve got a tail ready, or that it isn’t going anywhere.”

“I can loosen the valve stems, flatten a tire or two,” Aiden offers. “What’s it look like back there?”

“Not many lights. I think if you go from the east end of the block you’ll have good coverage.”

Geralt turns and looks at Aiden. “You have a valve tool with you?”

Aiden nods. “I keep one in my wallet.”

What? Why?”

“It’s kind of a long story. And you never know when you’re going to need one.”

“A long story about tire valves?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs.

“Right. Keep to the shadows.”

Aiden nods, pops his collar, and gets out of the van. They watch him walk off into the night. Geralt turns to Lambert. “So…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Noted. Coën, what’s the situation from the front?”

“There are blinds across the front of the building. Pulled. There appears to be light upstairs, but they have the windows blocked out.”

“Any chance of a basement in this building?”

“No, not from the plans we pulled up from the city.”

“What’s upstairs?” Geralt asks.

Lambert answers. “Offices for the parlor. I saw the stairwell inside. It’s toward the back, left side, behind a door.”

“You think she’s clearing records upstairs or something?” Coën asks.

“Most likely,” Geralt says. “But that doesn’t explain why the truck is there.”

“Are we just going in the front door?” Jaskier asks.

We aren’t doing anything. You are staying here. The rest of us are going in.”

“The front door had a chime,” Lambert says.

“There’s a fire escape in that alley,” Coën points out.

“Alright,” Geralt nods. “Coën, you stay here with Jaskier. If anyone comes out the front, keep eyes on them—use your best judgement.”

“Should we expect the others to come?” Jaskier asks.


“Sigi or Roche?”

“Not here. This is off the record.”

“Won’t that make the evidence unusable?”

“We aren’t gathering evidence. We’re stopping the destruction of it.”

“I talked to Vesemir,” Coën adds. “Sigi and Roche are going ahead with the raid in the morning. The article on Radovid will be in the newspaper, and they’ll do the raid at dawn. They used the article draft as leverage.”

“I wonder what they took out,” Jaskier says.



Geralt scales the fire escape ahead of Lambert. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers. Geralt ignores him. From the top of the fire escape, he grips a pipe and hoists himself up and over the side of the building. Lambert follows him over the edge.

The rooftop is dark and empty. “Three buildings over,” Geralt whispers.

Lambert nods and steps around a vent. “Let’s go.”

The tarpaper seems to absorb light, only occasionally offering the glitter of a reflection of nearby streetlights. The misty air has left a thin, slick coating on every surface. Geralt scurries along carefully, crouched low, methodically scanning in front of him to avoid hazards like pipes and grates. The top of the massage parlor is nearly empty, well-maintained, and pitch black. His skin feels damp and uncomfortable. They creep to the back and peer over the edge.

Aiden’s arm is just visible, extended from beneath the truck, wrapped around the tire to the valve. “Huh,” Geralt murmurs. Lambert nods his head.

There is no doorway or trapdoor for roof access. The back of the building is industrial and plain. Above the loading dock are a pair of simple windows for the office space. In the space over the windows, he sees a vent for what might be a cramped attic. Geralt grips the edge of the roof and hauls himself over.

His abdomen screams with the strain. It isn’t good, and Lambert scowls at him, as if he can feel it, too. He shakes his head. Geralt gets a toehold on an uneven brick and leans toward the window. He shifts his hands down to the window trim and listens. “Nothing,” he mouths to Lambert, shaking his head. He swings a foot to the windowsill and rests his weight there, and pulls out a pocket knife.

The screws in the vent are rusted, but he manages to unscrew them with the blade. He pockets them and hands the vent cover to Lambert. Inside, he sees a low, dark plenum space, full of spare fiberglass insulation, ducts, and pipes. He grits his teeth against the pain and hauls himself inside. The edge of the vent presses the vest against his bandaged side, but the pressure is diffused by its stiff front. He takes hold of a metal beam inside and pulls himself forward until his knees pass the edge, and then shifts himself along, following the solid surface. He regulates his breath as Lambert follows, and then sweeps the space with an LED flashlight. They kneel on a rafter. Below them is the top of a drop ceiling. Geralt pockets the light and crawls forward. He hears a voice.

“You’re so lucky,” a woman says. “You’ve been chosen.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” another replies. Her voice is timid, with an eastern European accent. “We want to go home.”

“No, no,” the woman disagrees. “There’s nothing for you there. Instead, you’re going to California. Remember? You said you want to be a movie star. Just like I told you—Radovid takes care of his girls.”

Geralt and Lambert crawl above the room where the conversation takes place. The girl speaks quietly in a different language, and another, softer voice responds. “We want to go home,” she says again.

“You don’t want to go home. You’re going to Hollywood. There’s a great big house where you’re going to stay, with a swimming pool, and great big beds, and all the food you can eat.”

“Home,” the other girl says, voice shaking but defiant.

“You don’t understand.” The woman’s voice has a brittle edge. “You are home. This is your home now. I am your home now. Radovid is your home. You will go where we say. Take the pills.”

“No,” the girl says.

Geralt hears a pistol cock. He looks at Lambert, and they each draw their own. He hears the sound of a scuffle. “Make sure they swallow it,” the woman says. She has muscle. He shares a look with Lambert, and they each nod.

One, two, three.

The ceiling tiles crumble and split as they jump through. The force of entry shocks the traffickers into a momentary daze, and Geralt uses the time to assess the threat. Two hulking goons loom over two painfully young, small women. The woman from Radovid’s house stands across from them, pointing a handgun in their direction.

Geralt doesn’t hesitate. He knocks the woman’s arm to the side as she fires a round—it strikes the wall instead of him. He disarms her in seconds, and turns to the men. “Get back,” Lambert tells the women. He keeps his gun fixed on the left, and Geralt takes the one on the right. He sees the man’s jaw clench, and he curses. “Son of a—” Lambert begins.

The men are trained. Geralt realizes it as he sees a foot connect with his hand, knocking his gun away. He lets himself move with the man’s momentum, half turning and reaching for his shoulder. He grapples him, but the man is quick and strong. He flips Geralt over and throws him to the ground, knocking the air from his chest. Geralt kicks, sweeping his legs, and the man doesn’t fall, but his balance is thrown. Geralt uses it to throw himself into the man’s hips, tackling him. He takes his arm and twists it behind him, and the man locks up for a moment, but recovers fast. He hooks his leg around Geralt’s and reverses them, so that he sits above him. Geralt winces as the man’s thigh presses against his side, and the man notices. He pushes harder against the wound.

Geralt lets himself yell. It’s a feral sound, like a battle cry, and he surges up, punching wildly. It’s messy and goes against all of his training, but he lets the image of the girl cowering away fuel his rage. He uses his elbow to bash the man’s cheekbone. He wraps his legs around him and squeezes, twisting the man down.

The man keeps his neck tight against Geralt’s legs, struggling to free himself from the hold. His arm thrashes, and Geralt takes hold of it and pulls it up. He fights him, trying to twist. I can stay here all day, Geralt thinks. Get comfortable, motherfucker.

Geralt hears another pistol cock. He looks up. The woman has recovered her weapon. She moves it back and forth between him and Lambert. Lambert has the other man pinned already, with his arms zip tied behind his back. “Let him go,” she says, sneering.

“I’m afraid not,” Lambert replies in a calm voice.

“I’ll shoot you both.”

“Wrong,” Lambert argues.

“I will!” Her voice raises in pitch as she takes aim.

The door swings open behind her, and Jaskier and Coën burst through. She fires, and Jaskier hits her with a taser. The gun drops, and she follows it to the floor.

Lambert falls back, and the man struggling against Geralt goes limp. He twists him around and secures his arms while Coën does the same to the woman. “Fuck,” Geralt growls, securing the man’s wrists and ankles. “Stay down.” He rushes to Lambert.

Lambert lies back with his teeth gritted together. “Fucking hell,” he complains. “God damn... that hurts.” His breaths are small and shallow. He looks down at where the bullet struck his chest.

“That’s going to be one hell of a bruise.”

Lambert nods. “I think... I may… have hurt… my ribs.”

Geralt pulls out his cellphone. He calls Roche first. “Hey,” he says. “You may as well send a wagon after all. I got at least three for you, and there may be more.” He calls Sigi next.

“Vesemir is gonna… be pissed,” Lambert manages.

“Keep your strength.” He looks at Coën. “We need to check downstairs.”

The cargo truck is thrown into gear as Geralt runs through the loading dock. It rolls forward, and the rims scrape hard on the asphalt. Geralt allows himself a smile as the brake lights flash, and he opens the driver’s door. “Surprise.” He breaks his nose.

Geralt opens the back of the truck and finds three more girls, drugged into compliance and limp. He doesn’t punch a hole through the side of the truck, but he considers it. He calls Eskel instead. “I think we may have the woman who found Essi on the street,” he says. “You all okay?”

“What happened?”

“They were trying to move girls out of the massage parlor, but we stopped them.”

“I wonder if they had a heads-up.”

“Could be. By now, the papers are printed. Lots of people could’ve let him know.”

“Huh. Good. I hope he’s scared. I hope he’s shitting his pants.”

“He probably isn’t yet,” Geralt says. “But he should be. He will be soon.” He looks up and finds Jaskier taking pictures, and then carefully leading the girls inside.



Chapter Text


Francis Bedlam is the first to arrive, camera in hand. He takes pictures from outside, capturing the truck, the storefront, and when they arrive, the FBI’s unmarked cars. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital?” he asks Geralt.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look pale.”

“Don’t you have an article to write?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make the deadline.”

“Mm.” Geralt watches Jaskier answer Roche’s questions. “Good.” He walks to Jaskier’s side.

“Geralt.” Roche’s voice is low and tense. Annoyed, Geralt thinks. Or worried.

“Vernon.” He lifts a quizzical eyebrow.

“Explain to me, please, why you decided to raid the,” he looks up and reads, “Heavenly Touch Massage Parlor,” he grimaces, “in the middle of the night before we raid its owner’s house.”

“We had… intel… that suggested something was going down. Sir.”

Roche sighs. “Do I want to know?”

“Would it be better to know or not know if someone bugged Radovid’s house?”

“I don’t want to know a thing.”

“Okay. Um… Well, Lambert came by for a massage the other day and saw some… worrying features of this place. So, being concerned citizens and all, we wanted to keep an eye on it.”


“And when we saw a woman enter after hours, we…”

Roche lifts an eyebrow and narrows his eyes.

“We saw, uh, and heard signs of distress. Wanted to be good Samaritans.”

“I hope you know what a pain in the ass you all are. All of you.”

Jaskier lifts his hands. “What? Me too? I’m just here as a ride along.”

Roche shakes his head. “Trespassing. And if Radovid gets his shit cleared out because he knows this is happening…”

“Well the woman hasn’t had a phone or anything—neither have the guards,” Geralt says, “so I don’t think he’d know.”

“What would your hypothetical intel tell you?”

“I’ll check.” Geralt spots Aiden with Lambert at the Transit van. He can’t hear them, but the conversation is heated. He interrupts anyway. “You still got eyes on Radovid?”

He nods and opens up a laptop. “I knew this hotspot would come in handy at some point.”

“That’ll be good for the lake, too,” Lambert says. “I mean… if you wanted to come, ever, that is…” He winces and looks away.

Aiden turns the laptop. “This is the last movement on the cameras. He went to bed around midnight.”

“Gross,” says Lambert, looking at the screen. “Oh fuck, is that one of those girls with him?”

Geralt watches them walk from the elevator toward the bedroom on the screen. The woman is dressed in a satin negligee, pressing herself against Radovid and stroking his chest. “Right. Well, we know he hasn’t been alerted at least. And this woman actually looks somewhat older, and not distressed, for whatever that’s worth—if anything. I’ll tell Roche. We need to get her out of there regardless.”

Roche nods and presses his lips into a tight line as he listens to Geralt’s summary. He looks at his watch. “I’m moving everything up. We were planning six. We’ll move it to five.”

Geralt looks at the time. “That’s only a couple hours away.”

Roche nods. “Yeah. My team’s heading straight there.”

“You need help?”

“Unless you’re going to be hired by the FBI in the next two hours, you need to stay away.” He looks around the street. “I think we have everything we need from you. I’ll be in touch."


“No. Geralt, go home. You don’t do this anymore, remember?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Come on, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “I have to work tomorrow. Today, actually. Let’s get some sleep.”

Geralt stares at Roche. “You—”

“Let me do my job, Geralt. You… You did a good job here. Thank you. Now let me do my part.”

Geralt nods and lets Jaskier lead him away.


The weather is too cool to truly enjoy the pool. It’s outside Yennefer's villa, at the end of a long terrace, with a curtain-strewn pergola and bright-cushioned loungers. But the water is heated, and Jaskier swims laps in a tight little pair of shorts. Geralt watches him emerge from the edge of the deep end, water sluicing over his body, clinging to his chest hair and cascading down his back in rivulets. His arms flex as he propels himself up and perches on the edge. One young woman lounges on a twee little ice cream cone-shaped float, and another paddles over to her, neon bikini covering little of her tight body. The one on the float lowers her heart-shaped sunglasses, and they share a conspiratorial look. “Daddy,” she singsongs.

“Don’t call me that,” Jaskier grumbles. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.” He looks at her, then looks away, and then looks back again before looking down and shaking his head.

“Okay then… Step-daddy…” Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the exchange. Really? He knows they’re popular, but… Really? The step-daughter thing?

“That’s—that isn’t any better.”

She pouts, and her friend smirks. She swims to the edge and holds onto the edge beside Jaskier. She slides her breasts against him, and he closes his eyes. “Why don’t you like it?” the friend asks. “Isn’t she like a daughter to you?”

“No. You girls are already in college. That isn’t the same.”

“But I’ve never had anybody to call daddy before,” the girl says. “It isn’t my fault you just now married my mother.” She crosses her arms under her chest, and her breasts thrust up, nearly coming free of her top.

The other girl reaches up and runs a hand across Jaskier’s chest. He sucks in a noisy breath. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Boys my age don’t have chest hair like this. I just want to touch it. Just a little.” Geralt smiles. He knows Jaskier’s nipples will be hardening as she tugs on it. He decides to ignore the setup.

“There are college boys with chest hair,” Jaskier argues, but he doesn’t pull back.

“Not like this,” she says, raking her nails down his chest. “Mmm,” she hums. “I could call you daddy.” She bites her lip.

Jaskier breathes through his mouth. “That… that wouldn’t be…”

The other girl climbs onto the side of the pool from her float. She sashays over and kneels beside him. “I want to feel it, too,” she says, pawing at him.

Jaskier looks around, as if he’s searching for help. “I’ll bet you’re a lot different than the boys our age,” says the girl in the neon bikini. She runs her hands down his stomach, across his groin, to his thighs. “I bet you know all sorts of things they don’t know.” Geralt sees the bulge growing.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” says the girl in the sunglasses. Her bikini is polka dot, and her lips are red. She leans forward and licks along Jaskier’s neck.

“Ah, fuck,” he grumbles. “You shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” she shushes him. “You said you aren’t my daddy, so you can’t tell me what to do.”

The other girl takes hold of Jaskier’s shorts and pulls them down. He has to lift himself for them to slide off, and she grins, victorious. “Wow,” she says as his cock comes free. He’s hard, of course, and Geralt holds back a chuckle, watching from the pergola as it bounces a little. She licks him, and Jaskier groans, covering his face. The other girl pulls his hands away, and sucks his nipple.

The camera captures the girl sucking his cock for a while, and then they pause and move to a lounge chair. They dry off first and fix makeup, and then Jaskier really goes to work. The girls climb on top of each other, playing by themselves for a moment, and then Jaskier kneels at the end of the lounger. He unties their bikini bottoms, one by one, and slowly pulls them both to the side, revealing their bodies—one shaved, the other with a natural tuft of hair. He strokes the bottom one with his thumb, gently, and licks the other. They both moan, and he sucks and licks them each in turn, until each of them has shaken and quivered through a climax. They push him onto the chair and one climbs on his lap while the other sits on his face.

As the young woman sinks down onto Jaskier’s cock, she tosses her hair and groans, “Oh, fuck, oh—yes…” She rocks up and down on his cock, mouth open, letting out little mewls of pleasure. She squeezes her breasts, and then unties the neon top, dropping it to the side. She toys with her nipples, and then reaches down to stroke her clit in rhythm with her rolling hips.

Geralt’s view reveals little besides bouncing, and the camera circles close for a better view. The women take their pleasure from Jaskier’s body, and he gives, it appears, as much as he can. When he’s given them each another orgasm, they move. One lies on her back on the lounger, and the other gets on her hands and knees to pleasure her with her mouth. Jaskier stands at the end and thrusts into her from behind. He varies the pace with the noises they make, encouraging them. “Like that,” he tells her. “Now slip in a finger. Perfect. See how she’s shaking?” He strokes down her back. “You’re going to make her come. Good girl.” He fucks her harder and says, “Make her come for daddy.”


“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jaskier pulls off Geralt’s bandage and frowns. “What the fuck, Geralt? How long has it looked like this?”

“What? I don’t know about the step-daughter stuff. Actually, I do know. I’m not a fan.”

“Oh, well, it’s really popular right now. And this.” He holds up the dirty bandage, which is discolored from blood. “It’s been all clear. We’re going to have to go back to the hospital.”

“It’s just a little bit from last night.”

“From last night when you were supposed to be not exerting yourself.”

“It had to be done.”

“You have a whole team of people!”

“It’s fine. I feel fine.”

“We’re making an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

“Fine. Just, hand me the newspaper.”

“I want to read it, too.”


“Here,” Jaskier says, fixing the new bandage in place. He pushes Geralt back onto a chaise and then slides in front of him. He leans back against him and holds up the newspaper so they can read it together. Porn Tycoon Accused of Human Trafficking, reads the headline. It keeps Essi’s name private, but it names politicians and businessmen who’ve traveled and partied with Radovid. The article includes pictures. “Oh shit,” Jaskier whispers, reading a few of the names aloud. “This is going to be big.”

“It’s going to be even bigger than this,” Geralt says. “I need to find out how the raid went.”

Beneath the fold is a story about Marx’s arrest. “The raid can wait,” Jaskier says. He turns around in Geralt’s arms. “First, there’s something I want to do.”


Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling his face down. “Yes,” he whispers. He presses his lips to Geralt’s. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Jaskier climbs up so that he sits astride Geralt’s lap. “For doing all of this.” He kisses him. “For taking him down.”

“That wasn’t me,” Geralt says, leaning into the kiss. He threads his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“You could’ve ignored it, that first night. Said it was just a stalker.” Jaskier traces down Geralt’s chest to his navel. “You insisted on asking about Radovid, even when we told you it was impossible.”

“It may still be.” Geralt watches Jaskier’s nimble fingers unfasten his jeans.

“But this is already so much more than I anticipated.” He stills, and his eyes are dark. “So thank you for taking us serious. Thank you for thinking I’m worth the trouble.” He slides Geralt’s jeans off and throws them across the room.


“You love it.”

“Mmm. You’re worth it, even if you’re a disaster.”

Jaskier grins. “Now. Despite all of that, I am very disappointed in you.”

“What? Why?”

“You have been very bad, Geralt. A very bad boy.”

Geralt feels a surge of something in his gut. He shivers.

“You were supposed to rest and let yourself heal. Instead, you climbed up a building and busted through a ceiling.”


“Don’t mm me. You’ve been bad. Very bad. And now you’re going to be punished.” He grinds down against Geralt’s rapidly swelling erection. Jaskier slides off Geralt’s boxers and tosses them in the direction of his jeans. “And you aren’t allowed to come until I say.”

Geralt sucks in a long breath.

“I’ve been watching you for awhile now, so while my scene earlier may not have hit the right buttons… I know exactly what will.” He stands up and slowly—achingly slowly—peels off his clothes. He runs his hands up and down himself like he’s exploring. Geralt reaches up to touch, and Jaskier tsks and pushes his hands away. “You have to rest,” he chides him, “so you’re just going to lie back and take it.”

Jaskier sucks kisses into Geralt’s neck that are certain to leave dark bruises. He makes his way to his nipples and teases them with this tongue. He rubs a wet finger against each of them until they’re hard, red nubs, nearly raw from the attention. Geralt tries to thrust up against him as his nerves come alive, and Jaskier pushes him back. “I didn’t say you could do that,” he says. He runs his tongue down Geralt’s sternum, to his navel, and then over to his hip. He slides his teeth along the dip there, and then sucks lightly at it.

Geralt’s cock throbs, but Jaskier ignores it. He kisses his thighs instead, and noses along his groin. “Mm, I miss your soap,” Jaskier complains. "I miss rubbing it into my skin like you've marked me. Like anyone who gets close enough will know I'm yours." He pushes his hands up Geralt’s chest, pressing his fingertips into Geralt’s skin. He slides them around to his back, and pulls them down his back. He digs into Geralt’s ass, cupping his cheeks and groaning against his hip. “Fuck, Geralt, your body…”

“What about it?” Geralt asks, and his voice is embarrassingly husky. He tries to keep his hands to himself, but he can’t help but push Jaskier’s hair back from his forehead.

“You’re so responsive. I touch you…” He slides a single finger down Geralt’s abdomen, tracing the curved ridges of his muscles. “Look at the way your body moves with my touch.” His other fingers hover, but don’t touch, and Geralt feels like he’s being taken apart. Jaskier licks his lips and finally takes Geralt’s arousal into his hand.

His mouth follows, and Geralt nearly comes up off the chaise. Jaskier firmly pushes him down again, pulling back with a wet pop. “Sit still.” He grips him at the base and sucks it lazily, savoring it. He laps at him, and then sucks harder, speeding gradually until Geralt is panting, forcing himself to remain fixed in place.

“Julian… I’m—”

“You’re not,” Jaskier disagrees. He sucks harder, taking him deep, and then pulling off as Geralt feels his body tighten. “You aren’t going to do anything,” he strokes him with his hand, “until I tell you to.”

“Okay,” Geralt pants. Jaskier sucks one teste into his mouth, toying with it, gazing up at Geralt through his thick lashes. He runs his tongue along a vein up the shaft, and then slides it around the glans. He sucks him down again, and Geralt groans. “Fuck, Julian…” He feels himself draw tight again, but he holds himself back. He throbs, aching with the unrelenting pleasure.

Jaskier bobs his head a few more times, and then pulls off and shushes him. “Put your hands up behind your head,” he commands.

Geralt nods and obeys. Jaskier reaches behind him and retrieves a bottle of lubricant. “Good boy,” he says, and Geralt shivers. Jaskier smiles. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “You’re being so good for me after all.”


Jaskier dribbles lube onto Geralt’s cock. “Now, I know you said you want to ride me, but since you misbehaved and hurt yourself again, you don’t get to ride anything until after you see that doctor again.” He slicks Geralt’s erection with the thick fluid. “Instead, you’re going to let me use you. You’re going to let me ride you until you’re shaking and whimpering and absolutely wrecked.” He pumps his fist the full length of Geralt’s cock. “But first…” He grips him with a slick hand, stroking him. He lets his thumb skim over the tip, and reaches down with his other hand to toy with his balls. The pace turns brutal again, and Geralt clenches his fists. Jaskier sees, and smirks. He slows, and then speeds again. He pinches one of Geralt’s nipples. He swipes hit across the tip, slicking it with fluid, and then reaches beneath Geralt, exploring. Geralt tries to bend his knees and open up to him, but Jaskier holds him down. He chuckles and pulls both hands back. “So eager,” he says. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

Geralt nods.

“I get you first.” He straddles Geralt.

“Are you—”

“Shh.” Jaskier presses a finger to his lips and clasps Geralt's cock with the other hand. He presses the tip against his entrance and bites down on his lip as he pushes against it.

All of Geralt’s senses seem to focus on Jaskier, as his awareness narrows to a single point of contact. It’s almost painfully good, and he grits his teeth. “Hnngh, fuck—”

“Oh god yes, fuck, Geralt…” Jaskier sinks down bit by bit, stretching himself in increments. Geralt feels the hot clench as Jaskier works himself open. He moans, rocking with it, as he gets it further into his body.

It’s unbearably good, and Geralt’s mouth drops open as he watches Jaskier flush with pleasure, spearing himself on his cock. Jaskier tilts his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. He takes it fully, and Geralt feels him—tight, slick, and exquisitely hot around him. Jaskier opens his eyes, and fixes him with his stare. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” Jaskier whispers. He seems to pulse around him. “It’s so much—I’m so absolutely full. I can feel you all the way to my fingertips. Tell me how I feel.”

“It’s… it’s so good,” Geralt manages. Jaskier just sits on him, as if he’s resting there. Geralt tries to thrust, and Jaskier grips his hips to hold him in place. “It’s… like you’re squeezing me, fuck, please Julian…”

Jaskier smiles and rakes his hands up and down Geralt’s chest. “Please what?”

“Let me move.”

Jaskier rocks up and down on Geralt’s cock, and Geralt lets out a long groan. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

“I feel like—”

“What?” He rocks again.

“Like I’m dying. Like you're breaking me.”

Jaskier laughs, and it clenches more. Geralt groans. “You aren’t dying tonight. I’m not finished with you yet.” He starts to move, rolling his hips, picking up speed until he’s bouncing, riding Geralt. He leans his body so that each of his thrusts hits just where he wants it. “Your cock, Geralt, is so… fucking… perfect.”

“I’m gonna—”

“Not until I say.”


“That’s it, give it to me, yes,” Jaskier moans. Each bounce is a wet slap as Jaskier works it.


Jaskier grins, and then stops. He slides down, slowly, still seated on Geralt’s cock. “What?”

It aches. Geralt shakes. He just lets out a low groan.

“You’re a little sweaty,” Jaskier teases. “You’re going to need another shower after this. It’s a nice shower, isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to say.”

Geralt just groans again, and Jaskier swivels his hips a bit. His own cock is iron hard as well, but he ignores it.

“There are a few other things I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, too.”


“You don’t think this is a good time?”

“Please, just…”

“Okay, fine,” Jaskier relents. He resumes the pace, steady and unflagging. He writhes with pleasure as he rides Geralt, arching his back and keening as he takes him. Geralt’s hands find their way to his hips, and he watches his throat flush with his chest. Jaskier's legs start to shake, and he barely takes himself in hand before he comes with a sort of howl, still moving against Geralt. “Come for me,” he says, “You can come for me now,” and he rolls against him as Geralt grips his hips tight and finally finds release.


“You missed the whole news story,” Lambert says. “Good thing these fucking twenty-four-hour news channels just show different people talking about the same goddamn thing for hours on end.” He puts the living room TV on CNN. They’re showing the outside of Radovid’s house. The ticker says something about an arrest. “No bail because he’s a flight risk.”

“For trafficking?” Geralt asks.

“It’s pretty damning when you own the massage parlor where it’s happening. They must’ve found some good stuff this morning. That, combined with Bedlam’s exposé…” Lambert shrugs. Aiden leans against him on the sofa. “I guess it was enough to haul him in.”

“It’s going to be in the courts for awhile,” Aiden says. “But the reports are already pretty clear. He’s ruined.”

Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand. He smiles at him, and Geralt feels like he’s looking at something he shouldn’t see. It's pure and joyful, and he doesn’t deserve this. “I…”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, again.

“I didn’t…”

“Yeah,” Lambert agrees, “he just bossed everyone else around and made us to the legwork. You know how much time I spent sitting outside that nutjob Marx's house? And it's so fucking creepy inside, he has pictures of you, Jaskier. Framed. Like, fucking portraits. It's fucked up. I did way more work than Geralt.”

“He got stabbed!”

“I got shot!”

“You were wearing a vest!”

“Stop,” Geralt tells them. Aiden laughs.

Lambert shakes his head. “Okay, can we at least watch a good movie now?”

“If Radovid’s arrested, we should probably go home,” Aiden points out. “Because the threat’s gone.”

“You’re fine,” Triss calls from the kitchen.

“But you aren’t watching Con Air in my home theatre,” Yennefer adds. “I don’t care who gets arrested.”

“It has John Malkovich,” Triss says.

“You and John Malkovich.”

Triss giggles, and they disappear together onto the terrace.

Geralt, Lambert, and Aiden look at Jaskier. He squints and hums. “Okay fine.” He takes a long breath. “We can watch Con Air.”

“Yes!” Lambert pumps his fist.

Geralt shakes his head and smiles. He follows them into the theatre.




Chapter Text


The blindfold is a long strip of black silk, knotted tight behind Geralt’s head. He can’t see anything, and it leaves him acutely aware of every sound: the soft scritch of Jaskier’s fingers trailing along the fabric, the release of his breath as he reaches around Geralt, the drag of his arm on Geralt’s sleeve. He unbuttons his shirt, inch by inch. His breath is hot on Geralt’s neck.

“You have goosebumps,” Jaskier whispers. He runs a finger along the line of Geralt’s throat. He swallows, and it seems loud in his head.

“Hm, it’s your breath.”

“So bad it makes you shiver?”

Geralt smiles. “It’s warm.”

Jaskier breathes against his skin. “I see,” he says, and Geralt shakes. Jaskier pulls apart the lapel of his shirt and slides it from his shoulders and down his arms. It gets caught at his wrists, and he giggles before unbuttoning the cuffs. “Like that Brad Pitt movie. The one where he plays death.”

Meet Joe Black.”

“That’s it. You’re a lot more attractive than death.”

“More attractive than Brad Pitt?”

“By far.” He reaches back around him and digs his fingers through Geralt’s chest hair. “For more reason than one.”


Jaskier’s hands drift down, sliding over his heated skin. Geralt feels like each touch is amplified by his blindness. Jaskier’s hands send shockwaves coursing through him. He lets his chest rumble with the pleasure of it, and Jaskier rewards him by unzipping his fly. “Now,” Jaskier says, “you’ve seen me strung up and fucked raw, put on display—”


“I know, you like it. But tonight—tonight I get to see you.” He’s smiling. Geralt can’t see it, but it’s clear in his voice.

Geralt hears the soft swish of Jaskier pulling his own shirt over his head, and then he is overwhelmed by the press of his chest against his back. His lips return to Geralt’s neck, and he mouths against him as if he’s trying to devour. Geralt tilts his head to offer more real estate, and Jaskier hums in approval. The noise rumbles through Geralt’s chest and warms him. He presses his shoulder blades into Jaskier’s chest.

Jaskier’s hands stroke down each side of his chest, and he trails his fingers around Geralt’s waist band. “Yes,” Geralt whispers, encouraging the exploration.

Jaskier’s lips find the top of his shoulder and he nips at the ridge of bone, eliciting a quick little hiss. His fingers are nimble. He unbuttons and unzips with purpose, and every movement sends waves of sensation through Geralt’s nervous system. He hears Jaskier’s breath speed as he reveals more and more skin. He thinks if he tried hard enough, he could hear his pulse.

Geralt rolls his shoulders forward so that Jaskier’s chest is pressed flat against him. His heart beats fast, Geralt feels. His body is warm. Geralt’s trousers slide to the floor, and his boxers follow.

Jaskier is dressed on the bottom, and the texture of denim leaves Geralt breathless. Something about being exposed, like this, without being able to see, and knowing that Jaskier is still covered, at least somewhat, electrifies him.

“Mmm,” Jaskier murmurs, “you like this. You like putting yourself in my hands.”


“Good. Walk forward for me. Wait—first—” He kisses him. Geralt loses himself in the slide of lips and tongue. He lets Jaskier control it; he nibbles Geralt’s lip and sucks it into his mouth before delving back in with a lick and a slow, tender slide. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth, and moves himself back behind him. “Now, a step forward. Feel the bed? Right there.” He places a firm hand on Geralt’s back and pushes. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

Jaskier’s duvet is soft cotton. His bed is firm beneath Geralt’s knees, and he barely sinks in.

“Perfect,” Jaskier praises him, sliding his hand down Geralt’s flank. He caresses his thigh with his other hand, and Geralt can’t know where he looks or what he sees. He shivers, and Jaskier kisses the right side of the dip of his lower back.

“God,” Geralt whispers. Jaskier slides in behind him. His denim-clad legs tickle the inside of Geralt’s spread thighs. Jaskier leans down so that his chest caresses Geralt’s back, and he strokes up his legs with his fingertips. “Touch me,” Geralt whispers. “Please.”

“Of course.” Jaskier’s hands leisurely make their way to his cock. One grips his length, and the other below. He moves achingly slow, in tandem with the kisses he presses down Geralt’s back.

When his mouth reaches the base of Geralt’s spine, he releases his cock and brings them back. “Oh god,” Geralt whispers. “Julian, fuck.” His breath is hot on his skin and his fingers are tight where they find position on each side of his ass. “Oh, fuck…”

Jaskier spreads him apart.

Geralt can feel his breath. It moves slowly down and up, as if he’s inspecting him close. “What are you—”

“Shh. Easy, love.”

Geralt’s whole body shakes.

“Oh. Oops.”

“Jul—” Jaskier’s tongue licks a stripe up his ass. He hums in approval, and licks at his rim. “Fuck, Christ!”

Jaskier’s laugh is husky and low. “You’ve been neglected.” He licks him again and flutters his tongue. “Mmm, you should see how gorgeous this looks.” He does wicked things, and Geralt’s body quakes. “You’re so perfectly pink.” He holds him apart with one hand and gently prods him with the other. “I wonder…” He rubs a finger—his thumb?—against the furl of muscle, and Geralt moans. “So responsive for me. Good.” Geralt’s legs feel weak. His cock throbs.

Jaskier’s tongue returns, firmer and sure. He laps at Geralt until he relaxes beneath him, and then prods with his tongue until Geralt gasps and his body lets him in. He feels sweat dampen the edges of the blindfold. Jaskier makes filthy sounds as he fucks him with his tongue.

“Julian…” Geralt whispers, like a prayer.

Jaskier pulls back, panting. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.” Geralt hears the rasp of a zipper and shuffling and Jaskier finishes undressing. He knows his body so well, he pictures him—flushed-rosy and eager. He hears the plastic click of a bottle, then feels the cool drizzle of lube against his skin. He sucks in a breath, and Jaskier chuckles. He rubs it around Geralt’s rim, and Geralt groans as he pushes in.

Jaskier starts with his hand, a finger, then two. He works him open gently, patiently, until Geralt feels close to tears. “More,” he growls. “I need more.”

Jaskier’s hands leave him, and Geralt waits. Seconds pass, and he feels like he’s falling apart. “Ready?” Jaskier asks.


“Okay.” Jaskier presses his cockhead into Geralt’s body. They both make a sound like a gasp and a grunt. Geralt feels the intrusion and stretch, and is overcome with it. His fingers tingle. He curls his toes. His chest feels tight and absent of air. He sucks in a breath, and Jaskier pushes forward. He rocks forward and back, and Geralt feels his body accommodate. Each motion of Jaskier’s cock sends a wave running through him, until every inch of his skin feels alive.

As he feels himself open to Jaskier’s cock, his body relaxes into the pleasure. His testes tighten and it radiates through him until he feels set aflame. Jaskier works him open until he’s completely in, and he stops, hips flush against Geralt’s rear. He runs his hands up and down Geralt’s back, and then grips his hips and squeezes. Geralt can only release a small moan. He feels weak, like Jaskier has fractured his surface and he’s waiting to be split apart—it’s the build of a wave before it crests, more and more, and he needs it to go. “Julian?”

“Just a second—I just need a second.” His breath is labored. “You feel—fuck, Geralt, you feel so incredible, and I want—”

“Maybe this first time, we’ll—”

"Yeah." Jaskier pulls back and thrusts. They both release guttural sounds. “ intense.” He thrusts again, and Geralt hears him suck in a breath. “I’ve never had… hnnn… it be like this…” His breath comes hard with every thrust.

Geralt arches his back to meet him, curving his spine so that he’s lined up smooth. He feels Jaskier deep, and it’s a slick glide of fullness with every move. He bends his elbows, shifting the angle further, and Jaskier’s cock hits that sweet spot that makes him keen.

They don’t last long, this time. Neither of them lasts long. Jaskier lets go of his control and fucks him, hips stuttering until he comes apart. His unrehearsed sounds send Geralt after him, careering over the edge with a violent cry.

As soon as they stop throbbing together, Jaskier pulls off the blindfold. He stares at Geralt and kisses his mouth. He lies back on the bedding and pulls Geralt after him, staring at him and stroking his hair. He nestles Geralt’s head onto his chest and holds him there, and they ride through the afterglow together.

The warmth grows, this time, from Geralt’s chest. He looks up at Jaskier and feels it tighten. He’s okay, he thinks. We’re okay. For now.

They watch each other in silence until they both fall asleep.