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king-finnigan · 4 years

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Play With Fire - part 14

Jaskier: I am gay, I am homeless, I am a serial killer, and I’m new in town!

An extra long chapter! As a treat!

Warnings! Smut, CBT (not the therapy)

Masterlist!

***

They leave the motel early in the morning. There’s someone else sitting behind the counter now, an old woman as opposed to the younger man that was there yesterday, and Geralt has to fight to hide his disappointment.

The rest of the way to Los Angeles is fairly quiet, with Jaskier singing along to the music in the car, wearing the stolen sunglasses, feet propped up on the dashboard, and Geralt driving.

When they finally reach the bustling city, though, Jaskier sits upright in favour of gaping around at the tall buildings, at the sidewalks filled with people, and eventually, at the salty and warm ocean in the distance, flanked by white and soft beaches.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier breathes out at one point, and Geralt agrees, though his eyes are stuck on his love’s face. He’s never been a massive fan of the ocean, anyways.

They rent a motel room for the next week or so, near the beach. It’s quite expensive, but with his full bank account in his back seat, no care for the future, and the excited sparkle in Jaskier’s eyes, he can’t bring himself to really give a shit as he pays the bored-looking woman behind the desk.

After that, Geralt lets Jaskier freshen up in the bathroom, as he counts the money they’ve got. It’s several tens of thousands worth in cash, so he’s sure it’ll last them a long while - if not years, then definitely months. He stores it all away again, before tucking his gun into his waistband, some bills into his pocket, just in case.

He turns on the tv as he waits for Jaskier to finish up, but pales when he sees his own face flash across the screen. The news anchor tells the story of how he got killed by a serial killer named Jaskier and that any details about the location of his corpse or the whereabouts of his murderer would be highly appreciated and rewarded. He scoffs. Clearly, Jaskier’s plan has worked - they really do think his love killed him, burned his house down, and stole his money. Which is good, of course.

What’s a little less good, is that now it’s on national television, and the feds have basically put a price on Jaskier’s head. Worry coils in his stomach, but he quickly shuts the tv off when the door to the bathroom unlocks. (He’s not sure why Jaskier insisted on locking the bathroom door, since they’re well past that point, but he’s no longer complaining about it now, glad with the heads-up.)

Jaskier practically skips across the room, taking Geralt’s hand in both of his, basically pulling him off the bed. “Come on, I wanna go to the beach and look at the sunset.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, smiling anyways, allowing his love to pull him out of the door, having half a mind to lock it behind them, before Jaskier drags him in the direction of the beach.

And it’s a perfect afternoon, in every conceivable way, really. They walk across the boulevards, the sun shining down on them. He buys Jaskier ice cream, and Jaskier giggles like a child and forces him to buy some for himself as well, tells him he has to stop holding out on himself like that, tells him that he needs to treat himself more often, and that he deserves it. Geralt is almost inclined to believe him. Eventually, they make their way over to the beach, and they stand there together, feet in the warm water, as Jaskier watches the sunset he so desperately wanted to see, and Geralt looks at the person he would dedicate his entire life to, if Jaskier wanted it.

And he pushes the worries of what he saw on tv to the back of his mind, drowns out the realization that they can’t stay here forever with Jaskier’s soft humming and wild laughter, doesn’t allow himself to think about anything other than his love, his everything, his Jaskier.

When they eventually return back to their motel, he feels warm and soft and fuzzy, and he follows Jaskier’s advice - he lets himself. He lets himself feel warm, feel soft, feel fuzzy, as he holds his love to his chest that night, and for a moment, everything is perfect.

---

He wakes in the morning with a start, as Jaskier pushes against his shoulder.

“Come on, sleepy, time to get up. We’ve got so much to see around here, and I really wanna swim in the ocean today.”

Geralt groans, burying his face into the pillow. “What’s the time?”

“11.”

He blinks, then frowns, looks up at Jaskier’s expectant face. “Wait, what?”

“It’s 11, it’s nearly noon, now get your lazy, perfect ass out of bed!”

Jaskier, in his excitement, has already washed and dressed, Geralt notices, and he sighs softly as he sits up. “Alright, alright. Give me ten minutes.”

“I don’t wanna wait ten minutes!”

Geralt rolls his eyes, though he can’t keep a fond smile from tugging at his lips, as he looks at his - quite annoying - love. “Are you suggesting I go outside in just my underwear?”

Jaskier laughs, climbs into his lap, and Geralt’s hands settle on the younger man’s hips. “Well, not that I would very much mind. And I don’t think the rest of LA would either - trust me, I’ve seen weirder things than people in underwear already and I’ve only been here about a day. But no, love, I don’t want the rest of the world to see you half-naked. That’s a privilege for me and me alone that I hold close to my aching heart, my love.”

Geralt snorts, landing a small kiss on Jaskier’s lips. “You’re so dramatic, dear. But if you can’t wait, then go ahead without me, I’ll catch up later.”

Jaskier pouts. “But you won’t know where I’ll be.”

“But you don’t wanna wait for me to get dressed, either, do you?”

Jaskier sighs, then rolls his eyes. “No, I suppose not.” He kisses Geralt again, softly this time. “Alright, fine, you and your perfect, very boring ass can stay in here while I go have fun, then.”

He makes a move to get up, but the tightening of Geralt’s hands around his hips stops him, and he cocks his head.

“Promise me one thing,” Geralt whispers to him, fear and worry rising again in his chest.

“Alright, love, anything.”

“No killing.”

Jaskier pouts, lets out a whiny noise. “Why not?”

“Because we just got here, and I would hate for us to have to leave already because you couldn’t keep your knife in your pants.”

Jaskier laughs, then pouts again. “Can’t I just stab them a little bit? Just a bit?”

Geralt mock-glares at him and Jaskier laughs again. “No, you can’t.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “But seriously, promise me you won’t kill anyone. Please.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, but nods anyways. “Alright, fine. No killing.” Geralt glares at him again. “Fine, I promise. There, all good?”

Geralt lets go of his hips. “All good,” he says, smiling when Jaskier leaps up, bounding for the door, quickly leaving with a: “See you tonight, love!”

He shakes his head, fondness blooming in his chest, as he stands up to take a shower.

---

Night has started to fall already when Jaskier finally returns to the motel room. He gives Geralt a quick, tight-lipped smile, before hurrying to the bathroom.

Geralt frowns. He knows Jaskier by now, and this behaviour is not like him - at all. “Jaskier, what’s going on?”

Jaskier smiles, breathes out a quick huff of a laugh, as he continues to the bathroom. “Nothing, nothing, love. Just need a quick shower to wash this sweat and seawater off me.”

“Jaskier, I know you’re lying.”

“What? No, I’m not, I would never.”

“Jaskier.”

The younger man already has the doorknob to the bathroom in his hand, and Geralt knows that if he doesn’t stop him now, he’ll probably never find out what’s going on. “Stop right there, boy.”

Jaskier does stop, luckily, a small shiver running down his spine at the word. Though, he doesn’t turn to face Geralt.

“Turn around, boy.”

Jaskier does as he’s told, his gaze flitting around the room, looking at anything and everything but Geralt. He almost looks... scared, even, he notices, and worry and panic coil in his gut.

That’s when he sees the small, dark stain on the front of Jaskier’s shirt - dark brown, though he knows it must’ve been deep red not so long ago.

He sighs, anger and annoyance rising in him. “Speak, boy. What did you do?”

Jaskier fidgets with his own hands, gaze still not meeting Geralt’s. He mumbles something under his breath, red rising to his cheeks.

“What was that?”

“I, uh... I maybe sort of, uh... stabbed someone?” He does finally meet Geralt’s eyes, guilt and embarrassment in his own blue ones. “Sorry?”

Geralt sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is exactly what they don’t need right now - extra attention drawn to them, the suspicions of the cops raised at what was probably a cold-hearted murder. But a murder nonetheless, he knows, because Jaskier doesn’t half-ass shit, especially murder. Hopefully that also means there are no witnesses.

“Why?” The question comes out flat in an effort to keep the annoyance and anger from his voice. “I told you not to. You promised me you wouldn’t! And now you come in here and you tell me you stabbed someone? Why’d you do that?” Despite his earlier resolve, he cannot keep the volume of his voice down, cannot keep his anger from shining through.

Jaskier flinches a bit, though there is defiance in his eyes. “He catcalled me!”

“So you stabbed him? Please tell me you didn’t kill him in the middle of the street.”

“No! I... I may have given him a little wink, and beckoned for him to follow me, and I may have led him into a shady alley, and I may have stabbed him several times there. But I covered his mouth! And I barely got any blood on me!”

“Oh, yeah, that makes it so much better, thank you for that, all is now forgiven.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not!” He takes a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Finally, he looks up again, at Jaskier, who’s still standing in front of the bathroom door, hands fisting his own bloodied shirt. “Obviously, I can’t let you just get away with this, boy. You have to be punished.”

Another shiver runs through Jaskier’s body, and Geralt can practically see his eyes darken from where he’s still sitting on the bed. “Yes, sir,” Jaskier whispers.

“Take off your shirt. I don’t wanna have to look at that bloodstain another fucking second, you hear me?”

Jaskier obliges with a soft: “yes, sir.”

“Come here, boy.” He pats his lap, and Jaskier walks towards him, knees shaking, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. Speaking of, Geralt can already see the outline of Jaskier’s hardening cock through the fabric, and he feels a small rush of satisfaction at the knowledge his words alone already have such an effect on the younger man.

“No,” he says, when Jaskier moves to sit down in his lap. “On your stomach, boy.”

Jaskier exhales a shaky breath, nodding as he lays down on his stomach, across Geralt’s thighs, one hand holding onto the nightstand, another to Geralt’s thigh, his legs stretched out behind him, the tips of his toes barely touching the floor.

“Hmm,” he hums, as he hooks the fingers of one hand under Jaskier’s waistband, the other snaking through brown curls, pulling on them tightly, eliciting a small gasp from the younger man. “I’d almost tell you you’re a good boy, but if you were, we wouldn’t be here in the first place, now would we?”

Jaskier shakes his head as well as he can with Geralt holding on to his hair, whispering out a “no, sir”, breath catching in his lungs when Geralt’s yanks his shorts to his ankles in one movement.

He softly taps one of Jaskier’s ass cheeks, making him shiver in his lap. “How many do you think you deserve, boy?”

Jaskier stammers for a few seconds. “I- I don’t know, I, uh... I don’t know?” His voice is high, desperate, pleading, and Geralt almost feels ashamed at the fact that he can feel his own cock fattening in the confinements of his trousers. Almost.

He swats Jaskier’s ass again, eliciting a soft yelp from underneath his hands. “Answer me, boy. How many?”

“I, uh... fifteen?”

“Hmm,” he muses. “Twenty it is, then.”

It earns him a small sound of protest, and he tightens his hand in Jaskier’s hair, basking in the small hiss of pain.

“Got a problem with that, boy?” He smiles softly when he can feel Jaskier’s already hard cock twitch against the side of his thigh, can feel the dampness of precome leaking onto the sheets and into the fabric of his trousers.

“No, sir,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt nods, before letting go of his hair.

“Count for me, boy.”

Jaskier barely has time to choke out a “yes, sir”, before Geralt’s hand already lands on his left ass cheek, hard and fast and merciless. “One,” he whispers.

“Hmm. Good boy.”

He strikes again. And again, and again, and again. After five slaps, Jaskier is already a whimpering mess underneath him, the supple flesh of his ass tender, his creamy skin an angry red.

After ten slaps, Jaskier starts crying out after every strike, trying to move away from Geralt’s hand, though his other arm holds the younger man in place.

“Please,” Jaskier whimpers, squirming in Geralt’s lap, salty tears gathering in his eyes. “Please, enough.”

Geralt bunches the flesh of one cheek in his hand, kneeding it roughly, eliciting another whimper from the younger man. “This is your fault, boy. You promised not to murder, and you did it anyway. This is on you. Now, do you remember your word, boy?”

The word to end this all, the word to use if it gets too much or too painful. Jaskier nods, stifling a soft sob. “I remember, sir.”

“Alright, good boy.” The praise makes Jaskier shiver softly. “Keep counting.”

He lands the next slap slightly below Jaskier’s ass, making sure he hits skin that he hasn’t hit yet, that’s not as numb as the rest of his flesh - but it only earns him a soft whimper and a whispered “eleven”.

The four slaps after that don’t do much better, and Geralt knows that, by the time they reach fifteen, Jaskier has grown accustomed to the pain. But that’s not what he wanted - he wanted Jaskier to realize the full severity of his actions, wanted him to bear the full weight of his punishment.

“Bend your legs, boy,” he tells Jaskier, and though the younger man frowns in confusion, he obliges.

Geralt yanks his shorts from his ankles, telling him to lower his legs again with a soft push against his calves. Then, he kicks Jaskier’s legs open with his foot. “Got five more to go, boy.” And Jaskier shivers in anticipation, no doubt already suspecting where this is going. “Count for me,” he whispers, voice hoarse with want and need, as his own hard cock strains against the fabric of his jeans, only twitching more when he thinks about what’s to come.

He lands the next slap on Jaskier’s balls, and the younger man cries out in surprise and pain.

“Count,” Geralt hisses through clenched teeth, the friction of Jaskier squirming in his lap, his stomach brushing against Geralt’s cock over and over again almost overwhelming.

“Ah, fuck, ah, s- sixteen.” Jaskier’s panting by now, ribcage heaving.

Another slap on Jaskier’s balls, this time harder, though he softly caresses them while he waits for the younger man to choke out a “seventeen”.

Eighteen and nineteen follow quickly after that, and he waits for a few seconds, grants his love some respite before number twenty. He lands the last one a little lower, striking both Jaskier’s balls and painfully hard cock.

Jaskier cries out again, though even louder this time, his whole body shuddering underneath Geralt’s hands, as he pants. Geralt frowns - he really hadn’t expected that much of a reaction, but it all suddenly makes sense when he feels warm wetness seeping into the side of his pants.

He feels his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, as he threads two fingers through the mess on his trousers and the sheets, humming out a soft “hmm” when they come back wet and sticky and white.

He looks to his left, as Jaskier hides his red face in the sheets, his neck and shoulders flushed beautifully.

“I didn’t give you permission to come,” Geralt says flatly.

Jaskier nods, turning his face to look up at him, eyes big and pleading and guilty. “I know. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to.”

He sighs, all fight leaving him in one, big huff, as he softly pats the small of Jaskier’s back. “It’s alright. Just this once.”

Jaskier smiles up at him. “Thank you, sir.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, alright, come on, up, dear.”

Jaskier pushes himself up, moving so he’s straddling Geralt’s lap, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. “I’m sorry, love.”

“You already said that, and I told you it’s fine.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry for... you know... stabbing that guy.”

Geralt sighs again, pulling Jaskier closer. “I know you are. It’s just... I worry. Every time you kill someone, the chances of us getting caught, getting separated, grow. I can’t let anything happen to you. That’s why I was so angry, I guess.”

Jaskier smiles down at him, pecking a small kiss to his cheek, to his nose, to the corner of his mouth, and finally to his lips. “I understand. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Geralt lets out a quiet breath, his worry leaving him with the air. “Thank you, dear.”

He stands up, lifting Jaskier with ease, before turning around, lowering them both on the soft bed. It’s dark outside, already, and though he’s slept so long the previous night, he still feels tired.

Jaskier smiles at him again, all bright, blue eyes and rosy lips and brown curls and pure sunshine, as he softly traces Geralt’s nose, his cheekbones, the outline of his lips with one finger. “I love you, you know.”

Geralt smiles softly. “I know. I love you too.”

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, seemingly hesitant to say something, the steady course of his finger faltering.

“Come on,” Geralt whispers. “Spit it out.”

“Wanna get married?”

He breathes out a soft huff of laughter, before gently kissing Jaskier. “Yes, I wanna get married,” he whispers against his love’s lips, smiling when Jaskier’s face turns ever brighter, his grin ever wider.

“Alright, then. Guess we’re getting married.”

Geralt smiles again - or still. He’s not sure whether or not he stopped smiling in the first place. He supposes he hasn’t stopped since he and Jaskier ran away together, though, so he figures it doesn’t really matter now.

“Okay, love you,” he whispers, as his eyes drift closed. He’s never felt more content, more at peace, more in love, though his mind sure tries to, when Jaskier whispers an “I love you” back - the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

---

He wakes up in the morning to the sound of a gun being cocked, and he instinctively tightens his arm around Jaskier. Something feels wrong, something feels very wrong.

He figures out what it is when he opens his eyes, finding 5 men dressed in tactical gear surrounding their bed, finding himself staring down the barrels of 5 assault rifles.

“FBI,” one of them says, “you’re under arrest.”

Tag list babey!

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @foddle-the-fiddler, @thenameislion-dandelion, @skai6, @kerfufflezz, @hysteria347, @pensandknittingneedles, @freak-fee-blog, @whenrainbowsend, @flustratedcas, @negatjazzy, @bridgehampton, @lookinforsomeabsinth, @dandelion-and-the-wolf, @sweetieplum, @aimlessunicorn, @superpaperclip, @whats-this-months-hyperfixation

#play with fire #part 14 #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #modern au #bonnie and clyde kinda au #smut #cw: cock and ball torture #the end!!!!!#*maniacal laughter*#this is the best day of my month

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