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officerjennie · 1 year

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Geraskier prompt: Geralt is hired to kill something that is driving a seaside town to madness. He is told where to go and that he'll know the foul thing when he finds it. Its Jaskier as a siren who only sings at night (loudly in a cave) and jaskier immediately tries to seduce geralt.

It might be two years later, but. Ta-da.

CW: Monster-fucking, light blood caused by nails, wolf witchers have knots, knotting, oral sex, intercourse

Summary: Essentially the prompt. 13.5k of Geralt trying to find out what's bothering the village before fucking it

Taglist: at the bottom - let me know if you want on/off it!

It was a rare day indeed when Roach refused to move onward.

Geralt murmured soothing words to the uneasy mare, her hoof scuffing at the trail she’d come to an abrupt stop on and refused to go so much as a step further down no matter how reassuring he’d attempted to be. Even as stubborn as she could be she’d never stopped like this before, jerking her head up to tug on the reins he held gently in his left hand, her nostrils flaring as she snorted her anger at him.

Not even his heightened senses could enlighten him to what on earth had set her off. It smelled the same here as it had a mile back: muted molding from the soggy fallen leaves on the path, salt in the air carried past the trees from the ocean he couldn’t quite hear yet, faded scent trails from the sparse animal life that had crossed the path as well. No noise had reached him that would cause concern either, and the insect songs and chattering of angry squirrels above didn’t alert him to any intruders around.

There were days that Geralt trusted Roach’s instincts far more than his own, but today was not one of those days. He calmed her unease the best he could, slowly stroking her mane until her head leaned against him, not moving until she was back to nipping at him as she always did - albeit with less sass than usual.

He did not try riding her any further. It took nearly three hours to make a trek that should have been only half of one, Geralt leading Roach onward with the promise of a nice scrub down and as much hay as her belly could fit in it as soon as they made it to the small villa he knew the road led to.

Roach was not convinced any good would come of her putting even a single hoof further down that road, but she followed at her own excruciatingly slow pace, making her feelings known every step of the way.

It had been only a handful of years since he’d been this close to the ocean, so close now that as the village came into view he could hear the soft hush of water against sand in the distance. If he remembered correctly he had walked this way before, Roach having been left in a stable in trusted hands as he’d tracked down a monster that had been eating livestock - farm horses included - and destroying the livelihoods of several families that had relied on milk and cheese and grain as their only income. Perhaps the ocean was bothering her. Not likely, since she’d been near it further up the coast, but the thought still allowed Geralt to dismiss any further concerns with a near silent grunt, and with his own shoulders relaxing it was easier (if only minutely) to convince her to journey the last few hundred feet to the very small guest stable attached to the traveler’s inn located on the outskirts of the village.

At least she didn’t protest being left alone there too much, save for the hard nip she gave his arm when he went to leave.

It was both a boon and a curse that it really was an inn and not a tavern. Geralt would have thanked some deity for the quiet that met him when he entered but at this point in his life he doubted they cared - at least not for him; others seemed blessed enough with their gifts (though others still he did not at all envy for their accrued favor. The gods were fickle creatures, and not wholly good by any means). It meant his ears wouldn’t be ringing from drunken fools not knowing how to keep quiet, but it also meant there would be little ale as well; a simple sniff of the air confirmed that for him.

How empty the inn was, however, was definitely a little concerning. Only his enhanced hearing let him know the entire building wasn’t empty; somewhere in the back, more than likely in some pantry or kitchen from the distinct clinking noises, someone was rummaging around for something and mumbling while they did. Other than that, there was no one save for a mouse he heard scurrying about its business somewhere close by.

No one to even check him in for a room, or stable boarding either. He didn’t really need a room given the time of day but he really couldn’t just leave Roach without guaranteeing she could stay - last thing he needed was to hunt someone down for selling her or stealing her, or letting her wander off on her own.

He hated having to snoop to find someone. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose, trying to keep the irritation down, so used to humans that he knew exactly how this one would respond to him popping in out of nowhere. Used to it didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating, though he’d long ago stopped trying to convince them that he wasn’t there to eat their children or make off with their valuables, or whatever crazed idea this village might have about witchers.

Considering the tall tales he’d already heard, it could be anything, and that was not making the growing headache go away.

But, standing there wouldn’t solve any of his issues. He begrudgingly walked towards whoever was making noise farther into the building, making a conscious effort to make noise himself as he walked, and taking note as to how unused the place felt. The tables he passed seemed clean but too clean, as if no one used them. The chairs were all pushed in neat and tidy, the counter having no signs of recent stains from food or drink, and the only smells of humans was, well, only one human. More than likely the one that was griping after a louder bang had stopped their rummaging.

It was all putting him on edge, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. An unused, clean inn at the edge of a small village shouldn’t be that off-putting - but Roach didn’t freak out over nothing.

Around the corner of the bar was indeed the door to a pantry, which was right next door to a small kitchen. It was in the pantry that he found a rather stout woman, more than likely in her mid 30’s (though his understanding of human ages had always been a bit hazy), who was cursing some jar of preserves that had fallen on her foot. At least it wasn’t broken, considering the empty state of her shelves that was no small blessing.

“Got any room at the stables?”

He winced at how quickly she whipped around at him, holding the jar as if she might bash her startler’s skull in with it. Hadn’t been his intention to give her such a fright but considering his track record he wasn’t sure what he expected.

“Couldn’t have given at least a little warning before sneaking up on me like that?”

He shrugged one shoulder as he watched her thankfully lower her weaponized preserved fruit. She gingerly placed it by one other jar on the bottom shelf, dusting her hands off on the old apron she had tied around her waist.

“Well. Answer’s yes, as long as you didn’t bring a whole herd with you.”

“Only one.”

She nodded, still breathing carefully seemingly to calm her own nerves. But after a second more she gave a single nod, successfully collecting herself enough to look up at him with sharp eyes. “I expect payment upfront. No loans nor future services accepted. Might have once upon a time, but not in this day and age. Promises won’t put food on the table.”

“Or into the pantry.”

She swept her eyes around the pantry once with a frown, agreeing with him on that. Then she shooed him out of her way, sweeping past him to busy herself in the kitchen next door. “Imagine you’ll want a room as well, yes? Can’t promise there’ll be no cobwebs but I’ve fresh linen, and the stew’s on. Not much meat in it but it’ll do.”

The promise of a hot meal was tempting, but Geralt’s nerves were still on edge. He wasn’t really sure if he was supposed to join her in the kitchen so he stood awkwardly in the doorway, caught on some innocuous thing she’d said.

‘Not in this day and age.’ Could mean anything. Could mean, like her pantry shouted at him, that she’d run into tough times. War had been an increasing threat from the south, which meant those that dared to travel were doing less and less of it anyway, sticking to areas they knew well and sticking with heavy guard. It meant when groups did seek lodging they usually paid more, for security and for the extra people with them, but with less and less travel it meant those groups were few and far in-between.

But that statement wasn’t by itself, wasn’t without the context that had him doubting the security of this area ever since Roach had dug her heels in earlier. So Geralt just couldn’t let that go, chewing over it as the woman bustled about getting a bowl down and boiling water for what smelled like herbal tea.

“You always this empty?”

He had interrupted her, and it was a conversational shift she hadn’t wanted if the purse of her lips had anything to say about it. Her eyes hardened as she dipped a ladle into the stew, dishing out a hefty portion before placing it near him on the counter.

“No. Well, yes, lately, but it’s not normal since I know that’s what you’re asking.”

At least it seemed like she was willing to share her tale, though not before settling them in for some tea and food. And not before getting her coin either. Once they were settled in at the bar, the only two in the whole place, she gave a pointed look towards his coin purse until he untied it and handed over what he owed her.

To her credit, she didn’t inspect it like many did. Didn’t look the coin over just to make sure it wasn’t fake, as if he’d had the time or skill to craft realistic fake ones. Not that he didn’t doubt others could - he’d met some frugal and crafty wizards in his time - but damned if he looked like he could do that sort of shit.

She didn’t even bother putting it away after a once-over counting of it, taking one big slurp of her own bowl of stew before starting her tale, wiping her mouth on a rag as she began.

“Used to be a decently busy town. Nothing like the big cities or even the towns on the busy roads, of course - not that I’d know much about them. No real experience traveling, just you get talkative stragglers. Folks that can’t shut their mouths about where they’ve been, as if it makes them any more important than the ones that have to clean up after them.

“Anyway, it’s been a few months since the travelers stopped coming. Blame the war on that one.” She grumbled a bit at that as Geralt eyed his own stew, noticing the lack of meat and grimacing at the amount of carrots. He hated cooked carrots.

“But that’s not what really has been going on. Something...something has gotten to the townsfolk.”

“Could be a bit vaguer.”

He almost regretted his sass at the look the woman gave him. Sometimes it was easy to forget he was a powerful witcher when one gave him a scolding look. He just grunted and ate one of his carrots, managing to swallow it down despite the disgust he felt at the texture.

“Around a month ago a voice started to ring out at night. Not sure of the exact time but it’s consistent, and it...it does something to people.” Her face pinched up in confusion, and she took a sip of her tea before she continued. “I’m not entirely sure what it’s doing exactly, but I can tell you the effect it has on them. Damned near every single person in the town starts going crazy for each other. Well. All the adults, anyway, but we don’t have many kids ‘round here. Most of them are off in our sister town.”

That was a bit puzzling. “No kids?”

She shrugged, waving her hand as if he wasn’t asking the right question. “Most of the folks ‘round here don’t actually live here. It’s mainly for work. The soil isn’t great for farming, most of the profit is from fishing, and it’s a rather new place anyway. Families haven’t moved in yet. They just threw up shacks to sleep in in-between fishing trips.

“But they’ve started going nuts. Every night it starts around the same time, all spurred on by that voice, and honestly you should be glad to hear the kids are elsewhere for it. Don’t need them scarred for the rest of their lives over this nonsense.”

Geralt shifted in his seat to face her more, studying her with a steady gaze. “Some voice driving people crazy. Any idea where the voice is coming from?”

“The sea. Least that’s what it sounds like. Haven’t really gone investigating, don’t really wanna get scarred myself.”

“How violent are they?” This did not sound good. He ran a mental list of his potions as he always did when preparing for something potentially dangerous, not liking that his only informant did not seem to know much of anything of what was happening. There were so many sea creatures and he’d faced all of None before, and if it was this bad already he didn’t have time to travel back to Kaer Morhen to ask Vesemir if he had any advice for him.

No time to study up on what to do. All he could do is hope his skills and knowledge were enough as they were.

His mental preparations were cut short by a snort, the woman snickering at him for a minute with mirth in her eyes. “No, witcher, violent is the wrong word for it. Not violent crazy. More like they can’t get enough of each other.”

Gods but did Geralt hate when people talked around issues. He grunted at her before drinking down some of his own tea, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Speak plainly, else I won’t know how to help you.”

“Oh aren’t you a dear?” Her sweet tone was not aided by her own rolled eyes. “They grab each other, no matter where they’re at or who they are. It’s like an open-air brothel ‘cept no one pays for nothing. Not really a sight I’d wish on anyone.”

That...was certainly something. He frowned further, trying to work that over in his head as he stirred around the carrots in his bowl.

“Fucking?”

“Put bluntly, yes.”

“And a voice spurs this on?”

“Is what I’ve been saying, yes.”

Her annoyed tone aside, that at least sounded like something Geralt was peripherally knowledgeable about. Couldn’t quite put his finger on the creature but he was certain he’d read something of it before, back in the library at Kaer Morhen, searching through dusty tomes to research a monster he’d been hired to hunt down near the keep.

Being so old made it hard to recall specifics. He shook his head, sighing as he gave up on that route for the time being. Could try and remember later, even without remembering anything he could get a first hand account of what this specific creature was doing to this specific town.

“Can you give me anything else? What the voice is saying, what direction it comes from - other than ‘the sea’,” he added the last before the woman could sass him, as he was certain she was going to. The turn of her lips told him he was right, too.

“Doesn’t really say much of anything. Nothing I can understand anyway.” She finished off her tea and stared at the bottom of her cup as if it had personally offended her. “Some sort of language probably but not mine. It sings. Not a bad melody if you care for music, though I’d rather it not.”

A singing beast, then. And if it sounded like a language then it was likely sentient, which muddled things up a bit. He scratched the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d listened to Roach and just not come this way. It all sounded like far too much trouble, especially given the state of the inn. Not like she could pay him much of anything, and he really didn’t want to get involved in this.

But, trouble sure loved to drag him into it.

“I’ll deal with it.”

He didn’t like how easily he accepted the mission she hadn’t even asked him to take.

Nor did he like how little rest he got. He had gone up to one of her free rooms (which was all of them, given the state of the village) and watched as she groused and fussed over it before he finally shooed her away - something he was sure he would regret later, given she was the one feeding him for his stay here, and given the look she sent him as she shut his door. The quiet of the empty inn had promised him some form of rest but it had been an empty promise, as sleep evaded him as it was often wont to do.

Night found him no more well rested than he’d been. He left the inn with all of his weapons double and triple checked to be in their place on his person, cracking his neck as he stopped by the connected stable to say hello to Roach.

Given the bite she gave to his shoulder, she was not ready to forgive him yet. The apple he brought made her at least consider it, so he knew he’d get back in her good graces eventually.

The woman had pointed him in a more specific direction before he had gone off to his room so Geralt knew which road (of the few that the village had) to take towards the sea. He made sure to go at least before night was fully upon them, dusk still touching the sky above with its colors, hoping to avoid the ‘open air brothel’. Luck was on his side with this at least. He saw not a single person as he walked down the dusty path that quickly turned to sand, walking the salt and pepper beach as he headed for an outcropping of rocks that jutted out into the tide.

Chances were that he wouldn’t be able to reach the creature from the beach, but it was a start. Geralt hardly expected to hunt down the thing and solve the issue in one night. Best to gather as much information as possible and take this as slowly as needed, especially given it was both sentient and not killing people.

Wasn’t an issue he could let be for long though. It might not be killing people but it was certainly disrupting their lives in a way that could harm them.

The beach was quiet save for the sussing of the water and his own footfalls. He leapt up on some rocks when he reached them, stepping carefully as to not slip and make a fool of himself on their slick surface, walking out a way to better survey the surrounding water. They weren’t the only rocks one could climb on out at that beach but they were the only ones connected to the land, some jutting out instead from the open water, something that he would not be stepping a foot in until he knew the creature better. He would have the sure advantage on land, had good footing and experience on his side there, but it was a poor day indeed when something managed to drag him underwater.

Sure, he’d won that sort of fight before, but he’d rather not repeat it. Close calls came a little too close when he couldn’t even get oxygen.

He sat down on the rocks to wait for the coming music, reigning back in his wandering thoughts, running one finger over the surface of the rocks beneath him as he waited. The air was thick with salt, sea mist leaving his skin damp, the color and light slowly leaving the sky as night took it over.

Shouldn’t be too long of a wait if the woman’s accounts were right. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles to keep them from staying too tight, going one group at a time to be sure he didn’t cause himself any injury if a fight was to come.

The singing came shortly.

It started out soft, hardly a whisper above the sea’s own song. A hum that Geralt hardly recognized was there, only tickling at the edge of his consciousness, and it was only thanks to his witcher’s blood that he did not become bespelled. He knew this because he felt the touch of magic. Felt it buzzing against his skin, sending ghost sensations of what the magic was meant to do.

The music became louder.

Geralt opened his eyes, feeling the ghosting heat crawling over his body and shaking it off. He squinted at the moving water, searching for any sort of shapes within it that might give away the location of the creature. In order to project its song it should have to be above the water but he knew so little of it that even that assumption could be wrong; it could be using something else to project the song, a beacon of sorts perhaps, and not actually be singing out in the open at all.

At least the song was a pleasant one. Nothing that grated against his eardrums and made him want to tear them out - he’d heard plenty worse, no matter that this one had such interesting side effects.

There. On the rocks. Geralt stilled further, staring just off east from where he was seated, seeing something on one of the outcroppings - how he hadn’t noticed it climbing up onto them he wasn’t sure, but that didn’t matter at the moment because he had clear sight of the creature.

It wasn’t one to worry about its safety, sitting so open like that. If he could assign typical human genders to the creature he would say it looked male, his chest bare to the night save for a good dusting of hair curling, dampened down by the sea he had just come from. And it was so very clearly a sea monster, light reflecting from the stars and moon above off of a brilliant scaled tail that dipped down into the water - his colored sight was not good enough for such a late hour but he could make out greens and blues tinting the reflected light.

A flashy creature, then, one whose design was to be seen.

His eyes were closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks, expression surprisingly soft as he sang his song out towards the village. Brown hair clumped together by water still tousled in the salty mist and wind that graced them, his slender form belying a strength Geralt was sure the creature held.

A rather attractive, flashy creature. Not that it mattered - Geralt frowned ever so slightly at himself, shoving that thought off into a corner to be covered with dust and forgotten. It did not matter if this creature was repulsive or attractive. All that mattered was if it was sentient, and that it was affecting the village and all the lives within it.

He sat there, studying the creature as it sang, watching for intent or any other emotions within its expressions, and was surprised that he never once seemed to notice Geralt watching him. For at least an hour he sang, his music shifting in style and tone, going from non lyrical to a weaving melody of what certainly sounded like words but not like any he’d heard before. He had the face of someone performing, of someone putting his all into what he was doing, taking breaths from his core and not holding a single expression, letting it change as the music changed.

For that hour, Geralt watched him and let the music flow over him. And after that hour was done he watched the creature slip back into the water, scales flashing in the moonlight, slipping away until Geralt could see not a sign that anyone other than him had been there.

Geralt waited a while longer, relaxed and breathing in the salt air, before finally rolling his shoulders and standing back up. The tide had receded since he had jumped up onto the rock, making reaching the beach faster, the sand wet and dampening his footfalls as he headed back to see the aftermath that waited for him in the village.

It was the smell that hit him first. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of arousal and sweat at the edge of the village, confirming even without seeing anything that the woman’s story had been right.

Geralt thought it best to avoid the randy villagers, though he was curious as to how long they were affected. Was it just until the creature's song ended? Did it last well into the night? What other sorts of hypnotism could this creature cause with its voice alone?

His voice. Geralt stayed clear of the village despite his curiosities, deciding it best to head back to the inn and meditate.

The innkeeper was not awake when he returned. It was blessedly silent, eerily so. He paused in the front doorway, weight shifting between his legs, and decided to not go in yet.

Roach was far from settled into the stable. Uneasy, nostrils flaring, pacing in her stall. He called out softly to her, and as he got closer he saw the sass had turned right into fear. No angry nips at his shoulder, just wide-eyed and prepared to bolt if he was dumb enough to open the stall door.

So he didn't open it. He climbed over it with ease - and Vesemir would have called him all kinds of stupid for getting into a small stall with an upset and scared horse.

It was stupid, but he wasn't fragile. He knew Roach well enough to calm her, though it took time and plenty of quick steps to keep her from accidentally smushing him up against a wall.

Worry gnawed at him even as Roach's breathing evened out. His voice was calm, quiet, fingers finding that spot she loved scratched near her ear - but Geralt had never seen her this afraid, and did not know the nature of this beast he was up against.

"It's alright," he said, soothing his hand down her neck and giving it a few good pats. She leaned heavily into the affection, unable to tell he was lying.

And morning came far too soon.

Despite the rather decent bed that had been made just for him, Geralt spent the night with Roach. He’d managed to meditate some after she'd calmed down, only brought out of it by the stray worried knicker or uneasy snort.

Age had certainly made some memories spotty, but meditation had brought him a bit closer to some sort of answer. If not from specific knowledge, then from experience. No exact creatures had come to mind as he'd scratched Roach behind the ears, no name to give it for all his thinking, but Geralt had fought plenty of monsters. Both sentient and creature.

The best thing he could do was find out which it- he was, and find out exactly what he wanted.

With the sun up and his stomach giving loud protests, he finally went back to the inn, with a promise to Roach that he'd be back. She flattened her ears at him but didn't bother to bite, most of the fight scared out of her.

Either that, or she was too damned tired for it. She'd slept like shit.

The fight had not been scared out of the innkeeper. Her sass was just as strong that morning, her night's rest uninterrupted by the town's happenings, and Geralt started to wonder over his breakfast why exactly this one woman, out of the whole town, was unaffected.

He didn’t bother asking, doubting she’d have any insight into why that might be.

After breakfast, he went up to the room she’d tidied up for him, deciding that mediation might help him get his thoughts in order - or remember something that might help him. Over the decades he’d read countless books: scouring the libraries at Kaer Morhen before they were destroyed, stopping by book stores when he had some spare coin, even letting his fingers stray whenever he was invited into a home that had them on display. Not that he ever stole any, but if he had time to crack a spine or two he would, always on the lookout for more information.

In his line of work, information meant life or death. He hoped he had some locked away in his memories.

The inn was quiet enough for his needs. Geralt shut the door behind him, kneeling in the middle of the floor, and breathed slowly. Willed his thoughts to go still, his body to relax, his senses to take everything in but only process what he needed.

Once he was quiet, once the world was just at the edges of his perception, he began to dig in his own mind.

Books upon books. Countless scrolls, endless conversations with witchers young and old. Huntsmen whose tongues got looser as they drank. Geralt could not remember them all, but his memory was better than most, if only because he knew how to trigger them. Decades of experience only needed a touch to be untapped, but try as he might Geralt could not recall anything about a creature that sang from the sea.

Hours passed, and it felt like minutes. Geralt came back to himself with a sharp inhale, and a slow exhale.

He did not know what this creature was, and he was unprepared.

With a roll of his shoulders, stretching the ever sore muscles there, he glanced towards the window. It would be dark again shortly. He didn’t have much time.

The innkeeper had more stew boiling over the fire. She didn’t even look at him as he came down the stairs, busying herself this way and that, keeping the place neat and clean despite its lack of use. Without pause, she poured him a bowl and sat it on a table, waving him towards it before busying herself all the way to the pantry.

He didn’t dare leave it, not willing to waste food or earn her ire. Decades of experience also told him who shouldn’t be trifled with.

It was with no further information that Geralt tightened his sword straps that evening, leaving the inn as colors started to touch the sky. He frowned up at the oranges and yellows, hearing Roach whinny softly in the stables nearby, and wished he had taken her elsewhere. The distress wasn’t good for her, and she didn’t feel anything but that in this village.

By morning, if he hadn’t figured out how to solve the village’s sea creature problem, he would take her elsewhere and come back alone. It’s the least he could do for her.

The wind blew softly that evening, snatching up the long strands of his hair and making them dance and tickle his face. He snorted a few times as he took the long way to the beach, still not willing to witness first hand what the creature was making the townsfolk do - though it would be better for him to see its effect, there were certain lines even his profession couldn’t make him cross. Town wide orgies caused by a man with a fishtail singing was, it turned out, one of those lines. As he found himself on the beach again, watching the sunset, he hoped it wasn’t one he’d come across too terribly often.

Sand soft under his boots, Geralt made his way to the water’s edge. He inhaled deeply, catching no whiff of the creature, though he hadn’t smelled it the night before either. Though he dared not close his eyes, he listened as best he could. Seagulls in the distance, water rushing over sand and hitting the rocks, wind rustling in the trees just at the end of the beach.

Nothing else, save for his own breath and heartbeats. He was alone above the water.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t here. Squinting into the waves, he saw crabs floating with the tide. Little fish darting here and there, too quiet for him to hear, drowned out by the sound of the sea.

It could be just as quiet. He- Geralt frowned, cocking his head so his hair stopped tickling his face. He could be there with Geralt and there was a chance Geralt wouldn’t even know, his movements hidden by the sun’s bright reflection on the water, the sound deafened by everything else around him.

Would do better to hide and wait, see what happened. Though there weren’t really places to hide that were safe. Behind the rocks might obscure him from sight, but by the time he’d left the night before the rocks were in water.

Not deep water, but in water. Where the creature was. And Geralt’s chances of survival were much higher when he was out of the water.

The sun was getting too low to stand there and think much longer. Geralt looked over the water once more, slowly, trying to catch any movement that seemed out of place. Nothing stuck out to him, nothing called his attention, so he turned towards the rocks once more.

Safety aside, hiding was his best option, so he huddled down and waited for the creature to sing.

Dusk darkened the sky, colors fading from view. Geralt kept himself relaxed, not wanting his muscles tense, his senses open to the world around him. Hands clasped gently in front of him, balancing on the balls of his feet, waiting for any sign that the creature was back.

Movement nearby caught his attention, his eyes sharp as he turned his head, squinting as he listened.

That voice, low over the water. Barely a whisper yet weighed heavy with magic weaved into it. A shiver went down his spine as it rolled over him, ghost sensations back once more.

Geralt shifted his weight, and peered around the rock, balancing himself with one hand in the sand and water.

He was perched on the same rocks as before, though this time he wasn’t facing the village. Really he wasn’t perched at all. Slouched over the rocks horizontal to the beach, chin propped up on one palm while his free fingers were lazily trailing through the water. Despite the power in his voice he seemed bored, eyes barely focused, tail occasionally flicking water up to spray over him.

Like that, his voice wouldn’t project far. It barely reached Geralt’s ears, though the witcher had no doubt the magic was already seeping into the villagers. He shifted closer, watching the creature as he sang a bored but beautiful melody, and tried to make out any of it that he could.

No words he recognized reached him, but he could tell it was a different song than the ones from before. He wondered if there was a purpose to each song or if the creature was just…singing.

Did it know what it was doing? Was it weaving a spell over the villagers on purpose? He cocked his head, shifting his hand to the rock when the sand beneath him started to shift with the coming tide, wondering what purpose this creature had here - or if there was no purpose at all. If it had just come ashore and sang, and had no knowledge of what it did to humans.

Trying to figure it out without confronting the beast was get him nowhere. Geralt breathed in deeply, slowly, testing his muscles to make sure none had gone stiff while he’d waited. And then he focused on the half-fish, half-man, deciding then that he would face it first without a drawn sword.

He stood up slowly. The creature was watching the way his fingers moved through the water, eyes half focused, a soft melody on his lips. Water dripped from his hair down his cheeks, falling back into the sea below, the hair on his chest slowly drying in the breeze and curling further.

Geralt was reminded of paintings he'd seen of fae folk. Almost human, beautiful, but off and eerie. Claws at the ends of his fingers. Webbing between them. Sharp teeth. Flecks of color on his skin that must have been scales. Slitted pupils that didn't change as the light dimmed - meant for the depths, where light rarely made its home.

Blue eyes, as deep as those depths, pinned him in place when the creature saw him.

The fingers trailing through the water stilled. The melody died on his lips, though the magic lingered as if suspended, waiting. His body shifted on the rock, head cocking ever so slightly, and those eyes studied Geralt just as Geralt had studied him.

Intelligent. Sharp. Calculating. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Geralt’s hand twitched when he saw the muscles in his back flex. Claws scraping against the rocks beneath him - and Geralt knew the creature was making a decision, deciding he was a threat.

Not the decision Geralt wanted it to make, not when he was certain it was intelligent. He had no idea if the creature could be reasoned with, if it even spoke the common tongue, but he wouldn’t fight it without trying.

As the creature tensed up, his upper lip twitching and showing teeth, Geralt called out to it over the sound of the sea.

“Why do you sing here?”

He paused, lips parted, clawed hand supporting him up off of his rock perch. And then he cocked his head, wet hair sticking to his forehead, sharp eyes scrutinizing Geralt once more but now accompanied by a wrinkle of his nose.

Water rushed over Geralt’s boots, up his shins. The sand shifted beneath him as the tide came further inland. He steadied himself on his own rock, not looking away from the creature as he looked at him in turn.

Then, the creature hunkered down. Something lit up his eyes, and a grin flashed across his lips right before he rolled off into the water below.

Geralt cursed, immediately rushing to the safety of land, eyes scanning the surface of the water. Near the rock the creature had been laying on, a fin flashed, spraying water into the air and heading away from the village.

Without a second thought, Geralt ran in that direction, determined to keep up with him.

Past the sand, a rock path ran perpendicular to the sea, up the slope of a hill. Geralt kept his eyes on the water, listening around him to make sure nothing else was up ahead. Scales glistened in the moonlight whenever the creature would breach the surface, greens and blues leading Geralt away, away, until the sounds of the creature’s magic were behind them.

The sounds of the villagers as well. Far behind him, until it was naught but the sea and the nearby forest and farms that Geralt could hear.

Despite the power behind that tail, he didn’t swim fast. Geralt narrowed his eyes as he easily kept up with the creature. As it stuck to the coastline, easily visible from land and headed in a clear direction.

Up ahead, Geralt spotted a small spot of land that jutted out into the sea. He could just make out the mouth of a cave, half submerged in water, though it looked like there might be a path in by foot. Slowing his pace, he followed the path’s decline towards the grass up ahead, and only glanced at the sea and the creature in it.

He knew where he was headed. Geralt only wondered then why he’d been led there.

As he made his way towards the cave entrance, Geralt watched the creature’s tail flick up out of the water. Droplets glistened in the moonlight as the creature disappeared into the cave, swimming into it with ease. It was likely, Geralt thought, that the creature had made this cave a nest of sorts, if he made his way there with such ease and confidence.

The tide was gentle there, lapping at grass and rocks as Geralt found himself at the shoreline once more. He found his footing was not compromised, though the path looked untouched. Very few, if any, men had been there before him - at least not in a long while.

Few tracks of any creatures, really. He touched the faded markings from what was likely bear claws, dug into a tree. The bleached blonde hair told him it was from months past. Geralt pulled the hairs free and inhaled their scent, and hummed to himself before letting them go.

They were alone. No scent of rotting flesh, nor any other sign of water fairing monsters he was more familiar with than the new one. He ducked past some hanging vines into the entrance of the cave, noting a carved path out of the stone that would keep him relatively safe out of the water.

Assuming the creature had no other magic in its arsenal. He stepped lightly, not wanting to make a sound, though he knew the creature knew he’d followed.

Running along the footpath, the water thinned out. Geralt paused long enough to squat down, watching it run over the small rocks. Small scales were scattered about, rubbed off against some of the rougher, sharper rocks. He turned his head, seeing where the water deepened again up ahead and disappeared underground.

His path continued. Standing back up, he went on, passing sewant mushrooms and moss that grew along the ground.

Eventually, the water weaved its way through the cave once more, and just as Geralt reached it the singing began. The creature’s voice echoing around him, magic seeping into his voice and making Geralt shiver. It was impossible to tell how far away he was, to pinpoint where his voice was coming from, but the path did not branch and Geralt pressed onward.

It narrowed until Geralt had to squeeze through sideways to keep from falling into the water. Carved up into the hill, so sharply at one point he had to climb his way up, thankful for the stalagmites he could grip onto. Slowly went down to sea level once more, widening into a large opening, the melody echoing around him as he finally reached the water’s end.

The water was still, so far away from the tide’s pull. It had gently pooled in a nest of moss and driftwood, which had been arranged just so in a large circle just off center of the cavern. Large enough for the creature lounging in it to have plenty of room to wriggle about if he wished, though he was still then, propped up against the side of his nest with his chin in his palms as he watched Geralt come closer.

His singing had stopped, but Geralt still felt his melody in the air, brushing against his skin. Powerful magic if it could cling to a witcher, though whatever effect the creature wanted it to have was wasted on one.

As he approached, he wondered how much of a reach the creature had. His tail could lash out, though it would be a much more dangerous weapon in water - and with Geralt being out of the nest, it would be hard for the creature to hit him with it anyway. The claws were his primary concern, sharp and deadly where they sat on the creature’s cheeks, but the thought of unknown magic was shortly behind them.

The creature shifted closer just a touch as Geralt’s steps paused not too far from his nest. Eyes on him, bright and focused, lips parted on a soft breath. He leaned forward as if waiting, anticipating Geralt’s next move, though Geralt…sensed no hostility from him.

His eyes weren’t narrowed. Teeth were not showing. Leaning on his elbows like that, he couldn’t strike fast, and his muscles weren’t tensed like he expected Geralt to strike either. Geralt inhaled slowly through his nose: salt, slowly rotting wood, earth, damp, fungi, fish, and the scent of the creature.

No sweat. Heartbeat faster than a human’s but no telling if it was a normal rhythm for the creature or not. Geralt cocked his head, wondering what the creature was thinking or feeling, and blinked when the creature’s head cocked in the same direction.

“You don’t smell human.”

Geralt squatted down, letting his hands hang loose between his thighs. The touch of magic - he could taste it on his tongue, and stared at the creature’s lips. A long tongue flicked out to wet them.

“I’m not human.”

“Well, neither am I.” The creature’s tail moved, lifting and resettling into place. His scales caught in light that filtered through from an opening in the cave wall.

“You’re not speaking the common tongue.” His lips hadn’t matched the words that reached Geralt’s ears.

The creature gave him a sly grin , the barest bit of teeth showing, though it didn’t feel like a threat. “No. But most can understand me anyway.”

Strange magic, but useful. Would allow the creature to weave whatever song he wanted - Geralt frowned, and leaned closer. He hadn’t understood a word of his songs.

“Why were you singing?”

He blinked, the grin fading just a touch, but then it was back and the creature wriggled forward to get a little closer. “Because it’s fun, and I’m quite good at it, aren’t I? I’ve been told my voice is enchanting.” He looked up at Geralt through long, wet eyelashes, and if it weren’t for the grin still on his lips he would have sounded shy when he asked, “Did you like it? I wrote the last one myself.”

“Enchanting,” Geralt murmured, shifting his eyes away from the creature as his own heart rate picked up. “You weave magic into your songs. Literally. Why rile up the village in such a way?”

“The village?” When Geralt looked back, the creature’s nose was wrinkled again, his lips pinched together. “What village? Oh, I suppose there are a lot of boats at the dock, but I didn’t see a village.”

“It’s behind the treeline, you can’t see it from the beach.”

The creature shrugged. “Didn’t know. Are you from there?” When Geralt shook his head, the creature’s grin returned, and his voice came out like a purr. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Not From the Village and Not Human. What are you? Did you travel far and wide just to stumble across this beach, and just happen to find me?”

“You’ve not met a witcher?” Geralt had to look away again. It would be surprising if the creature hadn’t come across one if he made a habit of singing at the coastline. Surely one would have stumbled across him before. And if he was always so non-threatening, it wouldn’t shock Geralt to learn one hadn’t attacked him.

Even if he’d been ready to attack him, and even if witchers like Lambert existed whose motto was coin first, talk later.

The creature’s hair was drying. When he cocked his head, some spilled away, brushing against his hand. It exposed more of his ear - pointed, dotted with scales. Shaped like a wing with spines. Geralt wondered what it would feel like under his fingers, and shook the thought away quickly.

“Never heard of a witcher. Is that what you are?” Geralt nodded, and the creature purred again. “Does my dear witcher have a name? Or is he mysterious enough to go through life as just the witcher?”

“Geralt.” He felt his cheeks heating up and coughed, scowling. “What’s yours? Or should I just keep thinking of you as the creature?”

“Creature?” The creature shook himself, mouth agape as he stumbled through half starts to words. “I am not a creature, I am- you- creatures are hideous. They’re monsters- do I look like a monster to you?”

Geralt thought it wise to not point out that, yes, he did look like a monster. Instead he shrugged, and the creature narrowed his eyes to slits.

“Jaskier. A name befitting a beautiful creature such as myself.” His tail lifted again, water trickling down his scales and dripping off of his tail onto his back. It all caught in the light, and truly, Geralt had to admit, he was beautiful. “Now tell me, Geralt, do all witchers have such gorgeous features?”

How did they start talking about this? About him? Geralt’s face was burning, and he couldn’t look at the cre- Jaskier. He couldn’t look at Jaskier, and wasn’t sure how to get the conversation back on track.

The village. The spell Jaskier was…apparently unintentionally putting them under. That’s what he was there for, not getting to know him.

But he was curious, at the very least. Geralt dared to glance back at Jaskier, his stomach doing things when those long lashes were fluttered at him again. If Jaskier hadn’t come across any witchers, perhaps most of his species hadn’t - that might be why Geralt’s memory was lacking when it came to his species, whatever it might be. Perhaps there just wasn’t any information on them to begin with.

“What are you?”

“I don’t know what you call me.” Jaskier pursed his lips. His eyes never left Geralt, and it made the witcher shiver. “Not sure if it will translate…siren? Does that sound like anything to you?”

“Good enough. Never heard of your kind.”

“We’re even then.”

His smile was dangerous. Geralt shouldn’t be so close, shouldn’t have let Jaskier get him distracted. But he didn’t move away, even as he tried yet again to get the conversation back on track. “Your songs carry magic. They bespelled the nearby village. A resident hired me to find you.”

“So you did stumble upon the beach to find me.”

“To find out why you were singing, and to ask you to stop,” Geralt corrected, though that wasn’t exactly what he’d been paid for. Asking wasn’t usually his line of business.

Jaskier deflated, pouting, and finally he wasn’t looking at Geralt. Instead he was looking at the ground between them. “Here I thought you found my songs enchanting.”

“Because you put a spell on the village.”

“I didn’t even know there was a village there.”

He didn’t sound sorry. Just pouty. Geralt ran a hand over his face, frustrated, though his stomach hadn’t stopped doing infuriating little flutters ever since Jaskier first started to purr at him. “It disrupts their lives. Every night, the whole villages goes out and-” Geralt tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, unable to say fucks to this ‘beautiful creature’ “-entertain themselves. In a very disruptive manner. Without the ability to control themselves.”

“Entertainment doesn’t sound bad.” Another wave of his tail through the air, scales glittering in the moonlight.

“Not good entertainment,” Geralt grumbled, scowling back at Jaskier.

“Not my fault they’re not good at parties.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, and he could have sworn Jaskier shivered, “they’re fucking in the streets.”

“Oh that sounds like a brilliant party.”

This was turning out to easily be one of Geralt’s most difficult contracts. With yet another silent prayer to the gods, Geralt took a deep breath and tried to ignore the wriggling creature for just a few seconds.

He was doing it on purpose. Getting under Geralt’s skin, though it didn’t seem like he was doing it to bother him. Certainly not in a ‘make him angry’ sort of way. Geralt leaned forward again, and watched how Jaskier mirrored his movement. How he looked like he was anticipating something.

“What do you want?” His tone had softened, his frustration forced to the side. “You’re not purposely bespelling the village. Besides singing, why are you here?”

“No reason. I was just bored.” Jaskier shrugged again, and he seemed honest. Even if he wasn’t being honest, Geralt didn’t know enough about him or his species to guess a motive to lie. “This seemed like as good a place as any other.”

“You made a nest,” Geralt noted, gesturing with a flick of his wrist.

“Might as well make a home away from home.” With a sigh, Jaskier laid his arms on the edge of the nest, resting his head on them as he fluttered his eyes up at Geralt. “It is rather lonely though. All this nest and no one to share it with.”

Was that why his songs caused the villagers to seek each other out carnally? Because the siren himself was lonely? It was as good an explanation as any other Geralt had, and truly he still wasn’t certain he could trust the creature, no matter that he had a pretty face and seemed earnest.

Eyes focused on a piece of driftwood just next to Jaskier, Geralt asked, “Where are the rest of your species? Could you not seek them out?”

“You’re thick, aren’t you?” Geralt’s eyes shot back to Jaskier, but before he could respond the siren huffed loudly and grumbled at him. “Sure, I could, but it’s the sea. Do you know how big it is? I might run into a few but then it might be one I’ve fought before, or one that already has a mate, or just one I have no interest in. Meanwhile, my nest is cold, I’m lonely, and oh dear witcher whatever shall I do to get through this long, cold night all on my lonesome?”

Another deep breath, Geralt trying his best to remind himself why he was there. Contract. Villagers being disturbed and disrupted, bespelled. He had a job to do and needed to make sure he’d be able to collect afterward. No matter how difficult the siren was, and no matter how alluring he was, that was Geralt’s first and foremost responsibility.

His head tilted back again, Geralt stared at a stalactite up above, clenching his jaw and relaxing it once more to make sure he had a tight grip on his words. “I need you to promise me you won’t sing at the shore anymore.”

“But-”

“It’s bespelling the villagers,” Geralt pushed on, letting his head drop forward again and fixing Jaskier with his gaze. “It’s disrupting their lives. It could do actual harm. Promise me you won’t sing at the shore anymore, or find a way to not use magic with your songs. Please.”

Jaskier deflated, looking small despite the fact that he was quite literally larger than Geralt by a few feet. “Okay. Can I sing here? I don’t want to leave.”

Seemed far enough away from the village and any other settlements that it likely wouldn’t do any harm. Geralt nodded, and added, “I’ll make sure the villagers know to avoid this area. Tell them it’s haunted. Will make people avoid the area.”

“Awfully sweet of you.” With a smile, Jaskier brightened up again just a little. Geralt’s shoulders relaxed at that.

“That won’t help you stay warm, though.” Geralt leaned back on one of his hands, slipping his legs forward and sitting at the edge of Jaskier’s nest. The siren turned to look up at him, that sly smile coming back - and Geralt wasn’t sure how good Jaskier’s hearing was, but he’d be willing to bet Jaskier could hear his heartbeat picking up.

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Despite his question, Geralt was nervous.

Scales glistening in the moonlight, Jaskier shifted closer, letting one clawed, deadly hand trail down Geralt’s leg. “Your company. I’ve never met a witcher, but compared to the humans I’ve met…” Jaskier showed teeth, and Geralt shivered. “You’re quite enchanting yourself.”

“Have you been with humans?” Geralt didn’t know what to do with his hands, and wasn’t sure when he was last that nervous.

“A few times,” Jaskier shrugged. “You look like one, mostly. Will it be the same?”

“I was one, once. We are mostly the same.”

“Mysterious,” Jaskier purred, and reached out to Geralt, running his fingers over the scruff on Geralt’s cheek.

When he pulled Geralt down, he went easily and willingly, flicking his tongue out to taste the salt on Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt did not make a habit of laying with non-humans, though he’d made a few exceptions over the years. A witch or two, another witcher once when he’d gotten rather drunk. One rather alluring succubus who’d saved his life, and who’d spent an entire week with him in an abandoned hut in Skellige. But even the succubus had been more human than Jaskier, with her warm blood and her almost human scent.

Jaskier was cold, still damp. When Geralt inhaled, he smelled the sea more than anything else, as if he was kissing the embodiment of it. He moaned softly, his gloved fingers running through Jaskier’s hair, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss - and moaned again when Jaskier’s claws scraped his scalp.

How easily Jaskier could end this if he wanted. With his teeth, his claws, a powerful sweep of his tail. Geralt imagined his lithe form belied a strength, though whether it could rival his was to be determined, but any creature of the sea had to be powerful. Yet Jaskier rolled easily when Geralt moved, on his back as Geralt straddled his body, arching under him and not letting their lips part even for breath.

Large lung capacity, Geralt mused even as he lost himself in the taste of the creature beneath him. Jaskier’s tongue flicked into his mouth, long and curious, and just the thought of what it could do made Geralt groan.

He wasn’t dressed for this. When he pulled back, Jaskier pouted, gripping onto him and trying to tug him back down. Geralt gently swatted his hands away with a fake scowl and let Jaskier cross his arms with a huff and a puffed out cheek.

Just for that, Geralt decided to take his time removing his swords and armor. Maybe he could make the sweet creature squirm for him.

His swords went first, unstrapped both at once and placed outside of the nest. When he leaned forward to set them down, he sat up, and Jaskier uncrossed his arms just to purr and run naughty hands over Geralt’s thighs. He gave them an appreciative squeeze, and Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, telling himself to have patience.

Armor next. Ties and buckles undone one by one, carefully, not willing to damage any of it just to have sex. He didn’t make a show of it but he felt Jaskier’s eyes on him the whole time, and purposely avoided them. As if Jaskier wasn’t there, as if he was merely stripping himself of his armor in his room after a long night.

“Why is it that you wear so much?” Jaskier managed to make it sound like a complaint, but curiosity colored his tone. He did give Geralt’s pants a tug though they went nowhere.

Undoing the fastenings on his left gauntlet, Geralt gave a soft hum. “Witchers fight monsters. Our skin is fragile compared to the metal and leather we can craft with.”

“A warrior.” Jaskier ran his hand up Geralt’s thigh and shifted beneath him. The tip of his tail flicked some water into the air, spraying it onto the other end of the nest. “How fearsome, brave, heroic. Geralt the witcher saving the world from big, scary monsters.”

“You make it sound ridiculous,” he snorted, tugging off his glove and tossing it towards his swords.

“Bet you make it look glorious. Beautiful.”

Geralt dropped the second glove right onto Jaskier’s face just to get him to stop.

Not bothering with taking his time anymore, Geralt had the rest of his armor off and his shirt following shortly. He didn’t care if they got wet, just made sure that they’d be easy to find and kept them all in one place. As soon as his shirt was tossed away, Jaskier’s hands were on him, fingers running delicately over the pink and white scars that ran over his stomach, his chest, his arms.

Jaskier’s eyes drank up every inch of him greedily, and though Geralt was still far too dressed for this he was tugged down into another kiss.

He was still warm from where they’d been kissing before. The thought made Geralt growl, and he bit Jaskier’s lower lip, tugging it with his teeth and growling more as Jaskier’s claws found his back. Running down it just enough for him to feel them, a light burn in their wake.

Every part of Geralt wanted to make Jaskier burn. Set him on fire, leave him hot in the wake of his hands and mouth and tongue. No magic Jaskier had could touch Geralt beyond a shiver - it couldn’t bend his will, it couldn’t take his thought or free will, but Geralt was under his spell all the same.

From every flutter of his long lashes, to the purr on his lips, Jaskier had captured him.

Though Geralt had no idea how to have sex with a siren.

He pulled back again, hands immediately finding his belt, and figured it was better sooner rather than later to find out what the fuck they were doing.

“You’re more experienced here than me.” His belt was tossed towards the pile, the metal buckle clinking against his armor.

Jaskier wriggled beneath him, and Geralt had to steady himself with a hand on his chest. The bastard only grinned at his stumble.

“How do you prefer it, my dear witcher? I know some of your kind don’t like the thought of me fucking them.”

“I’m not human,” Geralt corrected. “And I have no oil.”

“Oil?” Jaskier cocked his head, and helped support Geralt as he shucked off his pants.

“Nothing to slick the way.”

A beat, and Jaskier still looked just as confused.

“Have you only been with women?”

“No, but the men didn’t want me to fuck them.” Jaskier frowned, and a few cute wrinkles showed on his forehead from how deep it was. “Why would you need something to slick the way?”

Geralt didn’t have time for a full anatomy lesson, but he desperately wished he had oil. If he’d brought his pack with him, he would’ve ridden Jaskier until the sunrise had colored the cove bright orange with its rays.

“Next time,” he said without thinking, and finally ripped the last of his clothes off. He didn’t give time for Jaskier to respond, kissing him and letting one of his own hands wander.

Without his gloves, Jaskier’s skin was even colder. Despite that, he felt so human. His chest rising with his breaths, his heartbeat right under the skin, curls of hair under Geralt’s calloused fingertips. The siren’s lips were soft under his own, stubble on his cheeks and chin as Geralt kissed down his face, the soft gasp that followed making Geralt’s blood run hotter.

Hotter still it ran at every reminder that Jaskier was not human. The scent and taste of salt, the rough edges of scales once Geralt’s wandering hand reached his hips. A melodic tone to his gasps and sighs that thickened the air around them. How much larger Jaskier was despite Geralt not being a small man, Jaskier having to steady him when he got to wriggly and almost pitched the man off of his hips.

Were they technically hips? Geralt paused his kissing to look down at where his hand was, ignoring Jaskier’s whine at the loss of contact. It was where his torso met his tail, soft flesh meeting scales, but there were no hip bones - not hips, then, though he wasn’t sure what else to call it.

“Geralt.”

A hand in his hair, tugging lightly, drew his attention. The siren was pouting up at him, his tail shifting restlessly against the driftwood of his nest. Instead of leaning back down to kiss him, Geralt cocked an eyebrow, holding back a grin as the siren started to shift and wriggle around more and more.

“Geralt.”

“Did you want something?”

Oh, and that caused an even more adorable reaction. Jaskier’s pout increasing, another whine tearing out of him, his fingers winding themselves in Geralt’s hair and tugging harder - though not hard enough to force Geralt to move any closer. He was an adorably needy thing.

“You’re supposed to be kissing me.” Jaskier trailed his hand away from Geralt’s hair, a clawed finger running over his lips, and Geralt almost forgot how to breathe at the gentle touch. But just as soon as it was there it was trailing lower, past his chest, his abs, until his hand was running down the inner part of his thigh. “Or fucking me. Ravishing me. Making me beg for more, leaving me so sated and full of lust for you that no one else could ever compare, even as-”

“Do you always talk this much?”

Jaskier gasped and started to stammer at him again, but Geralt hid his embarrassment and cut him off by bending down and trailing light kisses over the gills on his throat. The sound he made sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine, and just to see if he could get him to make it again he flicked his tongue out and ran just the tip over the delicate skin.

Sliding his hips down, Geralt let out a soft moan of his own. His cock, already half hard, slid across Jaskier’s stomach. Carefully, ever so carefully, he ran his teeth over Jaskier’s gills, and the siren hissed and bucked up at the contact. It made Geralt moan louder, his cock caught between them, sliding deliciously against Jaskier’s skin.

“Those are very sensitive,” Jaskier warned, breathless, and Geralt shivered at the tone.

“I won’t hurt you.” Soft, open mouthed kisses over the gills, his hand running up to hold Jaskier’s neck as he kissed back up to his cheek. When he caught Jaskier’s gaze, his blue eyes had grown darker, and Geralt had the distinct feeling he was staring into the eyes of a predator.

“Can’t fuck you if you don’t show me how.”

“You have such a way with words,” Jaskier cooed, claws running down Geralt’s back just hard enough to make him shiver. “How could anyone resist you?”

Geralt snorted, but let Jaskier move him back, sliding down his tail. Straddling scales that were cold against his thighs, the muscles clenching to keep him steady as Jaskier sat up as best he could, shifting underneath him. The front of the siren’s body was smooth, no outward genitalia or holes that caught his eye, and yet Jaskier made no move to roll over.

When Jaskier was settled, he stretched out his hand, though it took Geralt a second to realize he wanted one of his. He let Jaskier have it, amused as Jaskier first played with his fingers. Running his thumb over Geralt’s callouses, scratching at them to see how tough they were, and then running the tips of his fingers between Geralt’s where his own had thin webbing.

“They’re rougher than the others.” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

Geralt shrugged, resting a hand on Jaskier’s scales to support himself. “From my swords.”

“A warrior’s hands,” Jaskier purred, and Geralt was thankful when he didn’t go on like before. Instead, he placed Geralt’s hand at the start of his tail, running it down until the tips of his fingers found a dip in his scales.

Not a dip, a slit. Geralt cocked his head, pressing one finger against it, finding it slick. As he pressed down, Jaskier let out a harsh breath, his grip moving to Geralt’s wrist and tightening as if to never let him go.

“This where I fuck you then?” Voice rough, eyes focused on that slick slit, Geralt slipped his finger in and heard Jaskier choke on his own words. But then Jaskier was shaking his head, pushing Geralt’s hand down further, dragging his finger down through his slit.

“Here.”

Geralt pressed his finger in deeper, to the first knuckle, his pupils blown wide at the wet heat. When he started to work his finger even more, Jaskier’s tail wacked against the nest, his lips parted - though, Geralt noted, his skin did not flush.

It took but a short minute for Geralt to decide he’d rather have his mouth on him. Not knowing what the witcher was up to, Jaskier reached for him the instant his finger withdrew, tail whipping to the side as Geralt slid down it. But then Geralt was kissing the top of his slit, and Jaskier was letting out a soft “oh” and clawing at the bottom of the nest to try to keep still.

He was glad for the effort. Every jostle that had him shifting forward chafed his bare skin, Jaskier’s scales rough. But the discomfort was worth it when he dipped his tongue in to taste the creature beneath him, as he felt Jaskier’s muscles tightening under his hands.

There was nothing quite like eating a partner out. Feeling Jaskier slick up as he tugged him open with one hand, delving his tongue in as far as he could, eyes closed with a pleased rumble in his chest as he just listened and felt Jaskier’s reactions to him. Nose soon buried in him as well, slick on his lips and chin, fingers slipping down to work into the spot Jaskier had told him to fuck.

Something nudged against his tongue. It was hot and just as slick as the rest of his slit. Geralt pulled back just a touch, opening his eyes to find the tapered tip of what must have been Jaskier’s cock peeking out at him.

“Don’t stop.”

Jaskier was breathless. His eyes heavy and half-lidded, sharp teeth shining in the low light as he panted. The plea was nothing more than a whisper, his tail quivering as his cock slid out just a touch more.

Catching his gaze, Geralt leaned back down and licked a wide, slow stripe over the head of his cock. He saw the hitch of his breath, saw as he clenched his abdomen, and wished for the first time in his life he had any talent for the arts.

The siren deserved to be immortalized in that moment. Hair damp and sticking to his forehead, scales shimmering in the moonlight, claws scraping the driftwood and making it splinter. He was anything but human despite his pretty face, and it made him all the more beautiful.

Geralt coaxed his cock out further with his tongue until he could wrap his lips around its tip. A whimper escaped Jaskier as he did, and as Geralt swirled his tongue around its head he slicked up two fingers and worked them as deep into Jaskier’s hole as he could.

He desperately wished they had the patience for him to fully explore every crevice Jaskier had, every sensitive bundle of nerves he could possibly get his fingers on. But the siren was practically writhing beneath him as it was, his cock fully out and demanding Geralt’s attention. It was delicious on his tongue, thin and long and slick enough he’d be tempted to try to ride Jaskier if he hadn’t had to hike back to the village after.

Really, he could have used Jaskier’s slick as oil. The thought made his cock jerk, a bead of precum dribbling down his shaft, but he tossed the thought aside with the wistful thought of next time.

There was no guarantee of a next time, but he desperately wished there would be. He took the rest of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, flinching when Jaskier’s hand shot out and gripped his hair too hard, nails scraping against his scalp a little too roughly. It was followed with a quick apology, clawed fingers running through his hair and giving a gentler tug that made Geralt moan around his cock.

His hand was practically dripping with slick as he worked a third finger into him. Tongue running against the underside of Jaskier’s cock as he bobbed his head, moving back to suck lightly on the tip and swirl his tongue around it before pressing it against the slit, tasting the precum that had started to drool steadily out of him. As he slid back down on his cock, he hummed around him, hearing Jaskier babble something out that he couldn’t understand.

Slipping his fingers out, Geralt moved back up his tail - and hissed as Jaskier’s scales scraped his thighs up. The siren’s hands were on him, smoothing over his legs in apology as Geralt moved more carefully into what he hoped was the best position to fuck him in.

Should’ve kept his pants on, though they would have been worn a bit thin after. Still, with that thought he leaned over and grabbed at his shirt, snatching it up and placing it between his thighs and those torturous (if beautiful) scales.

Taking his own cock in hand, Geralt couldn’t help but pump it a few times, gazing down at the siren laid out before him. His skin had still not flushed but he was a sight anyway, with his cock hanging out and slick glistening against his scales. It was obscene, it was beautiful, and Geralt couldn’t wait any longer to get his dick in him.

“Please,” Jaskier gasped, a word Geralt recognized finally slipping from his lips. A surge of magic tingled against his skin, and it occurred to him that Jaskier had to make a conscious effort to make sure others could understand him. It certainly explained why his melodic notes were unintelligible as Geralt rubbed the head of his cock against his slit, slicking himself up and teasing the siren that was squirming for him.

“Desperation looks good on you.”

He looked like he was going to argue, or was trying to argue, even as he reached out and clung to Geralt too tightly. But his words weren’t focused, made no sense to Geralt’s ears, and his eyes rolled back as Geralt pressed just a little harder into him.

“Can’t- I can’t do this myself.” Eventually, Jaskier managed the words, his hands shaking where they gripped Geralt’s hips. “Claws, I can’t- it’s been so long, please, I want this, I want-”

When Geralt finally slid into him, Jaskier’s head dropped back, his words cut off by a long, moaned note. He squeezed around Geralt beautifully, wet and hot and greedy. In one smooth motion, Geralt was buried in him, his nostrils flaring and eyes shut tight as he tried to get used to being inside of him.

He shook with the effort to not immediately thrust into him. To fuck him fast and hard, too fast, end it all too quickly. Already his knot was swelling with interest and he bit his lip, focusing on his breathing and his own heartbeat to calm himself down.

Once he felt like he wouldn’t come too soon, he ground his hips against the beautiful creature trapped between his thighs. Jaskier left out a soft groan, claws gently scraping against Geralt’s skin, his long cock glistening and tempting Geralt to touch it. But he resisted the temptation, gripping Jaskier where his hips would have been, grinding into him with his own jaw slack and his breaths puffing out short and quick.

Then, slowly, he pulled out until just the tip of his cock was pressed into his slit. Jaskier whined as Geralt rubbed himself over his hole, over part of his cock, the witcher shivering at the easy, slick glide. His cock caught on Jaskier’s hole and Geralt hissed as Jaskier’s claws bit into his thighs, drawing blood, but the siren was too desperate to apologize.

But the bite of his claws was just another reminder of the creature he had beneath him. Geralt bared his teeth and snapped his hips forward, burying himself into the siren without warning, and reveled in how the creature writhed under him.

He had no patience for taking his time after that. Not with Jaskier practically sucking him in, not with the obscene wet noises that echoed in the cave as he snapped his hips with another sharp thrust. Jaskier clenched around him, begging with his body while his words failed him, his magic making Geralt’s medallion hum against his chest but his words were a nonsense song that grew in pitch and volume.

Geralt set a brutal pace, chasing his own pleasure. Blood running hot, sweat beading at his neck, his hair sticking to his face. He grunted and moaned, low and deep, as Jaskier clenched hard around him. The siren’s song turned into a practical wail, claws desperate to find purchase on Geralt’s slick skin and they left angry marks in their wake.

Knot swelling with every thrust, Geralt reached between them, grasping Jaskier’s cock with a firm grip and making the siren sing his name. It took just a few strokes to make his back arch, his song cut off as he came hard, coating both their chests and Geralt’s hand in his watery seed.

A growl tore out of Geralt’s throat at the sight. The creature slack jawed yet held taut like a string that only he could cut. His hair tousled, chest hair sticky with cum, his cock still drooling where it was caught in Geralt’s fist. Geralt wanted to bite him, wanted to kiss him breathless, wanted to lick him clean and knot him and fuck him until he couldn’t swim straight.

With Jaskier squeezing him so tightly, Geralt didn’t last much longer. His thrusts stuttering, his knot catching on Jaskier’s hole, fingers digging into Jaskier’s skin hard enough to leave bruises. He threw his head back with a quiet moan, eyes shut tight, grinding into the pretty sea creature beneath him as he filled him with his come.

Fuck. Geralt struggled to breathe, his whole body tense, legs shaking. Pleasure raked through him like a beast, leaving his vision blurry and his ears ringing with his own heartbeat. On some level he recognized hands were soothing over him - his thighs, his stomach, his chest - but not much else registered to him.

It was a fight to come back to himself. Force his eyes to stay open, his head to lull back so he could see his siren. Jaskier, who was lazing back with a far too pleased with himself look on his face, and a calming tune gracing his lips as he petted his witcher.

“You were beautiful,” the creature cooed at him, and all Geralt managed was a grunt back at him. He let Jaskier pull him down into his arms, ear pressed to the siren’s chest as he waited for his knot to let him go.

Come morning, with a soft breeze blowing through his hair and the sun rising over the sea, Geralt tried to put thoughts of the siren out of his mind. He made his way back up the rocky path towards the beach, catching brilliant colored fins flicking out of the water out of his periphery - but he didn’t think about Jaskier, or the soft words (“Come back and see me”) that were whispered against his hair.

The soft, languid kisses they shared were not on his mind as he skirted around the town’s streets once more. He went to the inn and let its keeper know the beast was gone, ignoring her sharp eye and refusing the coin she tried to give as payment.

In the end, he accepted bread and cheese instead, and her final jar of preserves were shoved into his hands without any room for him to protest.

Roach was mad at him, snorting and jerking her head away with her nostrils flared when he tried to fetch her from the stable. She nipped at his hands and snorted again - and Geralt noticed her eyes were wide with fear.

“It’s alright, it’s just me.” He ran a steady hand over her neck, though it was likely the siren’s scent on him that set her off. Still, she calmed enough eventually for him to saddle her, and soon they were off and away from the village.

Their path ran south, away from the coast, but he didn’t bother with a glance back over his shoulder - why would he when he’d already promised to be back by the month’s end.

A brief explanation of things not explicitly stated in the fic:

The innkeeper was ace, which is why Jaskier's songs had no effect on her.

Sirens lure horses to the sea and turn them into kelpies (my own canon for this fic). Thankfully, instead of being tempted by his songs, Roach was instead deathly afraid of him.

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