Chapter Text
The low lights of the nightclub are interspersed by flashes of color that pulse in time with the music that’s playing loudly enough that Jaskier can’t actually hear himself think.
And he prefers it that way, really. It helps take his mind off how bored and horny he is.
The glass of Est Est in his hand is not his first of the night, but neither is he drunk. If he were here alone, Jaskier would certainly be in better company by now than the overly eager blond man whose arm he came in on this evening.
Radovid wants so badly to matter, to step out of the shadow of his older brother’s business empire, but he has no real ambition. And usually, Jaskier couldn’t care less about how his patrons came by their money, so long as they knew how to properly spoil him and were decent enough to be passable in bed, but after three months of entertaining Radovid’s attempts to be a decent sugar daddy, it has become abundantly clear to Jaskier that the overeager second-son is going to blow through his entire trustfund much too fast for Jaskier’s liking, and the sex has been subpar, at best.
So, Jaskier has his eye out for greener pastures even as he sips the wine purchased by Radovid while they sit in one of Novigrad’s most exclusive nightclubs, and Jaskier doesn’t even feel bad for it.
Jaskier is a sugar baby, and unless someone is dumb enough to catch real feelings, it’s always been the unspoken truth that his affections are only ever leased, never fully owned.
And the lease is expensive.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Radovid says with a besotted smile, and Jaskier gives him a flirty and coy grin, but it doesn’t touch the cold blue of his eyes.
His outfit this evening was strategic, it always is.
Dark red leather pants show off the long lines of his legs, while his ivory stiletto heels add to the effect, along with subtly advertising that Jaskier is open to all sorts of advances from either sex or any gender in between. The custom made red lace corset over a white satin designer button-up shirt helps to sell Jaskier’s flexibilities, and to bring home the jaw-dropping levels of confidence that he possesses.
No one with less self-assuredness or without fully embracing their sex appeal could ever hope to pull off his outfit, and Jaskier knows it. He tastefully accessorized himself with his gold rings and a couple gold chained necklaces before he left his flat this evening, but he hasn’t overdone it, deliberately having left space on his person where a prospective patron could easily imagine their own lavish gifts adorning his blessed body.
The entire look is set off with tastefully applied black eyeliner, and Jaskier knows his gaze is intensely sexy as he lets his eyes wander around the packed club. Radovid is saying something, but Jaskier isn’t really paying attention anymore at this point, still sipping his wine and keeping a look out for whoever will be next for him.
It could be anyone, so long as they have the money to afford Jaskier, and preferably the stamina to keep up with him in bed. Chances are there is someone here tonight who will fit the bill; the Free City of Novigrad has always been a paradise for the ultra-wealthy, especially those less-than-scrupulous billionaires who wish to avoid paying their fair share of taxes for business ventures elsewhere across the Northern Kingdoms.
Not that taxes or business sense has ever bothered Jaskier in the slightest, because he never has to worry about things like that. Apparently, it is something that Radovid does have to worry about, because the man is still talking about something related to business, even though Jaskier’s polite hums have faded to almost no indication that he’s heard the nervous blond chattering in his ear, and Jaskier is half-tempted to just go home alone for the night, when he sees him.
The first thing Jaskier notices are the man’s eyes.
Even across the dimlit club, the man’s eyes burn with an intense golden glow that makes Jaskier’s breath catch. Next, Jaskier sees the man’s hair, which seems to be a shocking silvery-white, despite the lack of any real wrinkles on the man’s face.
He wears his hair long and it’s pulled back in a neat bun at the back of his head, the nape of his neck shaved shorter in an undercut. Jaskier’s heart thumps unevenly when he takes in how beautiful the man is, and how impeccably dressed he is, looking resplendent in a designer suit that must’ve easily cost thousands of crowns.
The man wears no tie, and his dark colored sports coat is unbuttoned, showing the fine white silk of his button up shirt beneath, the top several buttons of which are undone, showing a lightly hairy and delectable chest. A silver medallion rests against the man’s bare skin, and even the finely tailored outfit can't fully hide how impressive this man must be, physically.
Barely constrained muscles ripple beneath the expensive silk, and Jaskier wonders idly what it is that this stranger does for a living, to be so physically fit. In Jaskier’s experience, the wealthiest men are not always the most attractive, which is quite a shame, usually.
What’s more thrilling, is Jaskier’s mystery man is also sizing him up from across the club, those yellow eyes calculating and curious, glancing at how Radovid has leaned further into Jaskier’s space even as the brunet ignores him. Smoothly, Jaskier shifts in his seat, gracefully crossing one long leg over the other as he holds eye-contact with the white-haired stranger across the way.
Unbridled want flashes across the man’s face for just a moment, and Jaskier lets his coy smirk widen just a little as he drops the stranger a saucy wink, before turning back to Radovid to flutter his eyelashes and demurely wonder aloud if there is any way he could get another glass of Est Est.
“We could’ve just bought the whole bottle at this point. It would’ve been cheaper,” Radovid says almost to himself, and Jaskier flushes angrily, his latent irritation flooding to the surface at being chastised over money, of all things.
Nothing is a bigger turn off for Jaskier. It’s akin to a slap in his face, an unwantedly stark reminder of who he really is and why he’s really here.
Jaskier schools his expression into one of hurt instead of anger, and he gives Radovid the most piteous look he can manage without making his expression ugly. And he does know precisely, as Jaskier practices all of his faces in the mirror quite often.
“I thought we were going to have fun tonight, Raddy. You haven’t even asked me for a dance,” Jaskier sulks, sighing forlornly.
“You know I don’t dance, baby,” Radovid says lamely, and even the endearment curdles Jaskier’s gut.
He doesn’t want to be Radovid’s baby. He’s not sure he ever really did.
Standing smoothly to his feet on his red-bottom stilettos, Jaskier looks down at his companion, letting some of his displeasure show on his face.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Jaskier says crisply, his arched eyebrows adding that he expects either more wine or dancing to be available to him when he returns, and Radovid scrambles to check his phone, clearly trying to find more money to pour into the evening, and Jaskier has had quite enough of that.
Aware of multiple sets of eyes on him as he walks, Jaskier makes his way along the periphery of the dance floor in the direction of the bathrooms, letting his practiced skill and grace make his limbs flow smoothly as he does so. He pushes the door to the men’s room open, and goes over to the huge mirror mounted above the sinks set into their marble countertops.
Jaskier inspects his own reflection with an annoyed sneer, washing his hands to try to remove the phantom feeling of how often Radovid tries to hold them, and how clammy his hands always are. The fact that the blond is so nervous around Jaskier could almost be flattering, but by this point, it’s really just another mark against the man, and Jaskier is genuinely toying with the idea of finding a random hookup to go home with so he has a decent excuse not to sleep with Radovid tonight.
While Jaskier mulls over his options, the bathroom door swings open smoothly, and in steps the white-haired mystery man that was regarding Jaskier from afar. He’s even more lovely up close, though Jaskier still can’t get a proper gauge on his precise age, as his starkly silver hair seems somewhat out of place compared to his only lightly-lined face, though he is clearly older than Jaskier’s youthful twenty-five.
His jawline is sharp and pronounced, though, and a few strands of his hair frame his face endearingly where they’ve escaped his bun. Jaskier sees the medallion on his chest depicts a wolf’s head, and a single silver signet ring rests on the man’s left pinky finger.
A warm tendril of arousal curls in Jaskier’s gut and he gives a falsely beatific smile at the man’s reflection in the mirror, wiping his hands dry before turning to face him.
“Hello there, fancy bumping into you here. Did you follow me?” Jaskier demures, letting his voice grow breathy in just the right way to convey amusement, yet still welcome further pursuit, and he watches with satisfaction as the man’s eyes fill with desire.
“Wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay. You didn’t seem terribly happy with whatever your boyfriend was saying,” the white-haired man says, his deep voice gravelly in the best way, and Jaskier bites his lower lip.
“He’s not my boyfriend, and it was a simple matter of failed expectations,” Jaskier says, leaning his red-leather clad ass against the counter in a way he knows will enhance the look of it in the reflection of the mirror, and he catches the stranger’s eyes track to the movement for just a moment.
“I can’t imagine you failing to live up to anyone’s expectation, so he must’ve been the one to fall short,” the man says carefully, his tone confident but cautious, not wishing to overstep, but clearly interested if Jaskier is willing to wander from the man he was seen with.
And he really fucking is.
“He’s certainly exceeded his usefulness. He likes to play at being a rich man, but he spends his older brother’s money and doesn’t make any of his own,” Jaskier whines carefully.
It’s a delicate dance that Jaskier plays; he needs to make his stance clear to avoid any future confusion, but being a blatantly greedy or ungrateful sugar baby can put people off, as well. However, the handsome stranger smiles in amusement, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes him look even more enticing, and Jaskier once again considers a one-night stand if nothing else.
Jaskier does have needs, after all.
“That’s just a shame. A sweet little thing like you shouldn’t have to sit around and stroke the ego of a man who doesn’t even make his own money,” the man says, his smirk and growly tone very obviously flirtatious, and Jaskier makes a soft sound and adjusts himself in his tight leather pants.
The motion grabs the man’s attention, and he steps closer, looking down at Jaskier with an open expression of desire, now.
“Seems he can’t satisfy you in any of the ways that count, can he?” the stranger ventures to guess, and Jaskier gives his best needy and pitiful little pout, as he casts his gaze down and shakes his head in confirmation. A smirk turns up the corner of the man’s mouth as he reaches out to gently grip Jasier’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, making him look back up. “What’s your name, baby?”
A thrill roils through Jaskier and he flushes, unable to stop the blood burning in his face and the tips of his ears, but he knows the reaction is quite attractive, so he rolls with it, playing a bit more innocent than he might normally. “Jaskier, sir,” he breathes softly, watching strategically how the stranger reacts to the honorific.
The man swallows hard, clear arousal all over his face, and Jaskier glances down to see the telltale bulge at the front of the man’s pants that says he is acutely affected by Jaskier’s whole act, as well. It’s not even that much of an act at this point, really, since Jaskier would gladly go home with this stranger just for a decent fuck like he’s been craving, even if that’s all it ever ends up being.
“Jaskier. Such a sweet name, for a sweet little flower,” he almost growls, and Jaskier smiles bashfully, clasping his hands behind his back to show how pretty he would look with his arms tied up just so.
“Thank you, sir. What’s your name?” Jaskier asks, inhaling delicately as the scent of the man’s musky cologne really starts to swirl around him, and it’s such a pleasant smell that Jaskier is almost too distracted to hear the answer to his question.
“Geralt,” he says, stepping close enough that Jaskier can feel the heat coming off his body, even though they aren't touching.
“That’s a nice name. Geralt,” Jaskier purrs, trying out how it feels across his tongue, and Geralt’s pupils dilate just a bit further.
“Sounds nicer on your pretty lips, baby. Bet it would taste even sweeter than it sounds,” Geralt muses, his eyebrows arching minutely with his request, and Jaskier leans up towards him, letting his eyes flutter shut.
Geralt’s mouth is hot and insistent against Jaskier’s, immediately taking charge of the kiss, his large hands coming up to frame Jaskier’s face. Jaskier can’t help the whimper that escapes him, and Geralt takes advantage of the moment to slip his tongue between Jaskier’s lips.
It’s intense and heady, and Jaskier finds himself winding his arms around Geralt’s waist beneath his sports coat, his skin hot against Jaskier’s fingers even with the silk shirt still between them. Geralt makes a pleased sound at the contact, pressing forward just a bit more to slot his thigh between Jaskier’s legs.
Jaskier gasps and he clenches handfuls of Geralt’s shirt as the older man slowly rocks his leg against Jaskier’s trapped erection, earning a soft whine from the brunet. He can’t help rutting against Geralt just a little, and the pleased chuckle that rumbles in Geralt’s chest has Jaskier’s eyes rolling back in his head a little.
“Geralt,” Jaskier whimpers, letting his tongue trace over his kiss-swollen lower lip.
He is painfully hard and wanting. Fuck, Jaskier wants so much.
“Let’s get out of here,” Geralt suggests in a husky murmur that gives Jaskier goosebumps despite the relative warmness of the bathroom, especially pressed against this veritable furnace of a man.
“Lead the way, Daddy,” Jaskier quips breathlessly, a playful smirk on his lips to see how Geralt will react to the title.
Geralt exhales hard, and Jaskier can feel the older man’s cock twitch against his hip where they’re pressed together.
“Not yet, baby. Don’t call me that just yet. Let me earn it first. Let me spoil you rotten like you deserve. With pleasure first, and then with anything else you fucking want,” Geralt says, his deep voice wrecked with desire, and Jaskier bites his lower lip, basking in that warm glow of being wanted, of being doted upon. Being possessed and pampered and kept.
Nothing else in life gives Jaskier this euphoria.
Jaskier nods, letting his eyes go all wide and innocent, and he takes Geralt’s offered hand as the older man leads him out of the bathroom and across the club. They pass Radovid, and Jaskier feels more than hears the blond man’s shocked indignation, but Jaskier doesn’t even spare him a glance.
He only has eyes for Geralt now.
It’s one of the things that makes Jaskier so good at what he does. His attention span might be short, but while he is enamored with a patron, he doesn’t stray from them.
And once he leaves them, he never looks back.
The walk out of the club doesn’t take terribly long, and Geralt shows Jaskier to a sleek black car waiting at the curb. A smartly uniformed driver gets out of the car with plenty of time to come around and open the back door for them both, and Jaskier happily scoots down the full-leather interior to his own seat as Geralt follows.
Just a moment later, the driver is back in his seat and pulling smoothly away from the curb as soon as Geralt and Jaskier are both buckled up. Geralt turns to regard Jaskier, his yellow eyes heated as he more blatantly lets his gaze rove over the long lines of the brunet’s body.
Jaskier gives a winning smile and lays his hand gently over Geralt’s where it rests on the seat between them. “Where are we going?” Jaskier asks softly, looking at Geralt through his long lashes.
“My penthouse,” Geralt murmurs, his expression amused, and Jaskier gives a soft gasp of pleasure as they settle in for the sedate drive.
“How lovely.”