November 2024 Drabble #1

Geralt/Jaskier – Dom/sub verse; sub!Geralt; Dom!Jaskier – In a fantastic turn of events it turns out that the Geralt is a submissive. Jaskier is honestly floored. He'd probably be a lot more dumb about it if Geralt weren't on the verge of a subdrop and in dire need of someone to take care of him.

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Geralt has been terse. More so than usual.

Jaskier pretends like he isn’t noticing, plucking away on his lute as he sits on Roach and has half an eye on his quiet companion stomping along with them. But he does notice. And he notices how his incessant babbling is getting underneath Geralt’s skin.

How his jaw is clenching tighter and tighter and how his eyes look like they are about to pop out of their sockets until suddenly he grabs Roach’s reins and steers her off into the forest, jostling Jaskier out of his jaunty little jig enough that he has to stop singing and grab a hold of the saddle.

“Woah, woah, woah. What is happening now?”

“I need a break.” Geralt does not elaborate, letting go of Roach’s reins and walking a few steps further before he just pauses and… stands there. Frozen in place.

Jaskier frowns. He carefully slides off of the horse’s back, leaving his lute hanging on a little hook on the saddle, and approaches Geralt’s back. It’s wide like always… and stiff as a board when Jaskier puts his hand between the other’s shoulder blades.

“Uh… you alright, big guy? You’ve been weird for a while now. Did you get hit by an odd spell in the last village? Did you get drugged? Come on; tell your old friend Jaskier~” He sing-songs the last as he deftly steps around Geralt, peering up into his stony, manly face.

The other has his jaw clenched so hard that it looks sharp; like someone could cut themselves on it if they only half tried.

Geralt turns his face away a little. His large hands are balled into even larger fists. Jaskier throws them nervous little glances but he has never seen Geralt throw them around just for the heck of it.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Geralt grits out quickly. His pupils are small pinpricks in the sulfur of his irises. Doesn’t look like nothing.

Jaskier frowns. He reaches out but stops before touching the other. He just exudes a fuck off energy that Jaskier is loath to ignore. So he takes a small step back and starts to roll from the balls of his feet to his heels a few times, quietly staring up at the stubborn bastard until finally there is a tiny fraction of give.

Geralt’s voice is scratchy and barely more than a whisper as he suddenly says: “I haven’t had some space for a while.”

Jaskier’s brain lags behind. “Space?” He looks around them at the empty forest, extending his arms. “There’s nothing but space here, pal.”

“No, I mean-” Geralt bares his teeth briefly, reaches up and rubs his forehead. “S… subspace.”

Jaskier looks at him, pauses, becomes still, looks around them at the trees again, then whips his head around and really stares at Geralt who looks miserable and a little green around the nose like he is about to loose his lunch.

“Wait. Wait hold on just a second. Are we talking… are we talking about the same damn thing? Subspace? As in submissive? As in… as in Geralt of Rivia needs someone to put him down as if he were a… a-”

“Submissive. Yes.” Geralt looks angry and miserable and now he is starting to fold forward just the tiniest bit, pressing his massive fists onto his massive thighs as he starts breathing through his slightly open mouth; every inhale and exhale punctuated by a tiny wheeze that grabs something very primal inside Jaskier and makes his mouth run dry.

He’s never thought he’d be having such a conversation with Geralt… much less witness him on the very edge of a subdrop. Jaskier takes a tiny step forward.

“Let me help you,” he croons softly, his whole body feeling like it was vibrating with eagerness. “I’m going to take such good care of you. Holy shit. Fuck… yeah! Yeah, let me help!”