Warning: explicit content. 

This scene depicts characters from the franchise "The Witcher". This scene depicts the character Jaskier as a trans male, who uses the words "dick" and "cunt" to refer to his own genitals. 

[...]

The witcher unfolded himself gracefully from his cross-legged sitting position and lunged forward like a big cat, pressing Jaskier’s body on the mattress. Jaskier shrieked as Geralt pushed his nose in the ticklish spot under his chin, covering the rest of his neck in kisses and love bites until he was a giggly mess.

“You’re such a child,” Jaskier protested, laughter still shaking him. “What was that for?”

“I prefer it when you laugh,” Geralt said, and then leaned down for a kiss.

It was much dirtier than the gentle press of closed lips from before—it was open-mouthed and straight-forward and down-right aggressive and it went right to Jaskier’s guts. It was the kind of kiss they’d shared before, the kind of making-out that promised messy outcomes and messier developments, and—sure there it was, Geralt’s erection poking him in the hip, hot and hard and smooth and familiar. Jaskier wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck, uselessly trying to bring him closer, to deepen the kiss, while he mapped the hills of his scarred muscles with the other.

The witcher’s own hand was politely resting on his waist, but one of his thighs was rubbing up right between Jaskier’s legs where he’d left them fall open, delicious friction sending spikes of pleasure along his nerves.

“Come on, Geralt,” he pleaded, “I’ve waited enough, don’t you think?”

Ignoring his urgency, the witcher took his time. He revisited once again the hollow of Jaskier’s throat, before leaving a trail of wet kisses down the line of his sternum, the expanse of his stomach, the bowl between his hip bones. The tips of his fingers pressed delicately in the yielding flesh of his breasts for the briefest moment and brushed against his nipples, sending a tingle of pleasure across his skin. By the time Geralt finally pressed his open mouth against his mound, Jaskier was wet and desperate with want—the mood-killing, uncomfortable conversation from earlier all but a distant memory.

“Good?” Geralt asked, stopping just shy of his dick, and Jaskier almost cursed him. He could feel his breath right there, for fuck’s sake.

“Yes, good, come on,” he said instead, leaning up on his elbows so he could glare at the witcher. Incidentally, he looked great, sprawled on his stomach, with his hands lightly resting on his thighs on each side of Jaskier's crotch. His eyes were just thin golden rings around dark, round pools of arousal.

“Mmh, such in a rush,” Geralt commented, noncommittally. “Just making sure you’re still okay with this. I remember being kicked, not long ago, for attempting this.”

“Huh.” Jaskier grimaced. He didn’t remember doing it, but he wasn’t surprised; he rarely let people do this for him. “Well, Jaskier from not long ago was an idiot.”

The first touch of fingers startled him, a jolt of pleasure through his body. Geralt didn’t break eye contact as he pressed the flat of his tongue along the underside of his dick, and as he dipped lower so he could lavish attention to the whole length of his cunt.

Ngh, the careful way he rubbed his knuckles along the folds while he sucked on him, rather than risking pushing his fingertips in places they didn’t belong—it twisted Jaskier’s guts in knots for reasons that didn’t have to do at all with pleasure. He grasped at Geralt’s hair, dug his nails into his scalp. Geralt groaned, the low vibrations from his throat sending shivers up his spine, and Jaskier echoed him with a moan of his own.

He’d forgotten how intense things could feel, when he didn’t have the soft cloud of alcoholic giddiness fogging his senses. Every touch felt like he was being set on fire, even as his consciousness was being focused in a single spot.

Feeling like his brain was leaking out of his ears a little more with every swipe of the witcher’s tongue, he twitched, hips bucking and arching. He couldn’t have told how long it had been, when he finally came. It was like missing a step while coming down the stairs—sudden and quick, his breath catching and his stomach jumping in his throat.

The witcher’s mouth was still on him, lapping at the wetness in broad strokes of his tongue, as if to catch every drop of wetness.

“Are you satisfied now?” Jaskier slurred at him, blood still rushing in his ears and his body feeling like jelly. Geralt gave one last lick to his cunt and Jaskier twitched, oversensitive and undone. “Ngh, stop doing that.”

“Sorry, just—” Geralt pulled himself on his knees, licked his lips, which glistened obscenely with Jaskier’s fluids, and blinked slowly. His eyes looked glazed over. “Just one moment,” he croaked, and buried his face between Jaskier’s legs once again.

Jaskier couldn’t watch the witcher wrap a hand around himself, hidden as it was by his own folded-up body, but he’d seen—and done—that particular movement enough times to recognize that Geralt was finishing himself off —urgently, furiously, even, like he couldn’t stand it anymore. He could hear—and feel—the small puffs of breath against his sensitive flesh as the witcher brought himself closer and closer to the edge, his cheek pressed against Jaskier’s thigh like he needed it to keep himself grounded.

He came with a sharp intake of breath, warm drops of semen falling on Jaskier’s leg where he couldn’t catch them with his hand. Jaskier watched as the witcher sat back on his calves, catching his breath with closed eyes and a heaving chest.

“That was quick for you,” Jaskier croaked, his brain full of cotton. “You—really liked it.”

The Gods help him, Geralt actually looked embarrassed at that. Worse, he looked like he was about to apologize, for some godsdamned reason.

“That was really hot,” he continued, pulling himself up and scooting back until he finally found a pillow to lay on. He reached down and touched himself, biting his lips at how good it felt sliding his fingers through the slickness there. “That was so hot, in fact, that I think I’m ready to go again. Do you think you have another one in you?”

[...]

The complete story is published on archiveofourown.org under a different pseudonym.
Available upon request.