Work Text:
The moon is full, and it has been two weeks since he last saw Regis.
While their original plan was to meet at Corvo Bianco, that isn’t happening. Instead Geralt is leaning against a tall oak tree, breathing in the crisp night air of the Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. Under the full moon’s piercing brightness, he can just make out the shadowy form of Regis’ crypt. The stars are blazing pinpoints, far more numerous and visible in the rich wilderness of Toussaint than they are in the more urbanized North. Other than the faint rustle of leaves, and the scattered sounds made by nearby creatures, it is quiet. This suits the witcher just fine.
He’s here because Regis sent one of his ravens ahead with a note, explaining the altered plans. Geralt is not entirely sure why the higher vampire wants to meet him here instead of at their home, but then Regis generally has a well-thought-out reason for everything he does. And Geralt’s not asking if he doesn’t need to— he would rather not encourage Regis to speak more.
The barest disturbance of the air, and leaves, alerts the witcher. It happens again— sounding almost as if someone, a giant someone, has exhaled on the land. A less fanciful cause would be wing-flaps. But what creature’s wings are large enough? Geralt begins to think of monsters. His sharp yellow gaze roves about, and the witcher takes a step back as a large form partially obscures the moon.
A high-pitched chittering is his only warning before the breeze increases in strength, blowing his hair around. An enormous bat lands a few feet in front of him. Geralt instinctively unsheathes his silver sword, but something makes him hesitant to do more than that. He pauses, blade held upright. It glints in the moonlight. The bat chitters again, and for some reason, Geralt thinks of it as a happy sound. Then the overlarge creature tilts its head, beady black eyes focusing on him.
The witcher purses his lips, and lowers his sword slightly. “Regis?”
The bat squeaks, lumbering forward. Suddenly, there’s a large nose pressed against his chest, and— “Hey!” Geralt exclaims, spluttering. He takes a half step back. “The fuck, Regis! Did you just—” He splutters again as the bat’s warm, smooth tongue licks his face, leaving behind a wet trail of saliva. Only a little irritated, Geralt brings a hand up, wipes his face off, and carefully sheathes his sword. The bat makes an approving sound, and bumps into him again.
He laughs. “It’s good to see you too, Regis. How’s Dettlaff?”
The bat squeaks. Abruptly, Regis is standing before him, appearing fully human again. The higher vampire offers a fangy grin. “Geralt!” In a blink, Geralt is enveloped in his partner’s thin, but unescapable arms. “I missed you, my dear,” Regis murmurs in his ear. The witcher shivers, despite himself. It has been a long two weeks without Regis. But he pushes aside his… discomfort. Later. After Regis has recovered from his travels.
“How’s Dettlaff?” he repeats.
Regis’ face is still nuzzled against the witcher’s neck, so his reply is somewhat muffled. “Good. He is good, Geralt. Dettlaff has settled in nicely, and I hope that, someday soon, he will be ready to see you again. For a reintroduction, as it were.” A pair of lips mouth at his pulse point, and the witcher inhales sharply, quite forgetting what he was going to say to that.
While Geralt is glad that he spared Dettlaff, he’s also in no hurry to see the higher vampire again anytime soon. The witcher intends to say something like this, but then Regis licks him, and Geralt shudders. His breeches are quickly becoming uncomfortably tight. All he manages to get out is a broken: “Thought you— would be too tired to…” He trails off as Regis’ hands begin wandering.
The higher vampire chuckles. “Ah, Geralt. When have I ever been too tired to have a romp with you?”
Despite the situation, Geralt manages to regain his head for a moment. “Insatiable,” he grumbles.
Regis laughs again, and it makes him twitch. The higher vampire’s eyes are blacker than the night sky, darker than coal, but somehow still warm. His nostrils flare, and Regis smirks. Then he licks his lips pointedly, and another rivulet of heat runs down Geralt’s spine. His breeches are well past uncomfortable now, and they’re rapidly becoming unbearable. “One may say the same about you, my dear. How would you feel about—”
“Yes.”
Regis grins sharply, and steps back. The witcher’s body protests at the lack of nearness. He watches as the higher vampire digs through his bag, removing the bed roll. Regis’ gaze flicks up, meeting his own. “If you do not mind— for lack of a better turn of phrase— being exposed to the elements, we could engage one another here. Or we could return to your vineyard.” It’s up to him.
Geralt takes a second to think it over. “Here’s fine,” he concludes rapidly.
Regis’ eyes are mirthful. “I suspected you might say that.” He lays the bed roll down, mists up, and then is standing gloriously naked in the moonlight before Geralt. The witcher’s mouth goes dry. He swallows, staring at his partner. Gods. “Geralt?” Regis prompts, sounding amused.
“Hmm. Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip clumsily. Although it’s mid-summer, the night air is still a bit of a shock against his heated skin. Geralt manages to remove his shirt and pants by himself, then Regis presses against his back, hands sliding down Geralt’s sides to the top of his underwear. His sharp nails leave tingling trails of sensation behind, making the witcher shiver.
“May I?” Regis’ hands rub intoxicating circles on Geralt’s hips.
“Go ahead,” he bites out.
A moment later, Regis’ fingers have curled into his waistband, and he drags the cloth slowly, teasingly, off of the witcher’s body. Geralt steps out of his underwear awkwardly once the material hits his ankles. Then the clothing is flung away— he doesn’t pay attention to where it lands. Regis’ breath suddenly ghosts over his bare backside, and his fingers run slowly up and down the witcher’s legs, from ankle to mid-calf, occasionally up to mid-thigh. Geralt shivers again, and it feels as if a fire has been lit inside him. He aches.
“Mm. Clearly I was missed,” Regis comments lowly. His touch stops momentarily as he stands. Then he presses a kiss to the back of Geralt’s neck, leaning his chin on the witcher’s shoulder. The bottom half of his body is pointedly, torturously, not touching Geralt’s.
“You were. I missed you— and this,” Geralt replies.
The higher vampire huffs. “As did I, my dear. As did I.” He plants one more kiss on the witcher’s neck, then steps away. Geralt whines embarrassingly. Regis walks around him, completely unhurriedly, and the witcher is distracted from his annoyance by the otherworldly sight of his partner’s body.
While some people— the higher vampire himself— may claim that Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy is not much to look at, Geralt disagrees. There is nothing ordinary about Regis. If one looks closely enough, they can easily see how special he is: the intelligent gleam in his eye, the aristocratic sharpness of his nose, the delicate length of his fingers, the unmarred perfection that is his skin, and the care-free disarray of his hair, which speaks of a man who cares not for unworthy opinions. Yes, Geralt will be the first to admit that he is hopelessly smitten.
He blinks. “Is there a plan here, Regis? Or are you gonna keep staring at me?”
Regis snorts. “I could ask the same of you, Geralt.”
He huffs impatiently. Though there are many things— most of them, really— which Geralt adores about the higher vampire, his penchant for stalling is not one of them. “What did you have in mind, Regis? Spit it out.”
“Impatient, are we?” his partner mutters. The statement is followed up by a sigh. “Very well then, my dear. I only hope that you will not be put off by my suggestion.”
Geralt blinks. “When have I ever been ‘put off’ by you?”
Regis smiles, perhaps a bit nervously. “Never, I suppose. Let me preface my request by stating that I have desired to do this for a while…” the higher vampire clears his throat. “Geralt, would you perhaps be willing to- to have relations with me while I am in my other form?”
He blinks again. Crickets, and that same, slight breeze, fill the silence. The witcher’s brow furrows. “You mean in your bestial form? Won’t you… will the bloodlust be—”
Regis’ frown evaporates. “Ah. I see that you are confused, my dear. I meant in my bat form.”
The witcher’s mind goes blank for a moment. “Oh.” Vesemir was right; you really do see everything after reaching a certain age. Geralt grimaces minutely at the intrusive image of his mentor (who would surely be disappointed in him for this), then mulls over his partner’s suggestion. While the idea of having sex with Regis in bat-form is not immediately appealing, neither is it inherently repulsive. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he asks cautiously.
Regis blinks, as if surprised that he’s even agreed to hear him out. “I… well, you know how I enjoy giving oral pleasure, my dear. My thoughts were inclined toward— something of that nature.”
“As a bat,” Geralt says blankly.
“As a bat,” Regis affirms. “I— My senses are more refined in that form. I believe that your taste would be… exquisite.”
“You… want to taste me,” Geralt repeats hollowly. His mind concludes that this night has certainly taken a turn for the strange… but his cock thinks differently. The witcher’s arousal agrees that while tonight has turned out weird, it is not a bad sort of weird. Not at all. Despite the numerous misgivings, he’s interested.
The higher vampire’s gaze darts down, then up. He seems to be nearly as confused as Geralt is about his decision. But Regis clearly chooses to disregard any input from the witcher’s cock, as he frowns, gaze moving earnestly (and deliberately) up to Geralt’s face. “If you do not wish to do this, I understand, Geralt. It was merely an idea. We need not act on it.”
He hesitates for half a heartbeat. “I’m not saying no— just. Let me see you again? As a bat.”
Regis blinks, and then there he is. As a bat. Geralt approaches, and bat-Regis holds near-perfectly still. His ears twitch occasionally, picking up sounds far too faint for even the witcher’s enhanced hearing, and his fur quivers softly with every breath. The bat’s nose wrinkles as Geralt approaches, and his expression appears to be fond. Then Regis’ tongue darts out, and he licks Geralt.
“Regis!” he exclaims nervously, chuckling. Regis chitters again at him, then goes quiet. Geralt takes a step back, eyes roving over his partner’s new form. “Open your mouth,” the witcher requests softly. He’s seen a hint of Regis’ deadly teeth already, and while they’ve never been an issue for them while the higher vampire is in human form… that might not be the case now. Regis obliges him, and it is quite a sight. Geralt whistles. The bat’s teeth are clearly predatory; each one is wickedly sharp. However, in his (inexperienced) opinion, nothing should go wrong as long as they’re careful.
Besides, as his cock reminds him, Geralt has never been entirely opposed to a little danger in bed. “Alright. You can change back now.”
In an instant, Regis appears human again. His head tilts inquisitively. “What have you decided?”
Geralt swallows. “Carefully. As long as we’re careful, I— I don’t see why this won’t work.”
Regis grins. There is something feral about the expression; more so than usual. It sends a lightning bolt of arousal down his spine. “Ah. I was hoping you would say something like that. Very well, my dear. We shall do this slowly. And if you change your mind, do not hesitate to tell me. I will still be able to comprehend you in my other form.”
Geralt nods. “I understand.”
“Good,” Regis replies. “Shall we begin?” He shifts.
The witcher, heart beating rapidly, steps forward.
Again, Regis allows him to take control. His bat-form stays perfectly motionless as the witcher approaches. When he reaches his partner, Geralt brings his hands up, and halts. “I don’t suppose that you want me to hold your ears?” They do look rather fragile, and he’d hate to (unintentionally) cause any damage to them. Regis shakes his head gently. “Thought not,” the witcher mutters. He hovers for a minute longer, finally deciding that the nape of Regis’ neck appears to be as good a hand-hold as he’ll get.
Geralt gently grabs a handful of the baby-soft fur on either side of Regis’ neck, then inhales. There is none of the usual herb-smell, which Regis uses to disguise his natural lack of scent. But neither is there nothing. Instead he smells… slightly woodsy, and clean. Like the mountains, and cloudless skies, somehow. It’s a nice combination. Regis chitters beneath him at his exploration, and gentle hold. The witcher presses his face to the top of the bat’s massive head, between his ears. His hands stay buried in the fur at Regis’ neck.
“You smell different. I like it,” he comments.
The bat’s exhales continue to ghost over much of the witcher’s torso, making him tingle at the tantalizing hint of sensation. Regis’ wings flutter, and a low rumble goes through the body beneath Geralt. It’s almost like a hum. He laughs, clenching and unclenching his hands. The higher vampire’s exhales continue to spark embers in his belly. Geralt sucks in a breath. Soon he’ll be ablaze. “I’m ready when you are.”
Regis squeaks his acknowledgement, then carefully opens his jaw. Geralt takes a somewhat-hesitant breath as the bat’s teeth are revealed once more— it would be extremely unfortunate, and embarrassing, if they were to get too close to Geralt’s lower half. Then the tongue, deep pink, pointed at the end, peeks out. His eyes widen. In this form, Regis’ tongue appears to be about as long as his forearm, from finger-tip to elbow. Maybe slightly longer. He shivers.
The bat lets off a series of chitters, and its nose wrinkles, clearly scenting Geralt’s arousal in the air. Then Regis’ tongue makes contact, and the witcher loses access to all rational thought. It seems that the higher vampire— higher vampire bat— is intent on going slowly. The second sweep of his tongue, which runs from Geralt’s balls to the very tip of his penis, is almost languid. Exploratory. It still feels amazing; all wet heat, and firm pressure. He jerks forward slightly, and his hands clench in Regis’ fur.
“Shit,” Geralt hisses. Regis stills. The witcher inhales one deep breath, and buries his face in the higher vampire’s fur. “Don’t stop— I— don’t stop,” he says brokenly. Gods. Not going to last long like this. He’s rocked by another firm lick, and another. They continue over and over again, relentlessly, until the witcher is fully hard, and leaking.
His legs want to tremble, and his knees feel weak as wet parchment at every deliberate touch, but Geralt stays upright. He groans loudly as Regis’ tongue slides over him again. If his head were clearer, the witcher would be embarrassed by that. Perhaps he will be, later. His hips jerk forward again as the flat length of Regis’ tongue glides along the bottom of his cock, and stops. He aches at the firm, warm pressure, and could scream in frustration at the lack of further stimulating movement.
“Regis— please, co-come on,” he babbles.
After a torturous pause, he does. Regis draws his tongue slowly, agonizingly, up Geralt’s length, and over the head of his cock. He groans, feeling himself leak steadily onto the bat’s tongue. Regis makes an encouraging noise, but then his tongue disappears. The witcher’s cock bobs upwards, hitting the flat plane of his stomach. He whines. “Fuck, Regis!”
The bat growls and, without warning, nudges Geralt.
The motion, even gentle, is enough to send him stumbling. The cool, slight roughness of Regis’ bed roll is a shock against Geralt’s ass. He’s not hurt, not at all, and was mostly able to catch himself. He huffs. The bat shuffles forward, and nudges his chest repeatedly until the witcher gets the message. He lies down. “Regis?” The bat chitters, and nuzzles him in a way that makes Geralt’s eyes cross. He moans loudly and his hips push up, chasing more of that delicious feeling.
Regis squeaks, and carefully extends his tongue. He pointedly stills, staring at Geralt until he stops moving. This is an incredibly difficult task, and he can’t entirely stop twitching as Regis’ tongue slowly presses against his cock, and then wraps fully around it. The bat huffs loudly, ears swiveling to point firmly at the witcher, whose heartbeat is pounding. Geralt’s eyes close as he desperately cants his hips up, breaths coming in harsh pants. Every muscle in his body feels taut, ready to snap.
The bat’s tongue swirls experimentally, and he loses it.
Regis stays wrapped around him as he comes, hard. Bright sparks erupt behind Geralt’s eyelids. He realizes that that animalistic groan is emanating from him. Then the bat’s tongue slowly moves away, sending a shudder through his form. The witcher flops inelegantly atop the bed roll, sighing.
After a while, Geralt begins to return to his senses, though he still feels fuzzy-headed and good, in a way that only an enjoyable fuck can make him feel. He pants a few breaths longer, then his breathing evens out. It’s only in that moment that the witcher realizes that Regis— still in bat form— has withdrawn. But he’s still watching Geralt.
The witcher blinks, and shivers. But not from excitement. It has finally become chilly, in these early hours of the morning. And Geralt is still naked. “Want me t’ return the favor?” he mumbles.
Regis cocks his head, then shakes it deliberately: no.
“Sure?” Regis nods. He blinks, stifles a yawn. “Wore me out.”
The bat squeaks approvingly.
Geralt snorts, and shivers once more. Regis cocks his head again. “S’ cold. C’mere.”
The bat maneuvers— somewhat awkwardly— forward, and pauses over the witcher. Regis’ tongue darts out quickly, clearing what little mess remains off of Geralt. His spent cock twitches, and he groans softly. His partner makes a smug sound. Geralt can’t bring himself to mind. Then, slowly, the bat lays down, spreading out its wings. They flap about for a moment as Regis settles in. Once he’s still, Geralt rolls sideways, and presses himself against the bat’s soft, warm fur. Tiredness descends upon him like a lead weight.
“Night, Regis,” Geralt mutters as his eyes slip closed.
Regis chitters quietly once, then falls silent. They drift off together, just like that.