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Jaskier hated the London Underground. It was cramped. It was hot. It had no phone signal. It often left him standing to let other people sit. It . . . It had him.
The vampire-looking should-be-biker man was a recent addition to the regular faces on his commute. He was tall with stupidly broad shoulders, a ridiculously narrow waist, and frankly absurdly thick thighs. He was always in black and grey. There was the consistent worn leather jacket with steel studs on the left shoulder but not the right. Tight fighting, dark grey, jeans. Scuffed black leather boots that almost certainly had steel toe caps. Under the open jacket, a v-neck black top that showed a distracting amount of skin and white chest hair. Finally a silver chain with a heavy looking amulet hung over the t-shirt, drawing the eye to the dip in his unfairly firm pecs.
A strong jaw dusted with a few days worth of salt and pepper stubble. Full, pink, lips set in the constant down turn of someone used to frowning. Not that Jaskier could tell if he was frowning. The stranger always had large tinted glasses hiding most of the top half of his face. They rested on a slightly crooked nose, the kind that had to have been broken and reset a few times, and angular cheekbones. Not sharp, not exactly, but prominent enough to give him a slightly gaunt look.
His hair was a mass of silver-white. Naturally straight-ish, but not styled in anyway to make use of it. A few locks framed his temples where they’d escaped being pulled back into a loose bun.
Wanker . Jaskier had thought the first time he saw him. Too familiar with clients who dressed similar to this man. All of whom had the same air of superiority. They’d actually convinced themselves that dark clothes were a personality trait. He was well aware his own purple pants and shirt with a long red overcoat screamed hypocrisy. At least I don’t wear sun specs on the fucking tube! . . . Hangovers notwithstanding.
Initially he thought it would be just another stranger on a one off journey. A tourist or some guy venturing to a different part of the city. A fleeting moment where someone interesting was in his line of sight then back to the daily humdrum by the next morning.
He kept appearing.
Every morning he got on two stops after Jaskier did. Every evening he was there, getting off two stops before Jaskier’s destination. Most days they were in the same packed carriage. And on the days they weren’t, Jaskier found himself looking for black leather and pale hair through the throng of people trying to get to work on time.
Jaskier mostly hated the London Underground.
***
“I can be your doctor, I can cure your -” the headphones chimed faintly and shut down. “Oh fuck me!” Jaskier sighed on the empty platform, head back to stare at the grimy ceiling while he focused on his breathing.
It was a shit ending to a shit day of meetings that could have been emails. Then, at 4:30, he got a series of emails that needed to be meetings. “But it’s almost the end of the day?” Valdo had whined in that voice that made Jaskier’s nerves twang.
“We’re a 24 fucking 7 PR company and one of our biggest clients just had her nudes leaked!”
“She shouldn’t have taken him then.” The guy knew as soon as he said it that he’d fucked up.
“Go home.”
“Bu -”
“Go the fuck home, Marx!” He snapped, ‘You pox ridden bottom feeder!’ Caught in the back of his throat with a hundred other insults. Everyone had stared until the other man had left. “Well!?” And they’d hastily gotten back to damage control.
The next 5 hours had been spent in conversation with the client's legal team, half the news outlets in the country and almost all the tabloids.
He was drained and starving by the time he got to the station. So of course his headphones would die. Leaving him to endure the real world until he got home. At least it’s late enough that few people were around. Of course, it was also late enough that those few people would be the kind best avoided by listening to Lady Gaga on repeat and periodically looking over his shoulder.
“Great,” he muttered, “now I don’t get to be surprised if anyone murders me. Where’s the fun in that?”
The train didn’t take long to arrive at least, screaming its way up to the platform. And, aside from a couple of passengers down at the far end, his carriage was blessedly empty. As the train picked up speed the noise became almost deafening with no music to buffer it out.
Sounds like the souls of everyone who’s ever had to deal with public transport screaming for help . . . Fuck is that going to be my afterlife . . . No, I’ll be in a time loop of PR crises . . . or on stage and forget my lyrics . . . Oh fuck, I’ll be forced to perform naked . . . but I’d like that! . . . Shit! It’ll be an orgy and I’ll be the spare prick in the corner . . . During a PR crisis!
The train jerked to a halt, snapping Jaskier from his intrusive thoughts just long enough to clock the hulking mass of a man collapse into the seat diagonal from him. Taken aback he couldn’t stop himself “Didn’t think I’d see you today.” Shiiiiiiiit . The white haired man turned, despite the sunglasses there was a definite feeling of eye contact. Possibly even a glower. The man looked as knackered as Jaskier felt, clearly having had a “Rough day?” Oh for fucks sake, shut up! In the space of five seconds he’d broken all the rules of public transport. He’d acknowledged that he recognised the guy. He’d spoken on the tube. Out loud! And then he’d asked a question. He felt like a damn tourist. This was not how you behave. Especially at this hour! Poor guy probably thinks I’m a right creep!
The leather clad stranger grunted and nodded, “Something like that. You?”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
“Uh, yeah, something like that.” Jaskier couldn’t help the blush on his cheeks, though he sent out a blessedly silent prayer of thanks that the door closed and the deafening roar of wind around the train started up again.
The other man’s face never turned, gaze still firmly locked in place. Though if this was a positive or negative was unclear. The glasses obscured all but the smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
Jaskier squirmed and the smirk spread wider.
Suddenly he was on high alert, his heart beating just a little too fast. It almost felt like - the movement across the carriage pulled his attention. The man’s legs spread, just a bit too far to be acceptable. It was an empty seat, so no one was really going to notice. Not unless they knew the signs. A big hand resting high on his thigh. Thumb rubbing circles so the motion kept Jaskier’s gaze in place. A little tilt of the hips. Anyone else would think he was getting comfortable, not realising it showed how pronounced his bulge had become. The thumb grazed what anyone would say was a fold of denim. While the more observant knew it was the border of his cock, pulsing ever so slightly at the touch.
Oh fuck .
There was no ‘almost’ about it, Jaskier knew he was being cruised.
This never happened on the tube, it barely happened to him in bars. The last time someone did this he’d still been at uni. Every other dalliance had been the result of an app or a night in an explicitly queer space where all parties didn’t need to behave in code.
The train was approaching the next stop, and the stranger nodded at him, before jerking his head towards the doors and getting up. The bulge at eye level was certainly more noticeable than before, even a more casual onlooker would get some idea of how the man was feeling.
The wind quieted as they slowed down, another jerky stop and the guy nonchalantly walked through the doors. Heart racing, his own cock harder than he cared to admit, Jaskier jumped up and got through the doors just as they closed behind him.
Glancing around the platform he caught a flash of silver hair just as the guy turned through one of the archways, heading for the escalators. Trying his best not to run he sped walked after him. His mind raced as all the old habits came back to him. Keep a reasonable distance. If he looks round, make eye contact. But only for a moment. Keep him in view but make sure anyone who passes thinks you're just looking ahead. If he turns again, which he did, adjust the bulge.
Following him through the station to the public toilet. At this time of night they should be dead, but even then it wasn’t impossible for someone to walk in on them.
Lingering for a moment, so it couldn’t be said they went in together if anyone checked the CCTV tapes, Jaskier made his way through the door. A row of sinks greeted him, and in the mirror a row of cubicles opposite an old fashioned trough urinal. The white haired man stood in the furthest corner with his jeans undone. Not everything was visible in the reflection, but he definitely wasn’t pissing. His leather jacket was off, cradled in his left elbow. Suffering Christ, those bloated biceps! His right arm was clenching and unclenching, his body turned just enough that you couldn’t see exactly what he was doing but Jaskier knew .
For all the times Jaskier had caught himself imagining this man, he’d never actually realised they were about the same height. Approaching the urinal he realised that their shoulders were around level, the white haired stranger only an inch or two taller due to his broader build. Shrugging his own, longer coat, off her cradled it in his right arm, ensuring the view was blocked for anyone else who might happen upon them.
Just two guys pissing, nothing could be proven otherwise.
Routine taught him not to glance to the side just yet, not until he’d undone the fly of his purple pants and tucked his underwear behind his balls. A subtle peek led to an audible gasp, “Fuu-”, and he couldn’t take his eyes away.
The guy had one of the thickest cock’s Jaskier has ever seen. A pulsing blue vein ran most of the length, the flared head just peeking out through the wrinkles tip of foreskin, thick white pubes trimmed short around the base where the guy was squeezing it. He only looked half hard and it was already at least 6 inches.
“Hmmm” the man groaned, a deep chested guttural sound. “You too.” The tone had warmth spreading down Jaskier’s spine. This was a voice half of his more dominant encounters wished they had. Before he could process the remark, the stranger let go of himself and reached over to grasp Jaskier’s cock with a rough, calloused hand. It was gentle, but it was firm as he allowed time to be rebuffed.
“Oh gods, fuck me!” Jaskier half moaned, half laughed. He was painfully hard already and the contact sent fresh fire though his veins. He wasn’t as blessed as his new acquaintance, but at just over seven inches of reasonably thick cock with nice loose foreskin, he was more than happy with his endowment.
“I’m not looking for that,” the gravel was right by his ear, “Hand and mouth stuff is fine, but I’m not looking to fuck you.”
“How about I fuck you?” There was a near instant regret, his mouth always ruined the moment. This was not the time to flirt. These encounters were just about heat and passion and -
“Hmph”, the hand tightened right at the base of Jaskier’s cock, making his veins bulge, “Yes”.
“Wha- Oh!” Jaskier grinned as he was led by the cock into one of the disabled stalls. It was cramped with the two of them in there, but they managed it. Jaskier fumbled with the lock as the other guy, “Can I have your name?”, turned and shimmied his jeans down to his knees. Their coats fell to the floor in the scramble, not that either of them cared. That’s what drycleaning is for.
“Why?”
“I keep calling you Sexy Tube Vampire in my head.”
The guy outright laughed at that, a warm sound that Jaskier would kill to hear more of.
“Why?”
“Lots of black, pale as fuck, sunglasses on the underground. Shit, uh” He’d been trying to get to his wallet when he realised “I don’t have a condom. I’m on PreP, like, but I can get one from the machine if you prefer?”
The guy spat on his hand and reached back and grabbed Jaskier’s cock, giving a few uncoordinated tugs. “I’m happy if you araaaaahhh fuck!” Jaskier's hands found his glutes and spread them on autopilot, pressing forward gently while the guy guided him in. It was tight, it was hot, and it was surprisingly loose.
“Oh shit!” He groaned, half of himself disappearing inside another person in less than a heartbeat. “You do this often?” He chuckled.
“Don’t, oh fuuu, don’t shame me!” The guy answered, but there was no bite to it.
“Never, I love when someone knows how to enjoy themselves!” A last grunt and he was seated fully inside, a fine sweat breaking out over his face and chest. His shirt suddenly felt far too restrictive. “You ok?”
“Fuck me, urgh, like you mean it!”
Not needing to be told twice, Jaskier pulled back and built up a rhythm of shallow, rough, thrusts that had the guys hands clutching desperately at the tiles above the toilet. Tugging his shirt up under his chin, he grabbed the hips in front of him and tried a few deeper thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in.
The mewling “Gawwwwdssssssss!” told him all he needed to know about his new friend.
“I definitely need your number!” He grunted, “No way I’m gonna be able to see you in the mornings and not think of all the things we could be doing!”
His right arm found the stranger's neck, pulling him back almost upright, his back arching in the best way as Jaskier found a new angle. “Such a fucking slut, huh?” He whispered in the guy’s ear, the leg of his glasses pressed tight between their two heads.
It felt like they’d been going forever, but realistically it could only have been a few minutes at most. “Fucking cum in me!” he demanded in return.
“What’s the magic word?” Jaskier teased, panting hard, already on the brink.
“Now!” It was gutternal, desperate, and it pushed Jaskier right over the edge of the world. His balls tightened, his vision blurred, and he let out a string of curses so loud he forgot they were technically in public.
There was a slight awkwardness as they left the cubicle, Jaskier grabbing some rough paper towels to clean the cum off himself while the other guy utilised the toilet roll for himself. Avoiding each other's gaze they pulled themselves together and walked, or in the other guy's case limped, to the sink.
“So, uh . . .” Jaskier was, for once, at a loss for words.
“Geralt.” The stranger said, barely above a whisper.
“Huh?”
“My name” he shook the excess water off his hands before unceremoniously using his jeans for the rest. “It’s Geralt. And I’m not a vampire. I just like black and have an eye condition I’d rather not have people staring at”. He tapped the glasses, still firmly in place.
“Oh, cool, Jaskier.” Mimicking the other man, Geralt, he wiped his hands dry on his pants.
“Good, I can stop calling you the Pied Piper on the Tube in my head.” His smile was blinding, even as he mocked what Jaskier classed as a very fashionable ensemble.
“Can we do this again? But like, maybe in better surroundings, with more lube.”
Geralt nodded, “Glad you asked”, he cupped his crotch, “I hate when a guy doesn’t at least try to get me off.”
“Oh shit, did you not?” Geralt shook his head, “Fuck, I thought cause you told me to, y’know?”
“Cum?”
“Yes!”
“No, I’ve just had a long day and I’m fucking tired.” He pulled a phone from inside his leather jacket. “Give me your number, I’ll let you know when and where we can really go for it.”
“Do I get yours too?” Jaskier asked as he typed.
Geralt shrugged, “Most men don’t get my name, so we’ll see.” He plucked the phone back and grabbed his jacket from the dirty floor of the stall. He backed out of the bathroom, grinning like he wanted to devour the other man.
Jaskier half expected to see him on the platform when he eventually had enough brain power to follow. But either he’d just missed a train or his new friend had left the station entirely.
***
See you on the commute [3 Images Attached]
Jaskier looked at the unknown number while he waited on the kettle to boil, smiling that Geralt hadn’t hidden it so he could save it himself. Then he noticed the time. “Shitfuckcunt!”
The kettle was hastily switched off, coffee granules left dry in his flask as he fled the kitchen. He knew he’d slept in, logically, he just hadn’t done much to compensate for it.
In the mad rush to the station he didn’t actually open the message. Forgot about it almost entirely, until a shadow towered over him two stops into the trip. Looking up, he saw Geralt smirking down at him, one arm holding the grab rail, the other hanging from his pocket by the thumb. Fingers grazing the zipper line of his oh fuck far too tight jeans.
Jaskier swallowed, then dropped his gaze back to the phone in his hand. Opening the message he nearly swallowed his tongue. The first two attachments were full mirror naked selfies. All rippling muscle, oiled up, and tensed to show each carefully carved dip and ridge. The third, a video that played automatically, made him jump, forgetting he had headphones on and was the only one who could hear “Arrggh fuck!” Geralt’s thick cock pulsing rope after rope of cum over his hairy abdomen filling his screen.
Risking a glance up, his face scarlet and uncomfortably warm he saw the sunglasses dip just enough to hint at golden eyes. A feral smile, all teeth and hunger, told him that while Geralt was definitely a specific kind of bottom he was well and truly the one in charge.
Slowly he reached up and pulled his headphones back, letting them rest around his neck. “Why am I suddenly tempted to call in sick?”
Geralt just shrugged, “I’ll see you tonight.” He backed up slightly and sauntered off the train. Leaving Jaskier dumbstruck and hornier than he ever thought possible.
Jaskier hated the London Underground. Mostly.