Twitfic: Geralt, an alpha, works with Jaskier who sits facing him several desks down the open-plan office. The big-mouthed, baby-faced omega annoys him so much, but he can't stop staring at him, and he doesn't understand why--until his rut hits.

Tags: Modern AU, NSFW, humor,

Fluff, A/B/O dynamics, miscommunication, Eskel is a troll bro.

Author's notes: As of typing this, I'm not sure just how NSFW this twitfic will be. But I hope y'all will have some laughs at these two endearing idiots working their way to realizing their big feels for each other.

The little, annoying shit was at it again.
Geralt glowered over the top edge of his laptop's screen at the blue-eyed, dark-haired horror who sat two desks down the vast office from him. Like him, said horror had a black laptop--but its cover also had horrifyingly garish stickers.

He glowered even harder at them, narrowing his eyes in particular at the yellow dandelions that *sparkled* when sunlight streaming through the tall windows struck them.
Why did the little, annoying shit stick *those* particular stickers? Was it to constantly catch his eye?

Irritate him non-stop with those blinding, white spots, so he had no choice but to glare at the big-mouthed idiot?!
Geralt honed his narrowed eyes on the stupid face of said idiot. There! The idiot was at it *again*: sitting so prim and proper in that *teal* suit and red tie.

Head held high like he was nobility, gazing down that stupid nose at the screen, those long, stupid eyelashes fanning his high, stupid cheekbones, those dark pink, stupid lips jutting out in that stupid, lush pout, and those *stupid*, trimmed eyebrows with their sharp points!

This big-mouthed, blue-eyed, dark-haired horror of an idiot!
What did Geralt do to deserve having to look at him all day long?
His laptop chimed with a chat notification. With a grunt, he tore his eyes away from the idiot's stupid, unavoidable face and glanced down at the screen.

Oh, a message from Eskel.
He glanced to his right at his old friend who sat at the other end of the desk, also working on a black laptop. Eskel had stripped off his red suit jacket and hung it on the back of his office chair. The sleeves of his beige dress shirt were rolled up.

Eskel's elbows rested on the desk's polished surface, and his amber eyes stared down at a tilted screen.
Geralt turned back to his own screen, then opened up the chat window.
[Eskel: Stop staring at the otter]
Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line. He shot a glare at Eskel.

Eskel stared on at his own laptop screen.
With a huff, Geralt glowered at the chat window and tapped out his reply.
[Geralt: I AM NOT STARING AT HIM. HE REFUSES TO BE OUT OF MY LINE OF VISION.]
Yes, he knew what the capslock button was. No, he preferred it stayed on, thank you.

He glowered at the three blinking dots that indicated Eskel was typing. The incessant bustle of their numerous colleagues around them drowned out the tapping of Eskel's swift fingers on black keys.
[Eskel: Sure sure. That teal is really something, huh]
Geralt's eyes flitted up.

He squinted at said teal suit jacket. At its stupid, unavoidable owner and that stupid, unavoidable face and those stupid, unavoidable *lips*.
[Geralt: THE BIG-MOUTHED BRAT HAS AWFUL TASTES. WHO WEARS TEAL TO WORK.]
[Eskel: He has a name, you know]
Geralt let out a low snarl.

[Geralt: WHAT SORT OF NAME IS JASKIER JULIAN ALFRED PANKRATZ ANYWAY]
He squinted at Eskel from the corners of his eyes. Eskel was pressing the fingers of his left hand to his lips, eyes crinkled.
[Eskel: Ok Mr du Haute-Bellegarde]
Geralt glared at the chat window, lips pursed.

[Geralt: WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING]
[Eskel: Nothing. Not implying a dang diddly thing]
Geralt shot another glare at Eskel. Eskel was typing again, lips sucked in, eyes even more crinkled.
[Eskel: Hey I heard he's dating some blonde bombshell in Accounting]
Geralt stared at the words.

He blinked, then stared some more at those small, black words in the white window taking up the lower right corner of his screen.
What?
Jaskier was--dating someone?
His wide eyes flitted yet again to that stupid, unavoidable, mind-boggling face. Jaskier was mildly frowning.

Browsing through a plastic folder of A4 pages he held in one stupid, slender hand. Browsing and browsing, and not looking once at him.
Geralt glared down at the chat window again.
[Geralt: WHY DID YOU TELL ME THAT I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT NONSENSE]
[Eskel: Well here she comes]

Geralt's eyes popped open. His head whipped up--just in time to see a young woman with long, golden hair sashaying down the aisle between the desks to Jaskier. She wore a black suit jacket and a knee-length skirt. She gave Jaskier a dazzling smile when she halted next to him.

Jaskier glanced up at her--and returned her smile with an equally dazzling one.
Geralt stared. He stared, and sniffed the air hard.
Whoever she was, she wasn't an alpha like him. She clearly smelled like a beta.
It was the only thing stopping him from lunging out of his chair.

Not that he intended to do that. Why would he do that, anyway? Whatever the big-mouthed idiot did with those stupid, pouty lips and those stupid, fluttering lashes and that stupid, pretty *face* wasn't any of his business.
He stared on. His shoulders tautened. His belly clenched.

His lips pulled back from his fangs as the woman's more slender hand touched Jaskier's shoulder while Jaskier passed her the folder.
What was she doing? Why was she touching Jaskier?
Why was she touching what was *his?*
He heard a formidable growl reverberate throughout the room.

It was so loud, so resonant, that the entire office fell silent under its power. He felt wide eyes staring at him, but the only pair he noticed were the large, blue ones set in that stupid, flushed, pretty face.
Finally, Jaskier was looking at him.
Looking at him with--shock?

Geralt blinked hard. His eyes stayed wide, and his face went slack. He sucked in a breath--and the resonant growl ceased.
Ah.
Without moving his head or relaxing his ramrod-straight spine, he glanced around the room. His stubbly cheeks warmed. His hot belly remained clenched.

He glanced at Eskel from the corners of his eyes, and saw the pillock sitting hunched forward with a hand pressed over what to be an amused grin.
He glanced down at his laptop.
Cleared his throat loudly.
Hunched over the keyboard, and ignored the stares on his searing face.

Eskel had sent him another message.
[Eskel: Actually I got no idea who she was. Oops]
Geralt aimed a wide-eyed glare at him, one that would have sent the bravest of men running the other way from him. Eskel simply glanced at him with twinkling eyes and lips tremoring with mirth.

Then the berk of an alpha sent him another message.
[Eskel: Otter's staring at you again]
Geralt's head whipped around--and sure enough, his wide amber eyes locked onto those large, blue ones staring at his face.
Jaskier's face was still strawberry red. Was that due to anger?

Or was it--something else?
Geralt noted that the blonde woman was gone. That Jaskier hadn't gone after her, and was instead sitting as usual at his allocated spot.
Staring so hard.
At him.
But who could blame Jaskier for that?
Geralt, an alpha, had *growled* at a perceived rival.

Geralt, an alpha, had growled at a perceived rival over an *omega*, in a full room of witnesses.
An omega he scarcely spoke to, and was notoriously known for driving him up the wall just by breathing in the same room.
What the hell must Jaskier be thinking right now about him?

What the hell was *he* thinking?
He forced himself to stare down at his laptop screen. To breathe slow and easy, and ignore the persistent clenching of his belly, the tingling of his extremities.
Jaskier wasn't his.
Jaskier was a big-mouthed, extroverted, independent omega.

Since Jaskier joined the company six months ago, he was always surrounded by their colleagues who floated to him like butterflies to a blooming flower. He was rumored to be a fabulous singer, and utterly slayed at karaoke. Everyone, regardless of their statuses, grew to like him.

Well, everyone except Geralt.
At least, that was what everyone thought--including himself.
He bit his lower lip. Tapped out a response to Eskel.
[Geralt: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY AGAIN?]
He waited for Eskel's reply.
But the next chime he heard was for a message from another sender.

[Jaskier: We need to talk.]
Geralt stared at the four words. At the name preceding them. He stared at them, and used every ounce of willpower to stop himself from glancing up, from meeting those blue eyes staring so hard at him again.
[Geralt: NO]
He clearly heard Jaskier's gasp.

He risked a peek over the top edge of his laptop screen. Jaskier was scowling down at his own laptop, typing with a fury.
[Jaskier: What do you mean no??!! We have to TALK! That was no ordinary growl and you know it!]
On the table, Geralt's hands clenched into tight fists.

Then they loosened to quickly type a reply.
[Geralt: NO TALK]
Gods, just exchanging messages with the pretty-faced horror was causing his blood pressure and heartbeat to rise. His toes curled in his black dress shoes.
[Jaskier: You're a big, silly baby.]
Geralt's eyes widened.

They snapped up to glower at Jaskier--but Jaskier had already beaten him to the punch and was glowering at him with eyes narrowed to affronted slits.
For baffling reasons beyond his comprehension, Jaskier looked very much to him like a fluffy, wicked kitten about to bite him.

He wanted to pet Jaskier's dark, thick hair.
He wanted to wipe away that outraged glare and replace it with a much more tender expression.
He--wanted.
His laptop ringed with another chime. He tore his wide eyes away from Jaskier's and glanced down to read the next message.

[Jaskier: Don't think I haven't noticed you glaring at me all the time.]
Geralt refused to look up. He stared at the three blinking dots as Jaskier typed.
[Jaskier: If you won't talk to me about The Growl, at least explain why you hate me so much, Geralt.]
Geralt swallowed hard.

He stared at his own name. He was dazed at seeing Jaskier type out his first name for the first time in a chat message. In fact, until today, Jaskier had always referred to him as Mr. du Haute-Bellegarde.
And he had always referred to Jaskier as Mr. Pankratz in all situations.

He saw that Eskel hadn't sent any new messages to him--but he didn't need Eskel's answer to his question now. He could obtain an answer from Jaskier with a question of his own.
[Geralt: WHY DO YOU STARE AT ME?]
He caught Jaskier's blink of surprise. Saw Jaskier's cheeks redden.

[Jaskier: Why do YOU stare at me?]
Geralt's toes were still curled in inside his shoes.
[Geralt: I HAVE NO EXPLANATION TO GIVE]
His fingers flew across the black keys of his laptop. He pressed the enter key before he could change his mind.
[Geralt: I DON'T HATE YOU, JASKIER.]

Once more, he felt Jaskier's intense stare upon his face. Whether or not Jaskier was glaring at him, or gazing at him with a different expression, he couldn't tell: he stared at his laptop screen.
His cheeks burned.
His chest swelled with newfound understanding, with warmth.

Jaskier stared at him for a very long time before typing a reply.
[Jaskier: We need to talk, Geralt. Face to face.]
Geralt's belly clenched to the point of pain with a panic that quickened his heartbeat even more. He shifted on his chair. He gripped the stiff sides of his laptop.

He released them, then forced his less than steady fingers to type.
[Geralt: WORK TIME]
He minimized the chat window. He returned to his open work document, and read a multitude of words, and typed just as many, and refused to return any of Jaskier's pointed stares at his face.

It was time to work. Yes, work was good. Work was distracting. Work distracted him from the stupid, unavoidable, mind-boggling, *pretty* omega man in that dashing teal suit and eye-catching red tie who he didn't hate--who he'd never hated at all.
Jaskier Julian Alfred Pankratz.

Jaskier.
His laptop chimed, and he only opened the chat window once he saw the new message was from Eskel.
[Eskel: Counting down the minutes till you stare with heart eyes at the otter again]
Without glancing away from the screen, Geralt earnestly flipped the bird at Eskel.

The afternoon crawled by with the lenghtiness of torturous eons to Geralt. The office was far too hot. The bloody air-cons were at full blast, but he still felt as if he was dipped in molten lava. Loosening his silver tie didn't help. Neither did unbuttoning his dress shirt.

He wanted to strip off his black suit jacket, and yet he didn't. He wanted to strip off *all* his clothes and work in the nude, but of course he didn't. He'd scandalized his colleagues enough today!
Fuck, why was the whole place so damn *hot?*
And what the hell was that *scent?*

He raised his head and tilted it back. He sniffed hard at the air, then shut his eyes and inhaled as deeply as he could, his chest expanding until it stretched his white shirt.
Gods, what a delicious scent it was, the perfect combination of everything Geralt savored in life.

Sunshine on skin after a swim in a cool stream. The earthy richness of tanned leather. Aromatic coffee first thing in the morning. The cool air after a storm. Blossoming flowers in the rays of dawn.
Flowers as golden as the sun.
Flowers that blinded him with white, flaring spots.

He opened his eyes and lowered his head to squint at those garish flowers on Jaskier's laptop cover again. The sun had moved with the passing hours, and its beams no longer struck the sparkling stickers.
He still wanted to grab Jaskier's laptop and rip off those stupid flowers.

Rip them all off and--and stuff them into his mouth and *chew* on them to pulp and then--swallow them down!
Yeah, that was an utterly logical thing to do. Jaskier had only himself to blame for taunting him with those stupid flowers! And his stupid face! His stupid *everything!*

Oh, someone was approaching Jaskier's desk *again*.
He glared over the top edge of his laptop screen at the young man in a grey suit who carried a stack of folders. The young man, a beta, was constantly firing wide-eyed glances at him, tiptoeing towards Jaskier like a thief.

The nearer the young man got, the more Geralt's lips pulled back from his fangs. That formidable growl rumbled from his chest again when the man was near enough to stretch a skinny arm and lay the folders on Jaskier's desk.
"That's fine, that's fine," Geralt heard Jaskier say.

"Just leave them there. He won't bite you."
He stopped growling and squinted at Jaskier. Who was Jaskier to say whether he could bite anyone or not? He could bite that scrawny wretch if he wanted to! That was what teeth were for! *Biting!*
He glared at the young beta again.

Let out a short snarl akin to the revving of a huge motorcycle.
With a squeak, the young man scurried away to the safety of his own desk across the vast room.
Geralt ignored Jaskier's admonishing glower and squinted at his laptop screen. He grunted at hearing that familiar chime.

[Jaskier: Geralt! Stop it! You're scaring the local fauna.]
He grunted again, then tapped out a reply with his forefinger.
[Geralt: DON'T WANT]
He nodded to himself. Yeah, that was a succinct, assertive response that demonstrated his confidence and strong character to Jaskier.

He peered over his laptop screen at Jaskier. He watched Jaskier read his message--and his chest swelled with pride, with something else that he couldn't name, when Jaskier's lips tremored and those big, blue eyes crinkled.
Jaskier's cheeks had been a pretty red all afternoon.

It couldn't be due to anger if Jaskier was trying not to smile. So, what was it?
Geralt sniffed the air again. Let his eyes flutter shut as he sucked in another lungful of that marvellous scent. Mmm, if only he could bottle it up, and keep it close.
Or sniff it off a warm nape.

He opened his eyes to half-mast. He stared at Jaskier typing a reply.
What did Jaskier's nape look like? Or *feel* like? The high collars of his dress shirts always concealed it from view.
That was very unfair. Espcially to Geralt who just wanted to know how warm Jaskier was.

[Jaskier: Are you aware that you're constantly shouting with all that capitalization?]
Geralt squinted at the silly string of words.
[Geralt: NOT SHOUTIN. CONVEENINT]
He glowered down at his keyboard. Stupid letters, moving around on their own and making spelling so difficult.

He had better things to do around the office anyway than sit at the desk all day.
He stomped around the room and ignored everyone leaping out of his way. He photostatted a pile of documents necessary for the meeting tomorrow. He snarled at the vase of flowers next to the machine.

"Why are you here?!"
The pink, many-petalled flowers didn't reply, which offended him into glaring at them. He plotted out their swift demise in the rubbish bin, nevermind that they were fake.
Why was it hotter than ever in this bloody room? Did someone turn down the thermostat?!

He stomped over to the thermostat on the wall nearby, once again ignoring everyone scuttling out of his way. He glared at its small, rectangular screen.
With a snarl, he swiveled around to face the crowded room.
"Why is it so hot in here?!"
No one dared to say a word in answer.

His colleagues, whether they were seated at their desks in front of their computers or standing around, glanced at each other with wide eyes, then at him. A phone trilled for several seconds in the fraught silence. Someone coughed. Another person shifted noisily on their chair.

Then the scrape of chair legs resounded through the room.
Jaskier had stood up and was now striding down the aisle towards him, flushed face set in a resolute expression. Geralt glowered at him, and Jaskier glowered back--and something lightning hot coalesced in Geralt's belly.

Jaskier halted six feet away in front of him. Out of his arm's reach.
"Geralt," Jaskier said, his arms akimbo, hands resting on hips.
Jaskier's jacket was unbuttoned. Jaskier's tie was loosened like his, and the top two buttons of Jaskier's dress shirt were also unbuttoned.

Geralt had never seen Jaskier's clothing in this state before.
Geralt had never seen Jaskier's dark, thick chest hair before, peeking out so--sexily like that.
How far down did that hair go? Did it coat only Jaskier's chest? Or did it trail down that flat belly? Down to a bush?

All that dark, thick hair, all that pale, smooth *skin*--and Geralt couldn't touch any of it. He couldn't touch Jaskier, because Jaskier wasn't his omega, and Jaskier was angry with him again and Jaskier was probably dating someone already and that someone wasn't *him*--
"You!"

*You say my name so sweetly with your mellifluous voice.*
"You turned down the thermostat!" Geralt snarled, his shoulders taut, glaring at Jaskier. "Didn't you?!"
Jaskier's jaw dropped low in outrage. Those big, blue eyes went round, and one slender forefinger waggled at him.

"I did not!" Jaskier huffed, his face reddening even more. "I was actually going to--"
"I know it was you!"
Jaskier exclaimed, "I did *not*--"
Geralt clenched his hands into fists and yelled, "It was *YOU!*"
Jaskier stamped one foot on the floor and yelled back, "I did *NOT!*"

"*YOOOOUUUU!*"
Geralt's roar exploded from his chest, his mouth, with every pent-up feeling in him suffusing it--and fury was not one of them.
Fury had never been what he'd felt for Jaskier.
Sometimes, it was all too easy to confuse it with passion. With desire. With yearning.

He clenched his fists even harder. His entire body tensed from head to toes. His muscles flexed and bulged against the fragile confines of his clothes--and with a deafening rip, the seams of his suit jacket and trousers split open at the same time.
In its aftermath, Geralt froze.

He stood stiff and silent, his eyes even rounder than Jaskier's, his lips pressed tight in a line of utter mortification. His body refused to relax. His fists trembled at his sides, and his breath stalled in his puffed-out chest, and--oh gods, how bloody stupid was *he* today?

How did he not notice the numerous symptoms that should have been as familiar as his cock? How could he have forgotten to mark his calendar on his phone, to be *prepared?*
Three months had passed since his last rut--and here it was again, right on time to beleaguer his body.

Everyone was gaping in shocked silence at him, apart from Eskel who was on the other side of the vast room, covering his mouth with one hand, broad shoulders shaking. His wide eyes flitted away from the berk--and landed on Jaskier's crimson-red face.
He forced his body to unwind.

He unfurled his fists and spread his aching fingers. His shoulders slumped. His back muscles loosened, and so did his arms.
But the roiling heat in his clenched belly didn't ebb.
It swirled down to his cock. Billowed when he sucked in a deep breath--full of that marvelous scent.

Where was it coming from? Where was that amazing, *perfect* scent coming from?
Jaskier took a step forward, his lips parting soundlessly.
A fresh wave of the scent rolled over Geralt. In his belly, his cock, fiery eddies of lust erupted.
He stared at Jaskier with desperate eyes.

Oh gods, he had to get out of here. Go to the restroom where he could hide, and hopefully ride out the initial waves of his rut before he drove home to deal with it alone. He could apologize to Jaskier later for his behavior. He would.
Jaskier hadn't deserved all that yelling.

He really was a big, silly baby.
He lowered his eyes. Cleared his throat, and brushed his trembling hands down his ruined suit jacket. Opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again.
"It appears," he rasped, "I am behaving rather out of sorts today due to being in rut."

He cleared his throat again, louder. "If you'll please excuse me."
Without waiting for a response from anyone, he swiveled around and headed for the office's main entrance. He ignored the stares following him out. Ignored Jaskier's gasp, but shut his eyes for a moment anyway.

Yeah, he could feel the draft of air between his buttocks, where the seam of his trousers had split so wide.
Never had he regretted wearing his favorite tiger-striped boxer-briefs so much.
In the corridor outside the office, he allowed himself to totter the rest of the way.

He was so damn grateful to not bump into anyone, to find the restroom empty. He staggered to the nearest sink. Twisted its metal tap to release a gush of cold water. Leaned over the ceramic basin, propping himself up with one hand on its rim, splashing his face with the other.

It didn't help: he still felt so damn hot inside and out, like he was burning up in a pillar of flames. His taut arms quivered with brimming energy. He could barely breathe without his lungs hitching, without wanting to claw off his clothes and free his cock and *fuck* someone.

"Fuck," he rasped, his eyes squeezed shut, dragging a hand down his stubbly, wet face. "*Fuck*."
Never in his life had his rut hit him so hard, so fast. He usually had some time before it got this bad. Hours--to go home, get his rut kit out and ensconce himself in his bedroom.

But now, it was too late. There was no way he could even leave this restroom, unless he was willing to humiliate himself even further by walking all the way to his car in the company's private car park with his massive erection tenting his ruined trousers.
He bowed his head.

Glared down at said massive erection between his thighs, and growled. The low, rumbling sound echoed in the rectangular, tiled room lit by the warm glow of wall lamps.
Could masturbation do the trick this time?
What if that didn't work? What the hell was he going to do, then?

He gripped the rim of the sink with both hands, his knuckles white. He raised his head and stared at his reflection in the oval mirror above the sink.
His amber eyes gleamed with blatant lust and wildness. His cheeks were flushed. His puffy lips glistened after he licked them.

His long hair, tied in its customary half-up half-down style, was all that remained neat and proper about him.
What was he going to do, if his cock refused to go down despite bringing himself off? If it needed to come deep inside someone and *knot* them?
"Fuck," he whispered.

Behind him, the restroom door swung open with the slightest creak.
He jolted upright. Spun around, ready to bellow at the fool who dared come in--but his wrath perished in an instant when his wide eyes alighted on that familiar teal suit. On that eye-catching, loosened red tie.

On that exposed swath of dark, thick chest hair and pale, smooth skin, then skimming up a long, flushed neck to an even more flushed face that he'd stared at all day.
That he'd stared at every chance he got, from the moment its pretty possessor sat facing him in the office.

"Jaskier," he growled.
The restroom door swung shut behind Jaskier with a click. Jaskier stared at him with eyes as wide and gleaming as his. Jaskier's luscious lips quivered.
Jaskier didn't say a word.
With a frown, Geralt took a step towards the silent omega, lips parting.

Then he inhaled.
And that marvelous, unique, *perfect* scent rolled over him again with the force of a tsunami, overwhelming his nose, his tongue, his lungs. He gasped. Gulped the scent into his chest, his blood, his *soul*--then gave Jaskier a sharp look, his mouth falling open.

The scent--the scent of everything that Geralt savored in life, that made him happy, made him glad to live--was *Jaskier's* scent.
He inhaled another lungful of it again, while Jaskier stared at him and quivered and fidgeted with those slender fingers.
They drew his eyes down.

They drew his wide eyes down to Jaskier's groin--where the tailored teal trousers visibly tented like his. Down to the teal cloth encasing Jaskier's lean thighs--where dark, wet streaks seeped down its inner sides.
Wet streaks that grew longer and wider the more Geralt stared.

Wet, warm streaks that were *saturated* in that mouth-watering scent.
Geralt licked his lips again. Sucked in another breath. His throbbing cock twitched hard in his boxer-briefs.
The scent wasn't just Jaskier's general scent: it was the irresistible scent of Jaskier's *slick*.

But what was Jaskier doing here? Didn't Jaskier hear what he'd said in the office?
Didn't Jaskier realize how *stupid* it was for an omega to be near an alpha in rut? Especially when he was producing slick and--and looking so damn *ravishing* with that naked expression of lust?

"Jaskier," he growled, unable to step back, using every iota of willpower to not hurl himself at the beautiful omega man. "I'm in rut."
Jaskier could still turn around and leave: Geralt would never stop him from doing so, nor ever force him to do anything he didn't want to do.

A rut didn't remove his rationality. But it did lower his inhibitions, and battered his self-control at its worst hours--and if an omega strongly desired for him to fuck them, he was lost to days of adamant lust, rough sex, and repeated knottings.
Right now, his rut was peaking.

And Jaskier was right there, stepping back to lean against the shut restroom door, still staring at him.
"I know," Jaskier rasped. "I'm in heat. And it's all your fault, Geralt du Haute-Bellegarde."
Jaskier reached down for the door's steel bolt--and locked it with an easy slide.

Somehow, Geralt managed to stand where he was and not shatter to flaming pieces. Every line of his hulking body shivered under Jaskier's stark stare: the stare of a man who couldn't believe what was happening, as lost as he was.
Jaskier was *in heat?*
And it was *his* fault?

He blinked. He shivered. Burned from head to toes, and was so fucking hard in his trousers that he *hurt*. He could already feel that familiar tingling at the base of his cock, of his knot aching to swell--and he wasn't even touching any part of Jaskier yet.
How was it possible?

How was it possible for Jaskier to be in heat right now? The omega had been fine this morning. He'd seemed fine this afternoon too, apart from his flushed face and--
Geralt's eyes roamed the rosy softness of Jaskier's cheeks. Drank in the rosy, enticing column of Jaskier's neck.

Scrutinized Jaskier's disheveled state, and sucked in yet another precious lungful of that amazing scent, his loose hands shaking at his sides.
No, Jaskier had been fine this morning--until Geralt had growled at that young blonde beta.
And Jaskier had flushed so alluringly.

Because his *growl* alone had triggered Jaskier's heat, right there and then.
His amber eyes locked with those big, blue ones again. No words passed their lips, but Geralt was assailed by more revelations about Jaskier: an omega's heat couldn't be triggered by a random alpha.

It could only be triggered by an alpha in rut--to whom the omega was extremely attracted. To an alpha that the omega truly desired to mate with, to *knot* them.
Geralt breathed tremulously in tandem with Jaskier. They shivered and burned so hot under each other's stark stares.

The stares of men who couldn't believe what was happening, who couldn't believe their heart's greatest desires were coming true in this very moment.
Geralt's lips parted with a wet sound.
"Come here," he snarled, a ravenous wolf about to feast.
He had to stand still and in place.

He had to know for sure. He had to *know*, without any doubt or fears, that Jaskier truly desired *him*.
Jaskier's throat jounced with a hard swallow. He pushed himself off the restroom door. He took a wobbly step towards Geralt, then another--then began to strip off his jacket.

The jacket plummeted to the clean, tiled floor behind Jaskier. Jaskier popped open the rest of his dress shirt's buttons with shaky hands, and tottered closer to Geralt, and stared into Geralt's eyes all the while, as if he was a gorgeous dream too good to be real, to be *here*.

Geralt stayed strong, stayed so still, until Jaskier was within arm's reach. His open hands whipped out to seize the gasping omega by surprisingly brawny arms. He hauled that beautiful, hairy body tight to him. Locked his arms like vices around Jaskier's upper back and waist.

Crushed his lips to those lush, pouty ones that had riveted him from the instant he'd beheld Jaskier for the very first time--and howled in exultation within.
The moan that flowed from Jaskier's mouth into his was one of pure victory.
Jaskier's hands scrabbled at his suit jacket.

He refused to let Jaskier go, refused to tear his mouth away from Jaskier's. He lapped at Jaskier's quivering lips with his tongue. Sucked on that luscious lower lip, and yanked Jaskier's shirt out of those teal trousers to rake his ruthless hands up a smooth, arching back.

Jaskier bit his lower lip.
Shoved him with both hands against his shoulders, until his back collided with the wall next to the sink.
Jaskier was grinning--and so was he, with exhilaration that bared his fangs and crinkled his eyes and made his cock, his *heart* swell even more.

He was stunned by the force of Jaskier's lips crashing into his, by its fervor that matched his. He grinned into it. Groaned into it when Jaskier pinned him to the wall with that lean, limber body, grinding their rigid cocks together.
The kiss unleashed more words from him.

"You," he growled. He crushed another ardent kiss to Jaskier's plump lips. "You and your stupid *face*."
He seized Jaskier's waist and spun them around, pinning Jaskier to the wall with his muscular bulk. Jaskier huffed out a thrilled laugh into his mouth and arched against him.

"You," Jaskier growled in return, tugging at his long hair, licking into his mouth. "You and your stupid *arse!*"
He let Jaskier slam him against the wall again. He was breathless in the flawless slides of their wet tongues, their supple lips. He could *feel* Jaskier's desire.

Feel Jaskier's *longing* for him, like a storm that'd lingered on the horizon for months but was now a current pulling them both into it, drowning them.
It was an exquisite way to die.
He hungered to know what he would be after today, after he was reborn in Jaskier's tight heat.

He growled, "Your stupid hair!"
Jaskier huffed out another laugh into his mouth.
"*Your* stupid hair!"
Jaskier tugged it again, and kissed him, and kissed him, and he'd had no idea how wonderful it was to kiss someone while he smiled, while he was elated.
While he was in love.

He'd been in love with Jaskier for a long time.
With a broken gasp, he spun them around to pin Jaskier to the wall again, his left arm around Jaskier's trim waist. His right hand rose up to Jaskier's head. He carded his trembling fingers through dark, medium-length, silken hair.

He leaned forward and pressed their warm foreheads together.
"You," he rasped, gazing into Jaskier's wide eyes gleaming so bright with the same feelings spiraling in him.
Once more, their tremulous breaths echoed in tandem throughout the restroom, scorching their parted lips.

Geralt was drowning in those brilliant blues, in the overpowering scent of Jaskier's slick permeating his nostrils, his mouth. His fingers splayed across Jaskier's lower back under his shirt. His fingers clenched in Jaskier's hair, tighter and tighter.
Jaskier didn't protest.

Jaskier gazed into his eyes, and reached down with both hands to unbuckle his own belt. To unzip his teal trousers, and push them down until they slipped down those long, lean legs to the floor.
"Jaskier," he pleaded, his voice even more gravelly.
Jaskier toed off his shoes.

Slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his slick-soaked boxer-briefs, then pushed them down too.
Immediately, Geralt's chest puffed up with that formidable, rumbling growl. His eyes widened. His lips pulled back with lust, with anticipation when Jaskier's scent intensified.

He stepped back without letting go of Jaskier's hair. He glanced down, and finally saw Jaskier's bared body clad only in that spread-open dress shirt and loosened tie. He let out a low, gratified growl at Jaskier's dense chest hair. At the dark trail bisecting that flat belly.

A dark, soft trail that led down to a softer bush of dark curls surrounding a cock so hard it jutted up towards Geralt, leaking copious pre-come.
It was larger than usual for an omega man. It was small compared to Geralt's. But then, most alphas were small compared to Geralt.

Most alphas were weak compared to him.
It was time to show Jaskier just how big, strong and *enduring* he was.
He reluctantly released Jaskier's hair. He had to grit his teeth to not lunge forward, to hug Jaskier tight upon hearing the omega's whine.
He stripped off his jacket.

He threw it aside, then unbuckled his belt, unzipped his ruined trousers, and pushed them down his burly thighs along with his boxer-briefs. He tensed, expecting Jaskier to laugh at its tiger stripe print--but Jaskier didn't make a sound.
Jaskier gaped at his cock with huge eyes.

Jaskier swallowed hard. Flushed a deeper red. Clutched at the tails of his shirt, and breathed, "Oh, you're so--"
Jaskier's cock dribbled more pre-come.
And Geralt smelled fresh slick gushing out from Jaskier's hole, streaking down quivering inner thighs, dripping to the floor.

Another resonant growl emanated from Geralt's chest. He was leaking so much pre-come too, so hard his cock smacked on his clenched belly after he stroked it once from hilt to tip. Jaskier let out another whine at that, high-pitched and yearning.
Jaskier leaned against the wall.

Spread those slick-wet legs in blatant invitation--and tilted his head back, baring that long, flushed neck to Geralt.
That one gesture was more potent than any words Jaskier could say as consent: an omega flaunting their neck during a mating meant they were willing to be bitten.

Jaskier was willing to be bitten.
Jaskier was willing to accept *his* bite.
Jaskier was--
Geralt lunged forward. He smashed his lips to Jaskier's, his eyes scrunched shut, his chest aching with a transcendental pain. Jaskier moaned into his mouth, caressing his stubbly cheeks.

Then their lips parted with a wet noise.
Geralt bent down to slip his left arm under Jaskier's right knee, to raise Jaskier's leg high and spread those slick-wet thighs wide. Jaskier's breaths quickened even more than his. Streaks and rivulets of slick glistened in the light.

Jaskier's hands scrabbled at his shoulders, his upper back. Jaskier gazed at him with such large, loving eyes, such *trust*, that his own eyes stung.
"Yes, Geralt," Jaskier whispered, caressing his nape. "I want you. *I need you.*"
Geralt tightened his grip on Jaskier's thigh.

With his other hand, he guided his cock to Jaskier's opening, knowing it was naturally prepared to receive him. The slick would ease the way, and regardless of his size, an omega's inner muscles would stretch to fit him.
Still, he didn't wish to cause pain to Jaskier in any way.

He stared at Jaskier's pretty face as he pushed in the head of his cock. Jaskier's mouth fell open. Long, thick eyelashes fluttered on rosy cheeks: Jaskier was trying to keep his eyes open, to stare back at him. To memorize his face, and every emotion that danced across it.

When the head of his cock popped in, Jaskier's eyes widened. He felt Jaskier's legs go taut, and he could tell that Jaskier was curling his toes in, that Jaskier was trying so damn hard to not shut those big, blue eyes and throw his head back against the wall.
Geralt growled.

He slid his right hand along Jaskier's hip to grasp and squeeze an ample buttock. He dug his nails into smooth skin, leaving his mark on them. He pushed in, deeper, faster into Jaskier's welcoming heat, mouth dropping open at how fucking *tight* Jaskier was despite the slick.

He worked his hips in a fluid rocking until he was inside Jaskier to the hilt.
He gasped in searing air while Jaskier panted and moaned.
And all that restrained energy and desperation of his rut--that he'd done his damnest to muzzle after Jaskier entered the restroom--*exploded*.

His hips now rolled up in swift, brutal thrusts, slamming into Jaskier's slick-smeared buttocks. Every thrust was accompanied by the squelching of slick coating Geralt's relentless cock. Every thrust drove a cry out of Jaskier's mouth, until they melted into a single, long moan.

Geralt tried to slow down, to be gentler, but he was drowning in the incredible pleasure, in *Jaskier*. It was as if he was already being reborn in the fire of their intense mating, as if he was being made whole again, his missing, essential pieces found at last in Jaskier.

Something wild and tremendous howled in him when Jaskier lost the battle with himself, and squeezed those blue eyes shut and threw that dark-haired head back hard against the wall. He memorized the exquisite agony that contorted Jaskier's features, the needy gasps of his name.

Despite being in the throes of heat, Jaskier didn't forget who he was. Jaskier didn't forget who *he* was, of who he desired to have deep inside him, to *bite* him.
Jaskier's neck was inches away from his bared fangs.
He could bite Jaskier now, while Jaskier let out that raw sob.

He could sink his teeth into Jaskier's skin right now, and Jaskier would be helpless to stop him, mighty in the vicious throes of rut like he was.
But Jaskier hadn't explicitly consented to a mating bite: an exposed throat only meant explicit permission for non-mating bites.

He wanted to give Jaskier a mating bite. He wanted to give Jaskier everything the amazing, perfect omega wanted. He--
He pulled out of Jaskier's hot, quivering body with a frustrated snarl, with a loud squelch of slick.
Jaskier let out a piercing whine in abject complaint.

"No!" Jaskier begged, clutching at his shoulders, eyes glistening with tears. "No, no, no--"
Geralt hugged the distraught omega tight to him, petting his dark hair, shushing him. He quickly steered Jaskier to the nearest sink, then turned Jaskier to face it. To face the mirror.

He gently pushed Jaskier down with a hand between Jaskier's shoulder blades. Jaskier bent at the hips, grabbing hold of the sink's rim--and stared with wide, shiny eyes at his own reflection, then at Geralt's.
Geralt focused on Jaskier's reflection. On Jaskier's raw reactions.

"Look at us," he growled, guiding his cock to Jaskier's hungry, slick hole again.
He plunged in to the hilt with one forceful thrust. He leaned over Jaskier and gripped the sink's rim with one hand. He wrapped his other arm around Jaskier's heaving, hairy chest, cradling him.

He stared wide-eyed at Jaskier's mesmerizing reflection, at Jaskier's lush lips trembling with pleasure, at Jaskier's mouth opening wide in a silent scream while even more brutal, swift thrusts pummeled his willing arse now.
The fast slaps of their fire-hot skin was deafening.

Jaskier's generous buttocks bounced every time Geralt slammed in. Jaskier clung to the sink for the dear life with both hands, rising on tiptoes, somehow gushing even more slick to let Geralt plow in a little more deeper, to hit him on that sweet spot inside like a battering ram.

Jaskier bowed his head with a long, fractured moan.
Jaskier's loose, open dress shirt slipped down--and bared a pale, unblemished nape to Geralt.
A rumbling snarl erupted out of him. In a devastating wave of blissful sensations, he bent down and pressed his scorching face to it.

He kissed it. Licked its fragile skin. Opened his jaws and set the tips of his fangs on it.
He bit down.
And Jaskier tautened from head to toes, and squeezed so *hard* around him that he let out another snarl, crushing Jaskier to his body. Jaskier came crying out his name.

Came loud and stunning, grinding that fabulous arse against him in frenzied circles, clamping around his cock--and triggering his orgasm, his knot into swelling.
With a reverberating roar, he thrust one last time into Jaskier, locking in deep once his knot sealed Jaskier's hole.

He convulsed with utter pleasure from each jet of come out of his cock, from Jaskier still squeezing hard around him and grinding against him to milk every drop he could give. He nuzzled Jaskier's bitten nape, then raised his heavy head to meet Jaskier's eyes in the mirror.

Jaskier was panting hoarsely like he was, cheeks pink, forehead dotted with sweat, dark hair sticking to his skin. Jaskier's eyes glimmered. Fine tremors shook Jaskier's body in the wake of their orgasms--but Geralt's knot wouldn't go down for another fifteen minutes, at least.

They had to rest. To--sit down somewhere.
Geralt gently pulled Jaskier upright as he straightened up, with his arm around Jaskier's chest. They were lucky they were similar in height: with his arms around Jaskier's torso, they could still carefully move around while knotted.

Jaskier was so trusting of him that the omega didn't object in any way to being manhandled. Jaskier leaned back against him, and moved with him--and they ended up sitting on the floor, with Geralt propped against the wall, and Jaskier sitting on his lap, cradled snug in his arms.

Their breaths slowed down. Their bodies stopped quivering, and cooled, but the immense pleasure they'd shared still lingered.
Their rut and heat weren't over yet: this was just the first round of several more spanning days, but now they could compose themselves before leaving.

Or, well, at the very least walk out of this restroom and through the building without massive hard-ons tenting their trousers.
He would have asked Jaskier if he was all right, if he was in any pain--but the loud purring radiating from Jaskier's chest was a good sign in itself.

It was the ultimate compliment to an alpha after a mating, proof of a knotting well-received and highly enjoyed.
It was positive approval from Jaskier.
Geralt's chest puffed with pride. He mouthed at the teeth-marks on Jaskier's nape. Kissed them, relieved he hadn't broken skin.

They could talk later about a bite where he *could* break skin. A bite that would last. A bite that would be--permanent.
He still wanted to give Jaskier a mating bite.
He still wanted Jaskier.
He was even more in love with Jaskier now--and he had no doubts, no fears about it.

He remembered what Jaskier had said to him earlier, with those large, loving eyes.
*I want you. I need you.*
"I fell in love with you from the moment I saw you, you know." Every word was euphonious when Jaskier spoke them. "I just love the way you--sit in the corner and brood."

Geralt gently nipped Jaskier on the shoulder, over a now rumpled dress shirt.
"I don't brood," he muttered, his eyes crinkled.
"Oh, yes, you do, Mister I Glare At People All Day Long And Think I'm Sneaky About It."
Geralt could hear every capital letter. His eyes crinkled more.

He swallowed past a lump in his throat. Tightened his arm around Jaskier's waist, and ran the fingers of his other hand through Jaskier's chest hair. He didn't care that Jaskier's come smeared on his hand: he was also proud to have made Jaskier spurt all the way up to his chest.

"I changed seats with Eskel," he rasped, "so I could look at you all the time."
Jaskier didn't tease him. Jaskier nuzzled his temple and planted a sweet kiss on it.
"I had this suit tailored so I'd stand out from the crowd," Jaskier murmured, "and maybe make you finally see me."

Geralt hugged Jaskier even tighter. Kissed his nape again, and smiled into it.
"I wore that navy blue suit with a gold tie, so you would finally see *me*."
His shoulders shook with silent mirth while Jaskier chuckled with amusement and rubbed affectionately at his forearms.

Yeah, he was notorious for hating any suits that weren't pitch black, and any tie that wasn't silver. He was rather predictable regarding work clothing for himself.
"I stuck those obnoxious dandelion stickers on my laptop so they'd keep distracting you and make you look at me."

Geralt nipped him harder on the shoulder.
"And I was telling the truth earlier! I *didn't* turn down the thermostat." A significant pause, then Jaskier said, "I turned it *up*."
Jaskier burst into another chuckle when Geralt nipped him multiple times on his nape and shoulder.

Seconds later, a familiar crackling noise emitted from a corner of the ceiling, where a small, black speaker was installed. Every room in the building had one since the company set up its public address system.
"Uh, yeah, so--just a general public announcement here, folks."

Geralt would recognize Eskel's voice anywhere, even when it crackled and hissed through the speaker. "You *might* wanna avoid the restroom on the seventh floor, unless you want one pissed-off alpha to feed your ripped bits to his pet horse."
Geralt growled, "I'm gonna kill him."

"And speaking of said pissed-off alpha, hey! Congratulations to Mr. du Haute-Bellegarde and Mr. Pankratz in Production on their first mating! Yeah, ain't love grand? Folks who owe me money, I'll find you later."
Geralt growled, "I'm gonna *kill* him."
Jaskier curbed a giggle.

"*And* in honor of my best friend finally getting his head outta his giant butt, karaoke this Friday will be an interdepartmental contest, with the grand prize being a *big* box of luxury truffle chocolates!"
Geralt glared at the speaker and growled, "I. Am going to. *Kill him*."

Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt's with an exaggerated sigh, then said, "Those chocolates are *mine*."
And just like that, Geralt's indignation vanished, and he kissed Jaskier's pink cheek, and rejoiced again in feeling Jaskier tight and absolutely perfect around him.