A Tale of Coffee and Pups - A Geraskier ABO fanfic
It was dark. Far too dark for a Kaerdwen noon, but considering the ominous storm that had threatened for days, Geralt hadn’t truly expected anything less. The scarred Witcher sighed, his golden, slitted eyes scanning the sidewalkHis and parking spaces outside. With a derisive snort, he started to pack up the meager coffee paraphernalia in his small cafe.
It’s not like the humans truly bother, anyways. And any Creature in their right mind wouldn’t be out in weather like this. Geralt sneered around the words that died on his lips. Humans. They seemed so innocent, with no fangs or claws to speak of, and almost completely incompetent with Chaos. But hells alive, the shit they’ve done with that damned machinery. Melitete damn those humans and damn those fucking machines.
foster brother peeked out from the back room, always hesitant to show his face. “Closing up?” Eksel asked, his ruined mouth curling around the words slightly. The livid scar twisting Eksel’s face from his hairline to chin never ceased to bring about fear in the uneducated. Truth be told, he was less of a ferocious, battle-scarred Dire wolf, much more of an overgrown puppy. Anyone who had eyes could see that.
But often, most didn’t have eyes, not the kind that could see the kindness behind the scars. Eksel’s furred ears, usually alert and eager to please, at least for his Pack and kin, swiveled back as the shop bell chimed. He murmured a soft apology, as he ducked back into the store room, Geralt’s thrice damned heart as pained as ever at the fear in the gentle Alpha’s eyes. Damned humans and their damned hatred.
He turned to the annoyance dripping mud and rain water all over his freshly swept floors and stopped in his tracks.
An Omega blinked his cornflower blue eyes at him, before fussing morosely with the sign in front of the register, a guitar case in his artistically callused hand. “I take it you won’t be needing the entertainment?”
Geralt had forgotten. He’d arranged a stage for tonight and for the rest of the summer nights after - well, and afternoons really - and quite a number of acts had signed on. Mostly Elves, and the occasional Dwarf, a rare human or two, but the lone name stood out in his head. Jaskier. The Witcher from the last class of the school he himself had attended. Wolf School, like every other Witcher settlement, had all but been wiped out in the last Cleansing.
Frankly, he’d forgotten that any of those pups had managed to survive. The only reason he and his brothers avoided the raid on Kaer Morhen was the fact they had been still travelling the Path. Just a handful of their kind, mainly Alphas and the occasional Beta, had remained outside of the castle walls so close to winter.
And now, one of those lost pups was here, rail thin and seeking work. Work that was all their kind had, now that monsters had been extinct for at least a decade. Servant’s work, or worse, entertainment.
How can I refuse this stunning Omega? Geralt thought to himself as he tugged lightly on his medallion, a snarling wolf wrought in unique star metal. “I suppose, if you had time for some fellow Wolves…” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as a trace of the Omega’s scent wafted towards his nose. “I could pay you for your time.”
Geralt froze when the slim, lithe figure drew back, inwards, in a show of trepidation. He hadn’t realized how blatantly that had sounded like a proposition. He knew in his long life that when monsters had run out, there was always the odd human in the cities that would pay for his time warming their bed. As an Alpha, it was a peculiarity, often tolerated, but not seen as respectable for humans to enjoy. An illicit indulgence.
Omegas, however, they…
Geralt felt the shame build in him as he remembered the boasts of bedding a soft, sweet, and unwilling Omega, spread about by that bastard in the last town he’d tried to make his summer home. It took everything Geralt had in him not to pull out the knife in his boot on first sight. To a human, the complexities of an Omega’s alignment were second to how they felt around their cocks.
“I didn’t mean our beds.” Geralt filled a ceramic mug for the small Wolf with the silky chestnut hair and wide blue eyes. “I thought, since you’re here, why don’t we simply enjoy the company of others of our own kind for once in this thrice damned century?”
“You attended Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the door, seeking a way out, but the young pup’s hands curled around the offered caffe latte like he wanted to be nowhere else on the Continent. “Do you remember Lambert? He helped teach our year… before…” Jaskier took a slow sip of his drink, as Geralt motioned them to a collection of cozy armchairs in front of a flagstone hearth.
“He, Eksel, and I were halfway home from the Path when we received the word.” Geralt rumbled in amusement, remembering, for the first time, a scrawny yet fearless pup, and praying to Melitete that he lived. That he could be their Omega. “Eksel’s in the back, most of the time his scars…”
Jaskier nodded, his smile warm as Eksel padded out from the storeroom, his scent piqued in interest. “Jaskier,” the older Wolf rumbled, his ears flicking uncertainly. Geralt felt the same urge as Eksel, to run his wrists over the smaller wolf, covering him in his strong, Alpha scent. Mine, the scent would scream, my Pack, my family. It was a Wolf thing, sure, layered on top of how seemingly vulnerable Jaskier looked. Safety in numbers and all that. Lone wolves tended to fare worse, the longer they went without their own kind. Witcher or non Witcher, a Wolf never was meant to be alone.
“Would…” Jaskier whined in his throat, a pleading glance thrown towards the older Wolves as he twisted his mug in his hands. “Would it be too much to ask for a scenting? I’ve been alone for so long…” Jaskier swallowed a gulp of the coffee drink, and Geralt allowed the excuse of the heat of the drink for the unbidden tears in the Omega’s eyes. He knew far better than to give the request a second thought before he reached across the narrow gap at the same time as Eksel. he gently ran his fingers through the soft hair and down the back of Jaskier’s neck, rubbing the scent glands in his wrist and between his fingers over every inch of skin above the bard’s collar.
“Sshh, it’s alright, little one.” Eksel, heart-of-gold-Eksel, wiped away the water brimming in Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt felt a deep stirring from his half-forgotten Wolf hindbrain, when those stunningly blue, slitted eyes turned to his, a deep calling he couldn’t long ignore. His amulet hummed low in his ears, only for him to hear. Mate. Ours.
No monster threatened now, nothing more than a touch of Fate calling to the star metal, enchanted in an age long forgotten. To a life a Witcher was often denied.
Jaskier’s pupils rounded as Geralt looked deeper into those precious eyes. He could swear to the feeling of being home in those oceans in the Omega’s face. He binked, slowly, raising his chin in a show of submission and Jaskier shakily exhaled. “You’re making the wolf in me act like a foolish pup again, Geralt.” Jaskier’s whisper was soft enough that only a Witcher could hear, and the blush tinting his lightly freckled cheeks made Geralt half mad with the desire to taste it.
“You are still just a pup. Almost.” He smiled, and allowed the Omega to crawl into his lap, rubbing his face on Geralt’s soft flannel. Geralt curled his arms around Jaskier, pressing his cheek to the top of his head, mindful of the Omega’s sensitive ears. He pursed his lips as he felt the longing to give one a tender nip. “Gods, it’s been too long since I’ve seen another Wolf past Eksel, Vesemir and Lambert.” Geralt nuzzled his hair, breathing in the clean scent of a content Omega. Gods, he smelled divine. “There’s so few of us left…”
“Don’t worry, Little Brother. There are other packs that…” Eksel gestured to his groin, a blush coloring his face. “Not all Wolves were kidnapped and forced to become Witchers. Some of us can still whelp a litter or two without needing…” Eksel’s mouth twisted, his permanent scowl deepening as he muttered bitterly, “They couldn’t mostly-sterilize an entire race, now, could they?”
Jaskier whined softly, burying his face in the shirt held tight in his fists. Geralt could smell the longing beneath his scent, and knew the place it came from. The selfsame hollow in his chest that begged for a litter as easily as other creatures. The longing to not have to struggle and ache and pine with each unfulfilled rut. The reality of the hollow comfort of artificial stimulation, a relief that always came without the blessed scent of a growing pup waiting in his mate’s womb. A womb that, for Witchers, more often than not was devoid of the gift of creation, filled by seed just as likely to be as effective as piss. Warm, liquid, but utterly incapable of sparking conception.
Geralt, by some miracle, was one of the rare and lucky ones. The mutagens had spared his sperm, for the most part, though took his glorious silver and sable coloring. Win some, lose some. He’d rather look like an old man long before his time, than never know the sound of tiny paws on the floors of his home.
Eksel caught Geralt’s eye, his golden ones dim with the knowledge of his less lucky nature. His coal black hair shone as he gently stroked the calves Jaskier laid in his lap as he turned, settling against Geralt’s chest. “I heard there’s whole packs that are rebuilding in the south,” Eksel murmured as he toyed with the laces of Jas’ short boots. “They aren’t above taking in a few mutants… As long as we don’t cause harm to the little ones.”
“No self respecting Wolf would hurt a single tuft of fur on a pup’s tail.” Jaskier was all but purring as he arched into Geralt’s hand stroking down his spine. The musician’s ferocity as he growled softly at the thought of any Wolf harming one of their young, his tiny fangs flashing with mild rage, amazed Geralt. So much fury in such a petite form. “I’d like to see one try.” Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, stroking along the bone. Almost as if he’d used Axii, Jaskier calmed, melted into his touch. Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to his palm, followed by the softest of kitten licks to the inside of his wrist. “Hmhmm… Alpha,” Jaskier whispered, half plea, half thanks.
Geralt rumbled, pleased in the knowledge he could put the beautiful man so very much at ease. He adjusted Jaskier in his lap, listening with sharp ears to the slow heartbeat he felt drawn towards like a moth to a flame. Geralt sighed softly and settled into the chair, slipping into a meditative state, thoughts and feelings slipping through his mind like a river.
Outside, rain beat the cafe windows, and thunder echoed down from the mountains. Inside, the Witcher Wolves piled a nest of pillows and cushions in front of the fire, lying in a snuffling, rumbling heap. Not one of them even bothered to complain when Lambert joined the pile, recently returning from the latest shopping run. More bodies in the pile of fur and wet noses, paws twitching with thoughts of chasing both rabbits and monsters alike.
He sensed, like in a dream, the Wheel of Fate turning, twisting, moving ever onwards. It swept everything up in its path and released few to see the truth. Destiny was, more often than not, a fucking bitch.
Geralt softly sighed, rousing himself from his meditative state as Jaskier’s big eyes opened - not blue, he realized, but blue, green, gray and even a little gold mixed in a color akin to sunlight on the ocean. Geralt had seen the ocean, on the Path, and the feelings ingrained in his long memory brought back the bite of the salt spray, the scents on the sharp winds, and the taste of blood and ichor between his fangs.
“I miss running,” Jaskier whispered, a soft, sad smile gracing his soft features. “Running until I could no longer remember when I wasn’t flying over the ground on four paws.” Geralt sighed, nodding as Jaskier flicked his ears at a sound outside of the windows. “When will the rain end, I wonder? Everything smells so fresh after a storm.”
“We have a spare bed, little one,” Eksel offered, stretching with a tremendous yawn. “It’s not much, but it’s warm, and it’s with your kin. Hot food in your belly and Alphas guarding the door…” Eksel cocked his head, eyes brighter than his blinding smile. If he had his tail, Geralt knew it would be wagging. “It would be nice to have more of us around.”
“There’s a lock on the door between your bed and our rooms,” Geralt muttered, looking away from the hesitancy in Jask’s eyes. “We wouldn’t -- We would never force ourselves on you, sweetheart.” Geralt felt a twist in his gut at the very idea of how Jaskier’s scent would be, how sour and fearful. He would never let that happen.
“I know. You aren’t humans.” Jaskier picked his head up off of Geralt’s chest, smiling lazily. “You’re Pack.” Jaskier looked dead into Geralt’s eyes as he planted his chin on his sturdy chest, a warm tingle filling his heart as the simple sentence was uttered. The sentence that sealed the White Wolf’s fate. “And you are mine, as I am yours.”